Chapter 352: You Like What I Do To You

"Yes," Avery says. "I want to marry him."

Evan's eyes flash, and his jaw clenches. She tries to look away—his anger is terrible to watch—but he catches her chin between his thumb and index finger and tilts her face up toward his. Her jaw aches, but she won't give him the satisfaction of pulling away.

"Rebecca," Robert's voice shouts outside the door. "What are you doing here?"

Avery freezes and glares up at Evan. He smirks back as if he's completely unconcerned that his girlfriend might walk in on him with his half-naked ex-wife. 

"Oh, hello, Robert," Rebecca's melodic voice calls. "I didn't realize Evan was here too—what a coincidence!"

"What are you doing here?" Robert asks.

"Oh well, I heard that Avery was doing a photoshoot here today, and I came to watch and support her," Rebecca says.

"I see," Robert replies. "But you better not go in there right now—I think Miss Peters is changing."

"That's no matter," Rebecca says. "I'm her friend—she won't mind me coming in."

Avery bends over and reaches for her dress, but Evan is faster. He picks up the white gown and tosses it across the room. She glances around the changing alcove, but there's nothing to cover herself with.

"Quick, get behind those curtains," Avery whispers.

"I don't think so," Evan says.

"Are you crazy?" Avery asks. "Do you have any idea what this looks like right now? She's going to think you're having an affair with me."

"I'm not worried about that," Evan says, looking down.

In her anger, Avery has taken her arms off her chest, and he's staring at her breasts as if he's transfixed. He slides one hand up her side and cups her breast in his palm. His other hand snakes down, and he caresses her through the thin white silk of her underwear.

"You like what I do to you," he whispers as he touches her most sensitive spot.

She bites her lips, but a soft moan slips out. Evan leans down, and his lips replace the hand on her breast. A tingle of pleasure rushes through her, and she moans again.

"Don't," she pants. "Stop!"

"Don't stop?" Evan asks, his voice low and evil. "Your wish is my command."

He moves his mouth to her other breast and continues to tease her through her underwear. She groans and grinds herself against his fingers. He chuckles low and increases intensity. Her legs tremble, and she grabs his shoulder to support herself.

"Evan, I'm serious," she pants. "You have to stop."

"That's not what your body is saying," Evan whispers. "Your body says you like it."

"Evan, I'm begging you," Avery says. "Stop it before she comes in."

"I want you," he says, grinding his hips against her to show her the strength of his desire.

He pushes her against the mirrored wall and claims her mouth with his own. He slides his hands down the back of her thighs and lifts her up as if she weighs nothing. Her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and he forces his tongue into her mouth. She moans again, and the sound rings out in the room. 

"Wait, what's going on in there? And where's Evan?" Rebecca's voice shouts. "Let me in!"

The door flies open, and Avery watches over Evan's shoulder as Rebecca appears in the doorway. Rebecca freezes in place, her large eyes widening and her mouth falling open, and Avery wishes she could disappear. She tries to unwrap her legs from Evan's waist, but he holds her close to him.

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"Get out," Evan says, his voice calm and authoritative.

Rebecca stays in place a moment longer and screams, "You bastard!" Then she sprints out of the room, knocking a mannequin to the ground as she goes.

"Jesus," Avery mutters.

She uses the temporary distraction to drop her legs to the ground and slip out of Evan's grip. She rushes to the corner of the room and yanks her clothes on as quickly as possible, leaving her wedding dress in a crumpled heap in the corner. Grabbing her purse, she races toward the front door, ignoring the shouted questions from the stylists and the owner. And then a strong hand closes on her arm, and she's spun around to face Evan.

"I won't let you marry Andrew," he says, his face calm and determined. "You're mine."

He lets go of her arm and walks out of the store, and she slumps down onto the floor, suddenly too exhausted to move. 

Avery sits in the roomy limo, looking through the tinted windows at the white church outside. The stairs to the church are covered in white and red rose petals, and crowds of photographers and paparazzi stand on the sidewalk. She sighs and closes her eyes—she asked Andrew to keep the wedding small and private, but it seems news got out.

Well, at least our parents won't be there, she thinks with relief. It's bad enough that the wedding is finally happening—I don't need to deal with his mother's judgmental scowls or my father's pathetic and embarrassing attempts to flatter Andrew.

"What's wrong, honey?" Andrew asks. "This is supposed to be the happiest day of your life."

"Why are there so many reporters?" she asks.  

"I don't know," he says with a shrug. "I guess the news got out. But that's not a bad thing. Now the whole world can see how happy we are together."

"The whole world or one person in particular?" Avery asks.

Andrew smiles, but his eyes tighten slightly, confirming her suspicions. The grand wedding has nothing to do with her—she asked for a small and private ceremony—and everything to do with making Evan jealous.

"Come on, honey," he says. "You know I did this because I love you."

"You sure have an interesting way of showing it," she mutters. "Somehow, it always makes me miserable."

He ignores her comments and slides to sit closer to her. He's wearing a white suit, and the shirt collar looks crisp and cool against his tanned skin. He winks at her and kisses the top of her hand, then opens the limo door and helps her out. Cameras flash, almost blinding her, and Andrew waves for a team of bodyguards to follow behind them.

He leads her up the stairs, and she looks down at the petals she crushes underfoot. The sweet smell is overwhelming, and she's relieved when they make it into the church. But the relief only lasts a moment. Dozens of children wearing white suits and dresses skip down the long aisle throwing petals in every direction. An ornate metal ball above her head swings open and more petals shower down on top of her like rain.

A hush falls in the large church, and then a small orchestra begins to play the wedding march. Andrew places her hand on his arm and walks her up the aisle. It's only a few yards, but it seems to last an eternity. She thought the church would be empty, but there are dozens of guests in the pews, and she can feel their eyes on her. She straightens her shoulders and lifts her head, staring up at the priest and the altar.

As she walks, Evan's words echo in her mind: I won't let you marry Andrew. You're mine. She glances around the hall, looking for him, but she doesn't see his fierce eyes or proud face anywhere. It seems he didn't actually mean what he said.

Don't be stupid, she tells herself. He's just playing the same game Andrew is—he doesn't actually care. Besides, I heard that Rebecca was in a car accident and sent back to her family's home to recover. He'll probably be visiting her there and trying to make up for what he did with me.

The priest raises his hands, and the music falls silent. He opens his bible and reads in a slow, droning voice. Andrew takes her hands in his and winks. She swallows hard and returns his gaze.

"Andrew Clifford, do you take Avery Peters as your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward?" the priest asks. "For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death do you part?"

Andrew looks seriously at Avery and says, "I do."

The priest turns to Avery and says, "And Avery Peters, do you take Andrew Clifford as your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward? For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death do you part?" 

"No, she doesn't," a familiar voice shouts. 

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