Chapter 50

It was the most gorgeous and moving wedding.

Even if she couldn’t understand much of what was said, even if she was here under false pretences and was supposed to be playing a part, the tears that filled her eyes weren’t manufactured as the proud, frail father of the bride walked his glowing daughter down the aisle.

There were only two dry eyes in the church, and they both belonged to Chase.

He stood taller than the rest, his back ramrod straight, and though he did all the right things, there was a remoteness to him—an irritable edge that Amaya couldn’t quite define, perhaps an impatience for the service to be over. For the second time, the first moment that he could, she felt his hand tighten around hers as he led her swiftly outside.

"These two will be next!" Donna teased, holding her husband’s hand and laughing and chatting with her relatives.

"When?" Raul’s eyes met his son’s.

"Soon," Chase said before making a smile at the rest of the guests, "I’m sure it will happen soon."

As Raul greeted the other guests, Donna chided Chase for his stern expression, talking in Greek and then giving a brief translation for Amaya.

Amaya lost Chase along the way, chatting to aunts and congratulating Donna—really, she was doing well at least; she had Tommy with her, who did nothing but sulk about eating the cake. Through her work, she knew enough about Chase to answer the most difficult questions, though it would have been far easier if he were by her side.

They were starting to call relatives for more photos now, and she found him behind the church, walking between the tombstones, standing and pausing, his shoulders rigid, almost as if he were at a funeral rather than a wedding.

"You’re wanted for the photos," she said softly, her eyes following his gaze to the tombstone he was reading.

"My grandmother, Chase explained.

"She was so young," Amaya said, reading the inscription. His grandmother was a little older than her mother when she died.

"We should get back anyway." She turned to go, but he was still staring at his grandmother's grave, and Amaya guessed he must be painfully aware that in a matter of days or weeks he would be back there in the graveyard to bury his father. Only she didn’t understand what he was doing here today, when everyone was trying to be happy, reminding himself when he should be forgetting.

"Chase…"

"You go. I’ll be there soon."

"Chase, today is a wedding—your family is waiting for the photos. For now, surely you should try to forget?" she said hesitantly.

"I will never forget." It was a bald statement, and his eyes met hers for the first time since she had joined him in the cemetery, but there was none of the warmth that had been there that morning. In fact, there was no warmth at all. "Come—we have a job to do."

And in that short sentence, he both reminded and relegated her. This was just a weekend away to him, a deal that had been struck, a pact that had been reached—an act she had agreed to partake in. It was Amaya who had forgotten that at times; Chase clearly always remembered it.

As they joined the rest of his family and stood side by side with her hand in his, never had it been harder for her to force a smile.

It had been a long, exhausting day, and it was a long, exhausting evening—as weddings often are.

Raul made it through dinner, and as Donna watched on anxiously, he managed to dance with his daughter. After that, clearly unable to participate further, Raul took a back seat, and it was up to Chase to take up the baton.

There was nothing Amaya could put her finger on as Chase took over the role of patriarch with ease. He chatted with everyone and sat with the men at a table for a while, and she could see him laughing at jokes, raising his glass in a toast, and joining in tapping spoons to demand that the newlyweds kiss—and when she came over, he was soundly slapped on the back for his choice in women.

"Good choice for a future wife, Chase," one of his family members smiled.

Something filled the air between them as they waved off the bride and groom.

As they put his parents into a car and then stayed to say farewell to the last of the guests.

Something as he let them into the darkened house. He climbed into the bed beside her and stared unseeingly into the darkness.

A shout from the house snapped Amaya’s eyes open; her body instinctively moved to investigate, but he caught her wrist.

"It is just my father, calling for his pain medication."

His fingers were loose, but there. That small contact became her sole focus, every nerve darting along its pathways to locate and gather where his fingers touched hers.

She listened to the sound of silence and thought how hard it must be, not just for Raul but for Donna, with the exhausting, round-the-clock care she delivered. And Chase must be thinking it too, for she could feel him—the tense energy in the room, this state of hypervigilance this family must live with when dealing with someone so ill.

Had it been like this for him as a child, too?

"Chase?" She knew he was awake even if he was ignoring her. ‘How bad was it?’

"Leave it, Amaya."

"You can tell me."

"I don’t want to."

"He is your father."

"I know, and I still hate him. Stop asking. Sleep," he muttered.

And it should have ended it. She expected him to turn away, except he didn’t. Instead, he turned to his side, towards her. "Amaya, please…" He didn’t finish what he was saying, or had he just said it? This is begging for distraction.

He moved his body over hers, and then his lips were on hers, his kiss catching her by complete surprise.

Chase’s mouth was seeking an urgent distraction; it was a frenetic, heated kiss that urged her body into an instant response. They had made love over and over, Chase initiating her into the wonders of her body and the marvel of his, but this was nothing like the tender, slow lovemaking of previous times—this was an enthralling new facet. Urgency crashed in like a stormy ocean slamming onto the beach, and her body flared in instant response to his potent maleness. He was kissing her, hot, demanding kisses that she reciprocated, her fingers at the back of his head pressing his face closer to hers. His thighs came down hard on hers, and his arms swept under her, circling her, craving more contact—as did she.

She opened her centre to him, parting her legs, yearning for that first thrust from him with the hunger of an addict. Only it didn’t bring relief; the feel of him driving inside her, his skin sliding over her, just made her want more, energy building like a cyclone, swirling and obliterating and dragging her to its centre. He moved his arms from beneath her, and there was the sensation of falling as her back hit the mattress and Chase leant in on his elbows. Over and over he kissed her, and over and over he said her name into the air as he gulped it in, into her mouth as he licked her.