Bride, Bought and Paid For

by Helen Bianchin

  Her heart missed a beat. They were going away? ‘Is that necessary?’

  ‘You thought we’d stay in?’

  She didn’t know what to think! ‘It’s hardly appropriate.’

  One eyebrow rose. ‘No?’

  ‘It’s not as if we’re embarking on a real marriage.’

  ‘Define real.’ His voice was a silky drawl. ‘I’m intrigued to hear your interpretation.’

  Oh, hell, she’d fallen into that one! ‘Do I need to spell it out?’

  ‘Indulge me.’

  ‘You want a verbal fencing match, go play with someone else,’ Romy managed calmly.

  ‘It seems I’ve chosen you.’

  She was sassy, Xavier mused. Older, not only in years, and there were only a few, but there was a maturity existent that hadn’t been apparent during their relationship.

  The loss of her mother and her father’s downfall had undoubtedly contributed, but it was more than that, and he wondered at the reason.

  A love affair gone wrong?

  Somehow that didn’t sit too well, and he chose not to examine it in depth.

  Romy sipped her coffee, then she carefully replaced her cup and saucer onto the tray. ‘If you’ll excuse me?’ She rose to her feet. ‘I have papers to mark.’

  Not exactly a wise move, given he followed her action, and he stood too close, heightening her awareness of him to an alarming degree.

  It wasn’t fair. She had every reason to hate him…and she did. She really did. So what was with the spiralling sensation curling through her body? The increased pulse-beat, and the nerves clamoring inside her stomach like a silent cacophony?

  Did he know?

  Hell, she hoped not!

  ‘You could stay.’

  The drawled query almost brought her undone, and she lifted her chin and met those dark, enigmatic eyes.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pity.’

  He was amused, darn him, and she spared him an expressive glare that was more telling than mere words, then she turned and made her way to the front entrance, aware he walked at her side.

  He accompanied her out to her car, saw her seated behind the wheel, then bade her, ‘Don’t work too late, hmm?’

  Like sleep would be an option anytime soon.

  As she cleared the gates she slotted in a CD, turned the dial up loud, and let the sound drown out any coherent thought.

  It was only as she entered Marine Parade that she muted the music, and inside the apartment she collected her satchel, bade her father ‘goodnight’, and went to her room…to work way past midnight before she discarded her clothes and crawled wearily into bed. To sleep within seconds of her head touching the pillow.

  It seemed only an hour or two when her alarm sounded, and she groaned out loud as she checked the digital display.

  Time to rise and shine and face a new day.

  The temptation to burrow her head beneath the pillow was uppermost, and for a few seconds she indulged the possibility before tossing aside the bedcovers.

  She needed to hit the shower, dress, grab something to eat, then ride the lift down to her car and head for school.

  It helped that her father had fresh coffee, cereal and fruit ready, and she expressed her appreciation, demolished the food in record time, then collected her satchel and blew a kiss in his direction.

  ‘I should be home late afternoon.’

  Andre inclined his head. ‘I’ll be ready.’

  The question was…would she?

  A thought which permeated her mind as she rode the lift down to the basement car park and remained uppermost as she battled peak-hour traffic to the northern suburbs.

  It was her wedding day.

  A day when most girls indulged in bridal pampering while her mother and attendants fussed and tended her every need, ensuring all the preparations fell into place with minimum hassle. The dress, the cake, the limousines, the church, reception, food, guests…

  Supposedly the best day in a girl’s life.

  Hah…so much for tradition!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TEACHING teenage students could at best be described as a mixed bag, for among the good days were the not-so-good days when everything went to hell in a handbasket.

  Today was fast proving to be one of the latter, Romy decided as she marshalled her reserves of strength, tamped down her irritation, and attempted to put an enthusiastic spin on the lesson.

  Was it a phase of the moon, the constraints of students being confined indoors on a beautiful early summer’s day…or had the class heckling risen by several notches?

  Maybe she was just tired and stressed…whatever, she just wanted the day to be over.

  Although, contrarily, that would only bring her closer to tying the marital knot with Xavier. An event which held certain connotations she was reluctant to explore.

  Oh…move right along, why don’t you? she urged in silent castigation. It’s not as if you haven’t slept with him and shared his life…albeit for a few brief months.

  So what was the big deal?

  Because, a little imp taunted. He was too much, way too much then…so what makes you think you can handle him now?

  He possessed the power to take hold of her vulnerable emotions and turn them upside down, making her his in a way no other man ever could. Even remembering the touch of his hands, his mouth…the passion, delicious, evocative on occasion, wild, primitive…shattering.

  Crazy, she thought shakily.

  It was a relief when the electronic buzzer signalled the end of class and close of the school day.

  Romy gathered up her paperwork and ensured her classroom was clear, then she bypassed the general exodus of students and made her way into the conference room where the principal had called a staff meeting.

  Thirty minutes, tops…except the meeting ran on for an hour, and consequently it was after five by the time she reached St Kilda. She took a moment to send Xavier a brief text message as she rode the lift to her apartment.

  ‘I was beginning to worry about you,’ Andre greeted her as she walked through the door, and she offered an expressive eye roll.

  ‘Don’t ask. I’m on it.’

  And she was, taking a record three-minute shower, then, towelled dry, she dressed, tended to her hair, make-up, slipped her feet into stilettos, tossed a few necessities into a carry-bag, then she entered the lounge.

  ‘You’re sure about this?’

  She’d never been less sure of anything in her life! Except she wasn’t about to make that admission. Instead she summoned a smile.

  ‘We need to leave.’ An obvious statement if ever there was one. Even if the deity was on her side, it was unlikely they’d reach Xavier’s Brighton home before six-thirty.

  ‘You have my love, always,’ Andre said quietly as they rode the lift down to the foyer. ‘I want you to know that.’

  Romy’s eyes misted, and she blinked rapidly. ‘Likewise.’ She couldn’t, wouldn’t let a tear fall. For if perchance one did spill, she’d never be able to stop.

  Go with the prosaic, she urged silently. ‘I’ve given you a spare set of keys. If there’s any problem, call me and report the problem to maintenance.’ She did a mental check and came up with—‘I’ll stop by Monday after school and collect the rest of my stuff.’

  She kept the Mini five kilometres over the speed limit and sent out a silent prayer that no police scanners were active in the vicinity!

  The gates guarding the entrance to Xavier’s home were open, and she cleared the driveway and slid to a halt in front of two four-wheel-drive vehicles.

  Romy was within a metre of the front entrance when the door opened, and Xavier stood in the aperture.

  Tall, his broad frame immaculately clothed in expensive tailoring, he presented a compelling figure whose facial expression was impossible to discern.

  She felt the need to apologize, but somehow it seemed superfluous, and she made an attempt at humour to defuse the situation.

  ‘
It’s a bride’s prerogative to be late for her wedding,’ she offered lightly.

  For a brief second she thought she glimpsed a faint gleam of humour in those dark eyes, then it was gone as he acknowledged her father.

  Two guests…if guest was the appropriate term for Xavier’s lawyer and a mature woman introduced as the celebrant, occupied the formal lounge.

  A small table draped in white damask and lace held a votive candle, a delicate spray of white orchids, and an ornate leather-bound folder.

  Romy felt her insides curl with a mixture of apprehensive fatalism as Xavier moved to her side as polite conversation ensued.

  It felt as if she was a disembodied spectator as she smiled, chatted, and attempted to portray the part of a happy bride-to-be.

  When in reality her nerves were as taut as finely stretched wire.

  Just hold it together, she urged in silent desperation. Three years ago you’d have married Xavier in a heartbeat.

  Except that had been then, not now.

  ‘We’ll begin, shall we?’ the celebrant suggested warmly and indicated where she wanted each of them to stand.

  It hardly seemed real, Romy decided as Xavier took both her hands in his, and she stilled the faint shiver threatening to feather the length of her spine.

  The words washed over her, and when prompted, she repeated her vows, heard Xavier intone his own, and her hand trembled as he slid a wide diamond-encrusted band on her finger. Seconds later she watched in silent apprehension as he handed her a gold band and extended his left hand, followed soon after by the celebrant’s words, ‘It gives me pleasure to pronounce you husband and wife.’

  Romy’s eyes widened as Xavier pulled her close and covered her mouth with his own in a lingering, evocative kiss.

  Oh, my…what was that? An expected gesture for those present?

  She managed a winsome smile as congratulations were offered, flutes filled with champagne and their health and happiness toasted. Maria served canapés, and Romy accepted the obligatory one, then politely declined anything further, aware there was every possibility her stomach might revolt.

  Xavier was there, at her side as if joined at the hip…his smile warm as he rested light fingers at the edge of her waist. There was the occasional trail of his hand across her shoulder blades and the moment when he linked his fingers through her own.

  Feigned togetherness, she rationalized, sure he was merely playing an expected part…but for whose benefit? Andre knew the truth, and she doubted Xavier’s lawyer or the celebrant were overly interested in the real reason for the marriage.

  Just go with the flow, she silently bade herself. Smile, pretend for a little while…where was the harm?

  Xavier knew…of course he did. Although it was likely she was the only one who glimpsed the faint amusement apparent, the slight quirk at the edge of his lips.

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ he murmured as he trailed gentle fingers down her cheek.

  ‘Yes.’ Her eyes sparkled wickedly. ‘This is so—’ she paused deliberately ‘—fun.’

  ‘Isn’t it, though?’

  Just—don’t kiss me again. The words didn’t find voice, but his eyes gleamed a little as if he’d sensed the silent admonition.

  ‘Bothered you, did it?’

  Romy offered him a sweet smile. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Will you be so brave a few hours from now?’

  ‘Without an audience? Bank on it.’

  Andre joined them, and the light bantering took a new direction as the merits of Australian sparkling wine were compared with finest French vintage. Any subject, Romy perceived, which didn’t touch on the wedding itself.

  The celebrant took her leave, whereupon Maria served a tempting three-course meal comprising chicken soup, a delicious paella, followed by a delicate sorbet, after which they adjourned to the lounge for coffee.

  All too soon the lawyer declared a need to conclude the evening…a decision which prompted Andre to call for a taxi.

  ‘I’ll phone you Monday afternoon,’ Romy promised as she hugged her father and saw his answering smile. Then the taxi was there, and she stepped back into the foyer as the rear tail lights disappeared through the gates.

  It was impossible to still the faint curling sensation in her stomach as she met Xavier’s watchful expression.

  She strove for polite. ‘What time do you want to leave?’

  ‘As soon as you’ve packed what you need for the weekend,’ he responded with indolent ease, noting the fast-beating pulse at the base of her throat.

  She managed a smile. ‘It won’t take long.’ She turned and forced herself to cross the foyer and step lightly up the staircase, aware he ascended at her side.

  Did he intend to change his dark suit for more casual wear? She certainly intended to lose the killer heels, and jeans, camisole and jacket would be more comfortable than a dress.

  The master bedroom was incredibly spacious, with a large double en suite and walk-in robes, a king-size bed, a recessed alcove housing two comfortable chairs, a small table and lamp.

  The decor bore a pleasing mix of ivory, varying shades of taupe, highlighted in both en suites with marble tiles.

  Xavier indicated one of the walk-in robes. ‘Maria unpacked your belongings.’

  He shrugged off his jacket, loosened and removed his tie, then began unbuttoning his shirt.

  OK, this was where she ditched her stilettos and made for the walk-in robe. And no, she assured herself mentally, it wasn’t escape as such…merely a need to effect a change of clothes and retrieve a selection to pack. After which she’d move on to the en suite and freshen up.

  As a plan it worked just fine, although she wasn’t quite so fine with Xavier’s close proximity. He’d exchanged the formal suit for casual jeans, a chambray shirt and a fashionable leather jacket, and she stifled a silent sigh of relief as he collected both overnight bags and indicated she should precede him from the room.

  Did he guess the state of her nerves? Possibly. She had a vivid memory of his intuitive skill at divining her thoughts.

  The Mornington Peninsula lay an hour’s drive to the south of the city, a route relatively picturesque by day, but providing a different perspective when shrouded by night’s darkness.

  Xavier slid a CD into the slot as the city’s environs became less dense, and Romy leant her head against the cushioned rest, closed her eyes, and let the music seep through to her bones.

  She hadn’t wanted meaningless conversation…just a welcome silence in which to relax and unwind in order to face whatever the night would bring. Not that she felt in the least inclined to relax…

  Yet the soft music, the faint motion of the car, combined with anxiety, stress and sleepless nights, took their toll, and she woke to the light stroke of gentle fingers at the edge of her jaw.

  For a moment she experienced no sense of time or place. There was only Xavier, leaning close, his eyes dark in the reflected light, and on the edge of that wondrous place between dreamy sleep and wakefulness her lips parted in a soft smile. ‘Hi.’

  There was the temptation to take her mouth with his own, to taste and savour the sweetness…and encourage her response.

  He could, easily. And he almost did, except it would inevitably break the spell, realization would be swift, and she’d resist with spirited dissent.

  When he took her, he wanted her awake, aware…and willing.

  ‘We’re here.’

  Romy’s eyes widened as she became conscious of where she was and with whom, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he witnessed her veil her emotions.

  He released her seatbelt, then tended to his own before slipping out from behind the wheel, aware she followed his actions.

  Check-in was achieved with smooth efficiency, a porter led the way to their suite, performed the obligatory spiel, then left.

  Romy spared a brief glance at the large bed and felt her knees go weak at the thought of sharing it with Xavier.

  Ridiculous, given she’d
been his lover for three beautiful months, and there was no need for first-night nerves or awkwardness.

  Sure, and who do you think you’re kidding? a small voice taunted as she began unpacking her bag.

  It was the knowing that was so unsettling. The revival of memories so incredibly intimate, it hurt to recall their existence.

  She didn’t want to become lost in him…dammit, losing herself wasn’t something she could afford. Not if she wanted to retain her emotional sanity.

  So she’d have sex with him. Enjoy the physical act and not allow her mind to engage. How difficult could it be?

  ‘Would you like something to drink?’

  Romy lifted her head and spared him an enquiring glance. ‘As in?’

  ‘Coffee, tea or—’

  ‘You?’

  The corners of his mouth lifted in a humorless smile. ‘That, too…eventually. Meantime, we could wander along to the lounge bar, sit awhile—’

  ‘And play pretend honeymooners?’

  ‘Then catch an early night.’

  She detected the silky tone in his voice and chose to ignore it. The dangerous quality apparent had moved up a notch, and she managed to control the faint shiver threatening to scud down her spine.

  Give it up. You’re playing with fire.

  She collected her toilet bag and set it in the adjoining en suite before re-emerging into the bedroom. ‘You mentioned the lounge bar.’

  ‘Wise.’

  She wasn’t sure delaying the inevitable was such a good idea, for she felt akin to prey waiting for the predator to strike.

  It was a luxe resort with beautiful fittings, the lounge bar spacious with exotic planters on display, Romy noted. There were two other couples occupying comfortable chairs grouped at a round table, and Romy offered a faint smile as she crossed to a distant table.

  A waitress appeared as soon as they were seated, and it was easy to lean back against the cushions.

  ‘This is a nice place.’ It was an ideal setting, even for guests who might choose not to play golf.

  ‘I thought you’d like it.’

  So he’d been here before. Undoubtedly with a female companion. Not, Romy fervently hoped, occupying the same suite. The mere thought verged towards…tacky.