She never did anything she didnât want to... most of the time. Yet, she was in a dress, hair done up and that was the most she was giving them. A scowl on her lips as she shot back champagne with ease shouldâve been the first clue that she wasnât exactly excited. She wasnât the blushing bride type. Paisley put the glass down on a passing tray and picked up another before they could get away.Â
How had she wound up here? Sheâd been avoiding getting thrown together in an arranged marriage for so long. Running from this life, from her parents. She wasnât wanted, except when it would make them look better, boost their name and image. She was the imperfect daughter. Rowdy and loud, living life on the edge. She was a girl with a troubled past, slipping into the hospital at sixteen and disappearing for long periods of time before her picture found its way on the tabloids on a semi-regular basis when her parents couldnât pay them off.
Paul and Karen Reeves didnât want her and that was fine, she didnât want them either. She didnât want nor need anybody and that had been the first wall built. Now there was a fortress deep in her chest, buried in the depths of her soul. She lived her life on her terms, doing only what she wanted. This, being here, was unusual. Giving in came with a price of her own, much to their chagrin. They shouldâve known better, but of course they didnât know their daughter. Paisley would never show up and make it simple, easy. So while she was there in a dress, sheâd worn black. She smirked, remembering her parents faces, the shocked gasps. This wasnât an engagement party, this was her funeral.Â
She tilted her head as he introduced himself. Of course, she knew him. Well, knew of him. Their families ran in the same social circle, and of course heâd caught her eye. Her gaze lifted, peering at him as she drained yet another glass as she sat back, as if showing that she was getting comfortable, yet she was anything but.
âEveryone knows you, Tristan Oswald.â Paisley replied coolly. She didnât need to look around to know that eyes were on them. âBut thatâs just who you are, right? The gentleman.â Looking him over, she smirked. He was attractive, but he was a goody-good, and she didnât want to be married. She was going to burn down his whole world and he needed to be warned. Why wasnât anyone warning him?
Placing the glass onto another tray, she leaned into his space and chuckled. âIâm Paisley Reeves, and you are going to hate being my husband.â  As she speaks, her fingers found the end of his tie and she began playing with it. A move she could pull off with ease but she wasnât trying to lure him into her bed. Her eyes left his as she looked at the tie between her fingertips. Blue with ducks. âJesus Christ. You should run away before I ruin you.â  She breathes out, dropping the tie and jumping up. The heels of her stilettos echo in her ears as she all but runs away from him, ducking past guests who pretend they werenât just staring her down.Â
Once outside, she ignored the chill in the air and the twinkly lights as she found a bench to sit on.