by Morey, Trish
Opal looked at her sisters, both of them taking such delight in this wedding, making their eyes sparkle and filling their heads with thoughts of romance and love. If only they knew.
Maybe she should have been straight with them; told them right from the start that this was not a real marriage but merely part of a business arrangement to save Clemengers.
But she couldn’t do it. The reality was hard enough to face for herself. She couldn’t bear it if her sisters knew the sad and humiliating truth—that she’d been blackmailed into this wedding. Love wasn’t even on the guest list.
‘Come on,’ Ruby said. ‘The suspense is killing me. And it’s almost time. Open it!’
Opal tugged at the bow and the satin ribbon slipped to the floor. She lifted the lid and gasped. Both sisters rushed to look. Inside was an exquisitely crafted gold necklace studded the length with small opals, and with five opal pendant drops, each surrounded by diamonds to make a star. Matching earrings completed the set. As the hand holding the prize trembled beneath, the gems moved in the jewellery box, catching the light and flashing all the colours of the rainbow.
‘Oh, my,’ gushed Sapphy. ‘That’s so beautiful. He bought you opals.’
She could do nothing but stare. These weren’t just ordinary stones either, but black opals, the rarest and most spectacular variety of the gem, their dark background heightening the colours of fire contained within.
‘Wow,’ Ruby said. ‘They’re gorgeous. What does the note say?’
Sapphy took the box while Opal opened the small envelope. A hand-written note greeted her, astonishing in its brevity. ‘Wear these today. Domenic.’
‘Gosh, that’s a bit brief,’ said Ruby, frowning, reading over her shoulder.
She laughed and tossed the note on the sofa. If she’d had any hopes that his gift meant he thought more of her than just as a chattel he’d acquired as part of a hotel chain, that terse message would promptly have put her back in her place.
Luckily she was under no misconception that there was more to this marriage than a business arrangement so there was no way she could be disappointed.
No way she could be hurt. Feeling numb was a natural anaesthetic.
‘Let’s see what they look like on. Hold still,’ said Sapphy as she slid the necklace around her sister’s throat and did up the clasp.
Opal removed her diamond studs and replaced them with the pendants. ‘How do they look?’ she asked, not caring particularly but knowing her sisters would expect her to be excited.
‘Oh, just stunning,’ offered Sapphy. ‘I was worried for a moment they might be too much with the dress, but they’re just perfect. The colours add more to the outfit than I could have envisaged. Before I thought you looked like a princess. But with those on, you look like a queen.’
‘You do look gorgeous, sis. Domenic won’t be able to take his eyes off you.’ Ruby took her arm, turning her to the mirror. ‘See for yourself.’
They were both right. The gown was magnificent, but the jewels were the crowning glory. Was it too much? It seemed such a con to look the fairy-tale bride when the wedding itself was basically a clause in a contract.
She touched a hand to the necklace, noticing the colours change, the diamonds sparkle in the reflection opposite. Opals. It was a nice gesture, to be sure. But were they a gift or were they part of the job description?
No doubt the prenuptial agreement would spell it out in cold black and white. She really should have read the final draft of their contract before signing it today, but she just couldn’t bear to go through it one more time. Besides, it was not as if she could pull out of the deal now.
There was a discreet knock at the door. Sapphy checked her watch and smiled. ‘Grab your bouquets, girls. It’s show time.’
Organ music played from inside the beautiful old chapel tucked away to one side of Clemengers. Ancient stained-glass windows transformed the late-afternoon rays into streams of coloured light. It was beautiful, atmospheric and…surreal.
Opal stood at the open doorway, her sisters behind. She would walk up the aisle alone, no father to accompany her. No one to give her away. But then she wasn’t being given away. She was being bought.
She caught her breath as the strains of the Wedding March started up, her cue to start her short walk down the aisle, to the man who would be her husband. Surreal.
Inside the chapel she saw him, her steps faltering. He turned then and her breath stopped as his eyes snagged with hers. They said something to her, something strong and powerful and all-consuming. Something that seemed to shift the alignment of every organ inside her. Suddenly she was breathless at the sight of him, his dark morning suit complementing so perfectly the rugged line of his jaw and the collar-length flick of his hair.
Totally real!
He had an aura, a film-star presence that took her breath away. And he was waiting for her—to marry him. It made no sense, no sense at all.
She started walking again, the slow march to her new life, the selfsame slow march her mother had taken over a quarter of a century ago. And her mother had been happy. Heading off to a future filled with promise, filled with love. Or so she’d thought.
And here she was, taking the same route down the aisle. But there was no pretence of love, no fabrication of a marriage made in heaven. Nothing to disappoint. Maybe she was luckier than her mother after all.
Domenic took her hand. ‘Smile,’ he said, and she realised she had walked down the aisle on auto-pilot, seeing none of the guests, sensing nothing. ‘You look breathtaking.’
She blinked, looked up at him. Had he just said that of her? His eyes met hers and confirmed it, much more than words could do, and for the first time that day warmth suffused her veins and rushed to her cheeks.
How could he have this effect on her? She didn’t want to do this, she didn’t want to marry him—so why could he make her feel so good, with just one look?
‘The necklace is beautiful. Thank you,’ she whispered, as her sisters closed ranks alongside her.
‘Not one half as beautiful as you.’
Oh, my. If she wasn’t careful she might even be swept away into thinking this was a real wedding, a real marriage. And if she did, she was in real trouble. Much better to understand he was playing a part in a play, just as she was.
A moment later the priest began the service and Opal knew she was lost.
‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’ The priest completed his service with a pointed look at the groom. ‘You may now kiss the bride.’
Opal looked at him blankly, but a tug on her hand pulled her attention back to Domenic, who was gazing down on her with a faintly mocking expression.
‘Mrs Silvagni?’
‘Oh.’ Then his lips descended and slanted over hers and all opportunity for a response of her own making was lost. Sensations barely known, less well recognised, welled up within her as his lips meshed with hers. It was in some ways the resumption of the kiss he’d started in the lift and yet, at the same time, it was something else completely. Something more. The way his lips moved over hers, charming hers, coaxing them to respond.
But now it was more than lips. The pressure of his urged her own to open and in a moment his tongue had found hers, had traced its outline and teased it to respond. It was hard to resist. He tasted of pre-wedding Scotch and male, one hundred per cent proof.
Most of all, he tasted of desire. Desire for her. A tremor zipped up her spine. Even through her fog of inexperience she could tell that he wanted her. It was there in his touch, in his skilful possession of her mouth.
Was this how he kissed his other women? Was this how they felt, with his arms around them, charming them with his lips, promising them with his body that the kiss was just a sample of what was to come? No doubt they appreciated the attention and welcomed his need. Maybe they matched it with their own. Whatever, he was used to taking what he wanted. As he was no doubt planning to take her.
Dread turned her rigid under his mou
th. He would be expecting to consummate their marriage tonight, the act of sex the final signature to complete this bizarre business transaction. Then she would have no chance of escape.
But she had no choice. She’d have to do it. She’d fulfil the terms of their contract, she’d be his wife in name and in bed too, if that was what was required, but she didn’t have to want him. There was absolutely nothing in the contract about that.
He lifted his head at last, his eyes questioning, his brow slightly furrowed. She blinked and looked innocently back at him. Had he sensed her coolness? Or did he just expect that she would kiss him back? Maybe he wasn’t used to not getting a response. She could imagine how that might be a first for him.
The Moonlight Room on the top floor provided the perfect reception venue, the wide marble columns and stone-framed full-length doors leading to the colon-naded cloisters outside. Massive potted palms reached metres skywards yet still fell way short of the high opaque ceiling that allowed the filtered starlight through. Chamber music from a four-piece ensemble filled the room.
Crisply tailored waiting staff circulated with drinks and hors d’oeuvres. Morale amongst the staff at Clemengers had improved noticeably since the day she’d announced the investment by Silvers Hotels. Several had come up and thanked her, told her they had stopped scouring the newspapers for the chance of another job elsewhere in the industry, how their own life plans could now proceed—a new baby, a holiday, a new house.
And they were thanking her by doing everything they could to make this wedding reception perfect. And it would have been, if it had been the perfect marriage to start with. She was a fraud, obtaining the goodwill of the staff, just as she’d done with her sisters, under false pretences. It was almost impossible to smile and accept the good wishes of the guests under the circumstances.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned, plastic smile in place, ready to receive another congratulatory message. There was something familiar about the blonde in the slinky red dress, now looking her over so intently that her skin crawled under the frank examination, but she couldn’t place her. It was no surprise she wasn’t familiar with all in attendance. Like everything else, Domenic had handled the guest list, cleverly ensuring enough high-powered travel writers were amongst the invitees to further promote the Clemengers-Silvers deal.
‘We haven’t met,’ came the soft American drawl, ‘but I just had to come and meet the clever woman who’d finally brought Domenic to his knees.’
Opal thought she caught a hint of something less than good wishes in the woman’s tone. There was certainly more than a hint of champagne on her breath.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you could come.’
‘Dommy insisted I come.’
That was when it hit her. The photographs! She was one of the blondes—the actress—hanging off Domenic’s arm. How sweet he’d thought to invite one of his girlfriends along. Marriage was certainly not going to cramp his style.
The blonde leaned closer, as if concerned her message hadn’t been understood. ‘And I’ve never been able to say no to Dommy.’ She took a swig from her glass, polishing off the champagne with triumph illuminating her already glassy eyes.
‘Well, it’s just so much easier to go along with him, isn’t it?’ Opal smiled sweetly at the blonde, despite feeling the urge to empty her glass all over her. ‘I tried, but Dommy simply wouldn’t take no for an answer when he insisted I marry him.’ She shrugged and gave a lilting laugh, enjoying watching the other’s face turn from victory to defeat. ‘What’s a girl to do? Excuse me, I must see to the arrangements for the meal. Lovely to meet you, Miss…?’
But the blonde had already left, making a direct line for the waiter and his tray of champagne.
‘You haven’t touched your meal,’ Domenic said, leaning towards her when they were finally seated for their meal at the lavishly decorated head table. ‘You should eat.’
She looked down at her plate. She’d pushed things idly around with her fork, but she hadn’t had a bite of the normally appetising food. She couldn’t. Even though it was so perfectly presented, so exquisitely arranged to give a blend of colour, a combination of texture and aroma she knew from her work with the chefs would be tantalising. But her senses didn’t register any of it. She put her fork down next to her knife on the plate. ‘I’m not hungry.’
In a moment the unwanted meal was whisked away by the staff, along with Domenic’s empty plate.
‘You’ve lost weight since I was last here.’
She looked up at him sharply. What did he expect? It hadn’t exactly been a stress-free month. ‘I can’t imagine why.’
His eyes told her he didn’t appreciate her tone. Too bad. Her headache was getting worse as the evening progressed. She massaged her temple, willing away the throbbing.
‘Are you unwell?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘We can get a doctor if you need one. I want you healthy if you are to bear me a son as soon as possible.’
Her head swam, the words not making any sense. ‘What did you say?’
He shrugged, placing his serviette on the table as he swivelled around on his chair. ‘You need to be healthy. If you are to provide me with an heir you will need your strength. I don’t want you losing any more weight.’
‘And who said I would be providing you with an heir? Just because I agreed that I must sleep with you does not mean I have to bear you a child. Frankly it will be hard enough to bear the act itself, let alone any spawn of your loins.’
She picked up her glass, seeking the refreshing iced water, anything to cool the pulse that thundered in her head. But before she could lift it, his hand snapped onto her wrist. Water splashed over her hand. He took no notice.
‘I assume you did read your copy of the contract before you signed and sent it back?’
Anyone watching might have thought they were engaged in a lover’s game, exchanging lovers’ secrets, but then they wouldn’t see the fire in his eyes, the white-hot anger that was burning up the air between them, and the pressure of his hand on hers. Her fingers lost their hold on the glass. It slipped through, falling awkwardly the few centimetres to the linen tablecloth before tipping over. She watched the water soak in, the ever expanding outline of the spill, without registering it.
The contract. The lawyer had advised the changes were minor. What a fool she’d been not to go through it clause by humiliating clause before she’d signed. As if she could trust this man an inch. ‘I never agreed to have a child. That was never part of our original agreement.’
She attempted to pull back her arm, but his grip merely tightened. She winced.
‘Why do you think I insisted this be a real marriage if not to have children? How else am I to give my family an heir?’ He hesitated for a moment, as if waiting for his words to sink in. ‘Surely you didn’t imagine I was so taken with your sparkling company?’
‘Not for a minute,’ she hit back at him. ‘At least it appears we have that much in common.’
He flicked her arm from his grip and she clutched the hand to her, massaging the stinging flesh with her other hand as she raised herself from the chair.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Is it also a condition of the contract that I tell you every time I need the bathroom?’ His glower was her only answer. ‘No? You do surprise me.’ She turned to go, but not before she’d heard his muttered curse and the sound of his chair being flung back, before he stormed off in the opposite direction.
Her head pounding worse than before, Opal stood bracing her arms on the marble counter in the ladies’ lounge. She didn’t need to lift her head and look in the mirror to know she looked as completely washed out as she felt.
It wasn’t just her head. Every part of her felt out of sorts. Her shoulders were tight, her neck a mass of knots and an empty sickness plagued her from within.
She rolled her head, trying to lessen the tension in her neck
and shoulders, knowing that even if she could ease the symptoms of her stress, there was little she could do about the cause.
He was out there, her new husband, larger than life and even more demanding.
And he was expecting her to act like his wife and perform her part in this farce, to dance with him in the bridal waltz, to jointly cut the multi-tiered cake, and the final act, to share his bed in the bridal suite upstairs.
Her breathing quickened, light and heady as her pulse raced.
Would this night never be over?
Domenic would be expecting sex tonight, a consummation of their marriage and an end to any chance she would have to escape this arrangement.
And he was a man who would unquestionably have had plenty of experience of sex. What was he going to make of her?
Would he be disappointed with her? Would tonight make him regret his hasty decision to marry her? Would her humiliation plunge to new depths in his bed?
She paced the carpeted lounge, kneading the knots in her neck with her fingers, trying to massage away the tightness.
This wasn’t supposed to happen to her. She’d been the one who was never getting married, never getting involved. She’d deliberately avoided getting close to men, so that there was no chance of ever losing herself in a doomed relationship, no chance of ever being hurt.
The barriers she’d worked so hard at erecting around her life had served her well. So how was it that she found herself here today?
Blackmailed into marriage with a man who thought nothing of inviting his mistress to the ceremony. Blackmailed by a playboy.
She took a deep breath, relieved that the headache, along with the tension, had eased marginally.
There was nothing she could do but get out there and get on with it. Maybe he’d be angry with her when he found out. Maybe he’d just think his new wife a loser, unable to pull a guy without the promise of a hotel empire to go with it.
