He released her first, and the two stared at each other awkwardly, Elena suddenly remembering she wore nothing but a thin Supergirl night shirt, her long, dark tresses disheveled from the fitful rest she had fought through.
“Now what?” she asked, averting her gaze from his.
Aaric cleared his throat.
“Now we get married,” he replied.
The words sent an almost electromagnetic thrill through her, and she nodded.
I am about to become Mrs. Aaric Buckley, she thought.
The chapel was close to Vincent Cornell’s office in South Beach. After the prenup was signed, the trio headed toward the Sunshine and Rainbows Wedding Nook where they were married in nine minutes from entry to exit.
“I can’t guarantee this will work,” Vince told them nervously. “They may deport you all the same, Aaric.”
“If they do, I will have a much better shot at coming back with a wife who is an American citizen,” the CEO replied, glancing at Elena. “Anyway, we have nothing to lose by doing this.”
“If you are caught, you will both end up in prison on opposite sides of the Atlantic,” Vince retorted.
Elena swallowed her nervousness and glanced at the ring on her finger.
I am going to have to remember to hide this when I go home tomorrow, she thought. She grinned to herself thinking about what would happen if she forgot to take it off.
Mom will have a heart attack with joy. Maybe I should keep it on just to make her smile, she thought.
She looked at her new husband and wondered if it was too soon to ask for her down payment.
Don’t ask him yet. There’s plenty of time to get the money to mom and dad. Buckley has been through enough. I don’t want to send him over the edge and recant his deal. You don’t have anything in writing after all.
She cursed herself at that moment for not having a written contract.
“I am glad to see you’re in better spirits,” Aaric commented, catching a glimpse of her expression. “But I guess marrying rich will do that.”
Elena scowled at him.
“If you want to play this out like a martyr for your cause, by all means, but we both know I saved your ass, Mr. Buckley.”
“Oh Lord have mercy,” Vince muttered. “She is calling you ‘Mr. Buckley.’ Why is she calling you ‘Mr. Buckley’?”
Aaric paled and shook his head.
“He’s right, you know. When we are among others, you must call me Aaric.”
Elena grinned deviously.
“Oh, can’t I have a pet name for you?” she pleaded. “I’ve built up so many over the years.”
Vince snorted and turned to look out the window as Aaric’s eyes narrowed.
“No,” he replied flatly. “Aaric will do.”
Elena pretended to pout, but in her mind, she was recounting the list of endearments she and Wen had stored for the cocky CEO.
“Anyway, when will we be around others?” Elena asked worriedly, her mind shifting to Wen.
Wen can never find out about this. He will think the absolute worst of me.
Vince whipped his head back to look at her.
“You aren’t that naïve, are you?” he demanded, staring at the couple dubiously. “Did you think that you would just keep this from the world?”
Aaric and Elena exchanged a glance.
“Why wouldn’t we?” Aaric demanded, and Vincent slapped his palm to his forehead.
“Don’t you realize what you have just done? You have thumbed your nose at the American Immigration and Naturalization Agency. You think that they are just going to slip away and say ‘oh, okay then.’ You have created a monster by defying Agent Dane’s orders. They are going to come after you full force. Neither one of you will be left alone for a minute!”
Vince watched as their faces transitioned through myriad emotions, settling on shock.
“Everyone will know?” Elena breathed. Vince laughed mirthlessly.
“Not only will everyone know, but you must also make your union as public as possible. If the catch one whiff of what you have done, it will be the end of life as you know it, both of you. So, forget about whatever low-key marriage you two had in mind. From now on, you are Miami’s newest golden couple. Congratulations Cinderella.”
Elena’s mouth dropped open, and she shook her head.
“No!” she protested. “I didn’t sign on for that!”
“It’s too late!” both men barked at her. “It’s done, and there’s no going back.”
Horrified, Elena shrunk against the leather seats of the limo and willed herself not to hyperventilate.
Oh God. Wen will find out what I did. He will be so betrayed. Not to mention that ICE will be on me like white on rice. What did I do? How could I have been so impulsive?
She took deep breaths and opened her eyes slowly.
“It’s okay,” she said in a conversational tone. “I will prepare my family for it when I go home this weekend. It will all be over in two years, and people will forget it ever happened.”
Vince stared at her as if she was half-witted.
“Did you not just hear what I said? ICE is going to be on your doorstep every time you turn around. You can’t just up and leave the weekend you got married. You’re not going anywhere that your husband is not. Get used to it, sweetheart. You come with a ball and chain now.”
Panicked, Elena looked at Aaric.
Could he have known about this? No, he looks just as mortified as I feel. I can’t cancel on mom and dad this weekend! Not when I begged Natalie to bring the girls. They will all murder me for this.
She looked at Aaric, her face waxen.
“I guess you’re coming home with me to meet your in-laws this weekend,” she breathed, bile rising into her throat.
“What? No! I am not going to meet your family this weekend!” Aaric protested. The two glared at each other, their eyes clashing furiously as Vince shook his head, muttering incomprehensibly.
For the first time since agreeing to the marriage, Elena had huge reservations.
But Vince was right.
It was too late to back out.
Chapter Five
To say Agent Oliver Dane was livid was a slight understatement. He had never been so mad in either a professional nor personal capacity since his birth thirty-five years earlier.
It was not merely that Aaric Buckley had enlisted a bride in twenty-four hours, it was that he had been shown up by his colleagues.
“You’ll never get him,” the other taunted. “Do you know who he is? Aaric Buckley is the richest man in Florida. He can buy his way out of anything.”
Yet even if Oliver hadn’t had orders to look into Buckley, the agent would have found a reason to deport the British national.
Cornerstone had employed hundreds of illegals over the years, Aaric Buckley taking great pains to circumvent labor laws to keep them employed.
Oddly, the man did not do it for cheap work. He actually paid quite well and often trained his employees out of pocket.
Whenever various illegals had been caught, Cornerstone attorneys had carefully arranged to have them released back into the population unscathed and without documentation.
It was something which Oliver found infuriating and disgusting, loathing Cornerstone and Aaric Buckley with mounting intensity over the years.
When the frauds and securities case had arisen through the Florida district attorney, it had been Oliver who had approached the prosecution with the idea of deportation.
It had been a difficult sell. After all, Cornerstone was a thriving corporation in the States. Deporting the CEO seemed like a bad economic move, but over time, Oliver had broken down the DA and soon, he was staring face to face with the limey bastard.
Seeing the look of consternation on Aaric Buckley’s face had been worth all the years of agony. Knowing that the man would be on a plane back to England in a few hours seemed to taste like victory.
So, when Oliver Dane received wor
d that Buckley was not only staying but working on his American citizenship via his new bride, well, to say Oliver was livid was an understatement.
“It is still within our right to have him deported,” Oliver argued with the district attorney.
“Drop it, Ollie. If he went so far as to marry his maid, he is willing to stoop to anything. Let’s just see how these charges play out. If he is found guilty, we’ll send him back then, marriage or no marriage.”
“What if I can prove his marriage is a sham?” Oliver persisted. “Then can I send him packing?”
“You have my blessing,” the DA sighed. “But don’t let this consume you, Ollie. We have other fish to fry.”
It was all Oliver needed to hear, and he knew he would be like a dog with a bone going forward.
Aaric Buckley is going to rue the day he ever crossed me, Oliver thought, his hands flying over his keyboard.
He sat back, a small smile toying his lips as his search pulled up the name he was seeking.
Elena Mancini. Your deceitful little world is about to be shaken upside down.
He sat back in his nondescript Lincoln, watching the newlyweds park before a small bungalow in Naples, Florida.
I have you in my sights always.
It was raining when they arrived in Naples, and Elena had completely changed her mind about the trip as they pulled up to her parents’ small house on 8th Street, near the Baker Hospital.
We can still turn around and go home; she thought as they sat in front of her childhood home. Mom and Natalie will get over it…eventually.
A quick survey of the street showed that Natalie had not arrived with the girls yet, but Elena was sure she would be arriving soon.
You had two and a half hours to turn around. You’re here now. They are going to find out sooner or later. You may as well get this over with.
The residence seemed smaller than Elena remembered it, but she reasoned that had more to do with her new husband than it did with her own recollection.
She tried to look at the house as if she was seeing it for the first time. A man of Aaric Buckley’s means would surely turn down his nose at the insignificant size of the property.
What is he thinking right now? She wondered, eyeing Aaric out of the corner of her eye. Will he behave himself or act like his usual jackass self?
She would soon find out.
“This is your house?”
Elena glanced at him, clenching her teeth.
He’s already starting, she thought, climbing from Aaric’s Mercedes.
“Yes, Captain Obvious,” she retorted. “Is that a problem for you?”
She braced herself for a smart reply, but to her surprise, Aaric shook his dark blonde head.
“It’s quaint,” he replied. “Your parents keep it well.”
He was not wrong; Frank and Angela took painstaking care with their lawn and garden. It was their pride and joy. Elena had many happy memories watering the rose bushes and bonding with her father in those soil piles in her childhood.
“It’s all they have, really,” Elena commented under her breath, but Aaric seemed to hear her, and he nodded as they slowly ascended the short steps to the small veranda.
“Oh! Look who comes to her mama finally!” The inner door swung open, and the couple stood staring at Angela Mancini.
She was five feet tall but seemed much taller with her robust body and piercing brown eyes.
“Hi, mom,” Elena said quickly, stepping forward before her mother could identify the man whom she had brought along, but there was no escaping Angela’s keen eye.
“And you bring home a man. You no tell me you bring home a man?”
“Sorry,” Elena replied nervously, tossing Aaric a warning look as she kissed her mother’s cheek. “It was a last-minute decision.”
“Who are you?” Angela demanded, setting her daughter back to take in the well-dressed stranger on her porch. “I hope I make enough food.”
Elena stifled a smile. She was sure her mother had made enough food. The woman did not understand the word “moderation.”
“Aaric Buckley, madam,” he replied, extending a beautifully manicured hand. Cautiously, Angela accepted it, and suddenly recognition lit her dark irises.
“You are the rich boss!” she declared, giving her daughter a confused look. “The one who never let my daughter come to visit her old mama.”
Aaric seemed taken aback by the assessment, his brow furrowing.
“Oh, I don’t think all that is true, Mrs. Mancini. Elena is free to come and go as she pleases.”
Angela scoffed.
“Then you call Elena a liar and it's her fault she doesn’t come to see us?”
Angela turned to scowl at her daughter, and Elena grimaced, but she temporarily relished the look of confusion on Aaric’s face as he struggled for the proper answer.
“Ah, who cares? You here now. Come inside.”
Angela spun and gestured for them to enter.
“You eat something,” Angela ordered, leading them to the tiny kitchen.
“No, we’re fine, Mrs. Mancini,” Aaric replied quickly. “We stopped on the road for a bite.”
Angela whirled to stare at him balefully.
“What? You stop for crap? You eat hamburgers? French fries?” She spat distastefully. “No, you eat. I have nice antipasto. We wait for Natalia, and we eat supper. I make manicotti. Sit.”
She pointed at a chair, and Aaric looked at Elena helplessly. She swallowed a smile and shrugged.
It never gets old seeing people with mom for the first time, she thought with amusement. There was no arguing with Angela. Aaric could either succumb or die fighting. Either way, Angela would prevail. Better men had tried and failed.
“All right,” Aaric relented as if sensing he was in over his head. “That sounds lovely.”
“Where is dad?” Elena asked.
“Where he always is,” Angela grumbled as she laid out an antipasto tray and bread in front of Aaric. “But you would know that if you visited more often.”
“Mom,” Elena groaned. “Anytime you want to let go of this guilt trip you’re on; I’d like to see my father.”
“Yeah, go,” Angela muttered, waving her hand. “You should see him before he dies. He's in his room.”
Elena gazed at Aaric meaningfully.
“Are you all right for a few minutes?” she asked. “I’ll be right back.”
She hoped her eyes depicted her desire to have him remain silent.
“What? You no trust me with your rich boss? Go see your father. Go!” Angela barked, pointing toward the back of the house.
“I am sure I will fare quite well in your mother’s capable hands,” Aaric assured her.
Elena resisted the urge to roll her eyes, heading back to her father’s room.
She wasn’t sure which of the two she was more concerned about.
Probably mom, Elena thought wryly as she gently rapped on the door of the furthest bedroom at the back.
It had once been her room, but as she eased open the slightly ajar portal, her happy memories of youth were far from her thoughts.
Frank Mancini lay in his Posturepedic bed; his dialysis machine hooked up as he watched a DIY show on the grainy television atop the scarred dresser. He looked twenty years older than he had six months ago when she had last seen him, his brown eyes sunken into his pale, gaunt face.
“Dad?” she whispered, tears springing to her eyes. “Are you okay?”
Deliberately, Frank turned his seemingly ancient head, and Elena could not believe that the man on the bed was only sixty years old. He seemed to be in his late eighties, and the liver spots splattered about his creased face only excavated the look of death which seemed to enshroud him.
“Bella!” he gasped. “You came!”
Elena rushed toward him, embracing his frail body gently.
“Of course, I came,” she replied, choking back the emotion in her voice. “How could I resist seeing the most handso
me man in the world?”
“Is Marlon Brando here?” Frank asked, pretending to look over her shoulder.
“I hope not. He’s dead.”
They both chuckled, and Frank cupped his daughter’s face tenderly.
“What’s wrong, cara mia?” He asked instinctively, studying his only daughter’s face. Elena sat back defensively, shaking her head.
“Nothing!” she said too forcefully, and Frank rolled his eyes.
“Lying has never been your strong suit, cara. Tell your papa what is wrong.”
For a fleeting second, Elena was tempted to tell him, but before she could breathe a word, Frank’s runny brown eyes rested on her left hand.
“You got married, Elena?”
She could hear the hurt in his voice, and Elena turned away her mind racing.
Dammit, I should have hidden the stupid ring for this visit, Vince will be damned. I didn’t want him to learn it like this.
“Yeah, your daughter marries her rich boss,” Angela announced from the doorway, her arms folded before her ample chest, her lips pursed into a fine line of disapproval.
“Elena?” Frank asked, his eyes wide with surprise. “Is this true?”
Slowly she nodded, averting her eyes from their accusing eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered. “We eloped yesterday.”
“I see,” Frank murmured. “When do we get to meet your new husband?”
“He is the kitchen, eating antipasto. I bring him,” Angela declared. Elena sighed and watched as her mother went to find Aaric.
“Are you happy, Elena?” Frank asked quietly. Elena shrugged, not wanting to lie anymore but before he could press her further, Aaric appeared at the threshold.
“Mr. Mancini,” Aaric said pleasantly, extending his palm. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Feebly, Frank accepted the handshake and eyed his daughter.
“Welcome to the family,” Frank replied. “I am sorry I cannot rise to meet you.”
Aaric shook his head vehemently.
“I apologize for the intrusion, sir,” Aaric answered respectfully. “If we had known you were in the middle of treatment we would have arranged to come at a different time.”
The Lost Seal: A Seal Romance Page 21
