Chapter 49

Their day at the beach had brought a glow to her skin, and on the morning of the wedding, Amaya massaged in body oil, glad of the peace in their bedroom and the chance, for once, to take her time getting ready without Chase snapping his fingers and telling her she looked fine as she was.

Most of the mansion had been commandeered by the bride and her entourage. The whir of the hairdryer had been continuous since eight a.m. and there was a constant stream of flowers, including the traditional arrival of flowers for the bride from the groom, which Amaya was summoned down in her dressing gown to witness.

As Raul was conserving his depleted energy for the wedding, Chase had stepped into father-of-the-bride duty, and Amaya had a little giggle to herself to see the usually unruffled Chase, who could handle the most difficult client or tense boardroom meeting with ease, just a touch frazzled as he dealt not just with his sister’s theatrics but vases and flowers and the hairdresser, who was trying to locate a free PowerPoint for heated rollers.

Yes, their bedroom was a nice place to be!

Because she could, Amaya spent time on her hair, attempting what a hairdresser once did when she’d been to Tyler and Mary’s wedding—taking several curls at a time and wrapping them around her wand till they fell into one thick, heavy ringlet. Over and over she did this, and for once her hair behaved, and for once Amaya was pleased with the results.

The weather meant foundation wouldn’t see the service out, so she put just a slip of silver eyeshadow on her lids, relying mainly on lashings of mascara, a quick sweep of pink on her cheeks, and a shimmer of tinted lip gloss. In her dash to shop and get ready for the trip, Amaya had relied heavily on the stylist’s suggestion of a suitable dress, although she hadn’t been at all sure that it was right for a wedding when she’d tried it on in the boutique.

The silver-grey dress had looked very plain, if a touch short, in the shop, but the assistant had assured her it would look marvellous with the right shoes and make-up.

It did.

It slipped over her head, the material shimmering more in the natural light, and the superb cut of the delicate fabric turned her most loathed bits into voluptuous curves.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Amaya was slightly taken aback by what she saw. It was as if she’d grown up in these few days—gone from young lady to woman—and Amaya knew it had little to do with her birthday and a lot more to do with the man who was now walking into the bedroom.

"I must get changed…" His voice trailed off as she turned to face him, and he suddenly felt that walking into his room to find her there was like coming across a haven of tranquility in a madhouse.

He’d appreciated her all morning—so many of his girlfriends would have been demanding their hour with the hairdresser while simultaneously demanding yet more of his time, yet Amaya had left him to deal with his family—no sulking or pouting, just that lovely smile when she’d briefly come down, and now he’d walked into the bedroom to this. Oh, he’d seen her dressed formally on many occasions, but this was different—a wedding, a family affair, his Chase plus one.

His diamonds on her ears and neck were as sparkling as her eyes, and there was that glimpse again, that small glimpse of how life could be for him if he hadn’t made the choices that he had.

Of a life he could have with her.

"Amaya, we are leaving in ten minutes," he said, his voice gruff with suppressed emotion. He’d already showered and shaved, so he quickly pulled off his casual shirt and trousers and dressed in the dark wedding suit and gunmetal grey tie that had been chosen for the men of the wedding party, or rather that Amaya had chosen for them. He had refused, point blank, to consider the burgundy monstrosities his step-sister had insisted would match the bridesmaids, and Amaya had found the perfect one.

Not the one, but the perfect one.

Making a rare effort, he combed some sculpting gel through his thick hair and splashed on cologne. He filled his pockets with various envelopes for the priest and the band, and then, when his head was around them and more rational thought had descended, he spoke.

"You look wonderful."

"Thank you." She gave a brief smile at his clipped tone, insecure enough to worry that he privately thought she looked awful.

"I will be busy today, back and forth with relatives. With my father ill, that duty…"

"It’s no problem." Amaya smiled, putting some tissues in her bag and then squirting her perfume—just as she always did last thing before they went out. It was these little things he was noticing, Chase realised, these small details that added up to Amaya. Her perfume was reaching him, and her entire being was too.

Today was a day he had been dreading for months, since the wedding date had been announced and the preparations had begun. It had hung over him like a black cloud—being with his family, all his family, smiling and joking and keeping up the pretence, the charade, that there was no rotten core to it—yet here in this room he could breathe.

He couldn’t not kiss her.

He lowered his head, and his lips gently found hers, just pressing a little into the luscious flesh of her mouth, and he felt a flutter of something sweet and good and right settle.

Only their lips met, gently touching, barely moving, just tiny pulse-like kisses as they breathed each other’s air, and it was a kiss like no other—this rare, weary tenderness from Chase that made her feel beautiful and wanted and somehow sad too.

"This is so much better with you here," he mumbled with a smile.

There was a sting at the back of her throat, and she couldn’t understand why something so nice should make her feel like crying.

"It could always be." She’d crossed the line; she knew she had. She’d taken the present and hinted at a future—there was suddenly no breath on her cheek as Chase stilled, no acknowledgment as to what she had said, but it circled in the air between them.

"We must go." He waited at the bedroom door as, shaking hands, she reapplied her lip gloss, catching her eyes in the mirror and giving herself a stern reminder of the terms that she had agreed to. Their soon-to-be-contracted marriage was nothing but paper.

She knew that.

Nothing but paper.