Sara Michaels ruthlessly squashed her misgivings as she peeped from under the brim of an enormous hat, her brother, Anton, by her side, having completed his duties as usher. Their friends outnumbered the groom’s; Scott’s parents were unable to make the trip from Australia so his only guests were the best man and his wife, his former boss, and a couple of business acquaintances invited for the sake of form.
At the couple’s request, the wedding and celebration were simple, Sara had arranged for caterers to provide the wedding breakfast at the house. Scott and Lizzie would honeymoon in Australia, travelling there with Scott’s friends on their return flight. Meanwhile, Scott had booked himself and Lizzie into the honeymoon suite of a country hotel. Scott thought his heart would never arrive back from his mouth as he looked down at the beauty that had come to a halt at his side. He was deafened by white noise when the minister got to the part that everyone dreads, no matter how innocent.
‘… Let him hereafter, forever hold his peace…’
Gritting her teeth, Sara Michaels resisted the temptation to speak out, to shout from the rafters, to sing out from the rooftop, before the attended witnesses, to cry, to voice her opinion, confess her misgivings about her sister’s choice of husband. Resigned, breathless, chest in an agony of tight regret, she looked at Scott’s broad back and knew that he shivered a little, and took comfort in his discomfort. Sara was still puzzled at Phil’s tolerant outlook, but as long as his family was happy, Phil was happy, he barely thought past anything more complicated.
Outside the small church, Charlie Green’s malevolent presence lurked among the gravestones. The heat of hate brimming inside him was no protection against the stark, winter day and he pulled his collar up against the cold, mentally counting the minutes… before allowing them to tick past. He’d get his own back one day, but he picked his battles and today was a fight he couldn’t win. He’d get his revenge on miss prissy-pants and her fucker of a lover, adding her sister, friends and anyone else he could think of to his wrathful hit-list of people who most pissed him off.
His work done. For now. But he’d have Lizzie Fyne if it was the last thing he ever did. He’d drill her with his hot, hard cock, and he’d make that cunt, Worth, watch. Smiling like a loon at the intoxicating vision he’d conjured, Charlie scored a long zigzag of hate into the paintwork of the sole Bentley among the few parked cars, crept back behind one of the larger monuments and waited.
Scott’s thoughts danced forward as he responded automatically to the minister’s prompting, fumbling only a little as he slid the white gold, wishbone ring onto his bride’s finger. ‘You may kiss your bride.’ Scott lightly kissed Lizzie in a chaste peck that was no reflection of the war raging between him and his glutton of a cock. Lizzie quivered inside silk. Scott’s lips brushing hers had the power to transport her straight into deepest carnality, her brain cells tingled into bed with him. She watched herself arch up, greedy beneath him as she wrapped her legs around his waist while he pushed his hot, hard cock, deep, deep, into her silken, moist, eager folds. A flush of warmth travelled a mercurial stream and she knew her face would betray her wanton soul if she didn’t calm herself, still herself inside the fluid folds of silk and velvet. Smoothly wait, coolly reside in tranquillity until combustion between the sheets and consummation of the words just spoken.
Sara quelled a spasm of jealousy, accompanied by a flood of bile, filling her mouth suddenly. Swallowing sharply in shock, knowing most would interpret her tears as those of joy, in fact, she underwent an inner battle between loss of her sister and loss of her youth. A tiny trickle of envy coiled her veins, before uncurling itself as if it were a serpent, visiting each of her senses as she reflected on her wedding to Phil and wondered when the intervening years had vanished.
Phil’s pride enveloped him in spite of the fact that he worried over Lizzie’s choice of husband, and in some ways, blamed his wife for introducing Scott back into their lives. ‘If he ever, but ever, hurts Lizzie again, I’ll hunt him down and beat him to a pulp,’ Phil promised, watching his former schoolmate sign his name alongside Lizzie’s in stark black ink against the snow-white of the marriage certificate.
At last, a peal of bells rang the couple along the aisle, walking side by side, husband and wife, followed by the congregation who collected in the churchyard where the photographer recorded their day.
Lurking out of sight, Charlie Green nursed his hate, which threatened to split his head in two. A cleaver of disgust embedded his skull. Eventually, the puce mist cleared a little as he focused on the man walking towards the Bentley. Having assumed the car was Scott Worth’s, for the day at least, the dreaded realisation that ownership was none other than the CEO at work, shredded his last vestige of calm. His boss. Somehow the knowledge of Carstairs and Worth’s ongoing connection had passed Charlie by. Now shitting himself, he hoped nobody had actually seen who caused the damage. Carstairs looked livid, but had clearly decided on discretion and had driven off regardless.
Above the small group posing in freeze-frame, winter sun glimmered a smile and promised a summer of humming, halcyon days.
‘I have something to tell you,’ said Lizzie.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’
‘It will keep, daddy.’ She smiled and looked steadily into his eyes. Scott Worth freed Lizzie Worth’s hair, her shining curls cascaded and tumbled sweet pea blossom between them; he moved his lips against hers, and sealed their union with a kiss, captured in an eternal frame.
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Break it to Love Page 9
