Chapter 56

The next day, hating the surge of lust that made Amaya’s knees shake, she managed a mute nod while sending a silent prayer heavenward for strength. She had a feeling she’d need it to resist what the reformed bad boy had in mind for later.

Amaya’s hand shook as she waved the mascara wand over her lashes, and she blinked several times, grateful she’d chosen the waterproof kind.

She’d already been near tears twice, first when she’d opened the door to a gorgeous bouquet of frangipanis and then when she’d carefully hung her wedding dress encased in plastic on the back of the door.

Chase had sent the flowers. His note had been brief.

For my beautiful bride

Chase, x

While the flowers were breathtaking, that one little x had her clutching them and burying her nose in their heady fragrance, her eyes filling to the brim.

She wanted his kisses; she wanted him, and no matter how many times she told herself this wedding was a necessity to be free of her past, she knew when she walked up the aisle shortly, she’d want him more than ever.

As for her dress...

She’d wanted to buy something understated and practical—a dress she could wear again—because why spend money on a real dress when this marriage would be far from real?

That was before she laid eyes on the strapless sweetheart's gown in ruched ivory silk chiffon, and her neglected romantic soul demanded she buy it.

And she had, for when she touched the dress, she imagined magic.

A magical marriage filled with light, laughter, and love

A magical mirage of a handsome groom with stars in his eyes and a bride who believed in the happily ever after she’d always dreamed about

A magical mystery: that despite their motivations for this marriage, they were embarking on something truly wonderful today.

Taking one last look in the mirror, satisfied she hadn’t streaked her make-up in a fit of misplaced sentimentality, she shook her head.

Magic wasn’t real, and she was foolish to dream of anything other than what this marriage was: a business arrangement.

She slipped off her robe and padded across the room to the wardrobe, her fingers trembling as she slid the zip open on the dress’s carrier bag.

Every metallic slide, every crinkle of the thick plastic, and every rustle of silk chiffon brought her closer to her wedding, and her tummy twisted as she reverently lifted the dress out.

Emotion clogged her throat, and she swallowed several times as the soft, flowing skirt cascaded to the floor in a silken ripple.

The dress was a dream, and her breath whooshed out as she steeled her nerve and slowly, carefully stepped into it, wishing she could channel some of that magic.

Closing her eyes, she tugged at the bodice and smoothed the skirt, ignoring the sick churning of nerves gone awry as the reality of marrying Chase hit home, and hard.

Almost faint from anxiety, she took a deep breath and another before opening her eyes and gasping.

She looked like a bride.

But it wasn’t the divine dress, the fancy hairdo, or the immaculate make-up that made all of this real.

It was the starry-eyed expression in her frightened gaze that said it all.

In spite of every sensible thing she kept trying to tell herself, she looked like a bride on the brink of marrying the man of her dreams.

Amaya’s breath caught as she stepped out of the portico and got her first glimpse of her husband-to-be.

Chase stood under a beautiful poinciana lush with vivid crimson blossoms, his black tux framed against the vibrant colour. With the sun setting behind him, casting a golden glow over everything, and the fairy lights strung around the trees in the garden just twinkling to life, the entire scene was surreal.

It shouldn’t be this romantic, this enticing, or this special. This wedding was all business.

Tell that to my heart, she thought as she took a tentative step, her stiletto sandals skidding as they hit the sandstone pavers.

She couldn’t see Chase’s expression from this distance, but as she walked towards him, the shadows cast by the blossoms cleared, and what she saw took her breath away all over again.

Honest to goodness, undiluted happiness

Why would he look like that?

He was the one who’d proposed this ridiculous arrangement in the first place and had made it more than clear what they’d both get out of it.

So why the ecstatic, proud expression of a man who’d just glimpsed his real bride for the first time?

Her heart hammered in time with her steps, beating a rapid rhythm as she all but tripped towards him, eager to get this over and done with.

While the setting might be picture perfect and her groom beyond handsome, this wasn’t how she’d envisioned her wedding ceremony.

Sure, the groom might be the same guy she imagined, but that was a lifetime ago. So much had happened and so much had changed, and she was a fool if she thought for one second that anything about this marriage resembled her dreams of years gone by.

The closer she got, the louder her heart roared, until she could barely hear by the time she pulled up next to him, a nervous, trembling mess.

"You’re a beautiful bride," Chase murmured in her ear. So close, his warm breath raised a trail of tiny goose bumps along her neck, and she knew that while this marriage might be all business on paper, she wondered how on earth she’d manage to keep it platonic in the bedroom.

"Thanks."

She cast a nervous glance at the civilian minister in a crass white suit, Chase's family, who smiled at her lovingly, her son, who looked smarter than the groom, and a pair of bored witnesses in hotel uniforms. Plus the media, Gary, Eva, Allen, and Justin. Her eyes squeezed shut as she dragged air into her lungs.

How did it come to this?

A quickie wedding, empty and meaningless, to a man she’d once loved with all her heart yet who hadn’t loved her enough in return, when all she’d wanted to do when she’d come home was gather enough information to secure a promotion.

"Hey, it’s going to be okay."

Chase squeezed her hand, and she opened her eyes, captured by the kindness in his eyes, kindness underlined by the happiness she’d glimpsed earlier.

"Trust me."

Trust him?

She’d trusted him with her heart.

She’d trusted him with her life.

And he’d hurt her anyway. Of course, she wasn't expecting a massive wedding; after all, it was her idea to change everything into a small and private affair with the addition of the media, who would then spread the word.

That’s it! You can do this, Amaya!

She was nervous.

So excuse her if she's a little light in the trust stakes these days.

Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile. "Let’s get this done."

Shadows gathered in his eyes, obliterating his joy, and she mentally kicked herself for sounding so abrupt.

He wasn’t forcing her into this. She was a big girl; she’d made her own decision, and now that the moment of truth had arrived, she had to suck it up.

Chase gestured to the minister to start, and the next fifteen minutes flew by in a blur of meaningless vows, empty promises, and pretend smiles.

Her heart ached so much that she almost cried twice, but one look into Chase’s determined, dark eyes gave her the strength to get through it.

Until the kiss

"You may now kiss the bride."

Memories of Greece flooded her mind; his hurtful words...

Damn it! She thought, There is no time to reminisce about those things.

The minister beamed as if he’d just bestowed the greatest gift on them, but all Amaya could think was how she’d hold it together when Chase’s lips touched hers.

Her eyelids slammed shut against the threatening tears and against the determination on his face as his head descended slowly, agonisingly slowly, when all she wanted was for this to be done with.

She wanted a quick, seal-the-deal kiss.

What she got was something entirely different as his lips brushed hers, so soft, so gentle, so tantalising, drawing her towards him like an invisible gossamer thread being gently tugged.

She couldn’t break the hold, break the spell, as he bundled her in his arms and kissed her—really kissed her—with every ounce of pent-up emotion bubbling between them.

The tears started falling then, swift, coursing, raining down her cheeks and splattering his lapels as he dabbed them away with his thumbs, his smile too warm, too tender, too understanding.

"Damn you, Chase," she muttered, her gaze firmly fixed on the second button of his dress shirt as she blinked rapidly.

"I'm sorry, Amaya."

He tilted her chin up, giving her no option but to meet his scrutinising gaze. "Don’t fight it."

She had as much chance of fighting this as receiving a welcome-home hug from her father! But she knew she couldn’t give in entirely to this attraction simmering between them and couldn't give into the insane dream of making this marriage real.

She had a son waiting for her. Then why the renewed rush of tears at the thought of leaving all this and leaving Chase behind?

"Come on, we're almost done, then we can relax."

He held her hand the entire time through the signing of the certificates, the forced pleasantries from the minister, the false congratulations from the witnesses she didn’t know, and the trip in the elevator to the fifth floor.

"Where are we going?"

Stupid question, for she knew, and every cell in her body was on high alert.

They had to have a fake wedding night for people to believe this marriage was real, and she got that. The part she was having trouble with was reminding herself of the fake part.

"Our suite."

Two little words sent a tremor of longing through her as she wished she were being whisked away to a fabulous room with her husband for real.

But this wasn’t real; none of it was, and she needed to keep telling herself that as he held onto her hand as if he’d never let go.