The Scandal Behind the Wedding

by Bella Frances

  The car rolled to a halt. They had to stop. Had to.

  With all his strength he lifted his head, met her eyes, wide and wild with her own actions—as if she was out of control herself.

  He heard footsteps and voices. He pulled her away, shielded her. Hooked her bra, pulled her T-shirt down. She smoothed her hair. The door opened. She climbed across him, stepped out.

  ‘Mr Ryan is just finishing a call. He’ll be with us in a moment or two.’

  She closed the door and he sat back—right back. Head back. Hell! He was still unzipped. His legs were shaking and he’d lost the use of his arms. And the use of his brain. Things were getting out of hand. He’d been given a get-out-of-jail-free card and he was still acting like an adrenalin junkie, a teenager. A class-A idiot.

  Quickly he fastened himself. Rubbed a hand through his hair and shook his head. Finishing a call. He had to laugh. So she was quick off the draw too. Useful in a wife....

  * * *

  He’d been to weddings. Cousins’. Friends’. That sort of thing. He was of that age group now where fewer and fewer were left standing. At least none of his siblings had fallen yet. And he was known—not only to himself—as the one least likely to.

  He’d given the subject no more thought than that. It was filed in a pending part of his brain along with other files, such as retirement and golf. He knew the rudiments—who didn’t? But once again everything where Georgia Blue was concerned tipped him into some other universe, where normal rules and behaviour didn’t apply.

  He should not be standing gawping at her. He should not be feeling any emotion. This was cold-blooded business. He definitely should not be reading anything more into this than what it was.

  But he couldn’t help himself.

  The moment he saw her walk towards him from the room they had set aside for her to change into that cream dress he kissed goodbye to all composure.

  Breathtaking. Beautiful.

  She walked to stand beside him beaming—not with a smile, but with radiance. Like autumn sunbeams through a forest canopy.

  She was fragile, but strong. Smaller, yet equal. Every part of him warmed to her.

  The Ambassador spoke some words. That was as much as he heard. He was tuned in to her and nothing else. She smiled at him and nudged him to read from the card he’d been handed. That was fine in principle, but something had happened to his voice.

  He said what he had to say. She responded. Said her own vows. He wasn’t listening to them. Didn’t want to hear them. This was all feeling too real.

  Another nudge—this time for the ring. No, not shaky hands. No way. He held her fingers in his. Pale, tapered, with small neat nails. The engagement ring she’d been almost forced to accept was on her other hand now. The simple band of gold slid on.

  He looked at her. She looked at him. And his heart burst. Slumberous, trusting eyes stared back at him. Oh, hell. No frivolous or flippant smile as she found his ring and slid it on. He tried to smile, to lighten things. He really did. But when he looked at her again all he felt was that this was wrong, and yet right. He shouldn’t be messing with values like this. Shouldn’t be making a lie of one of the most important things in life. But, strangely, it wasn’t the wrongness that had sent him flying with a heavyweight hook—it was the almost terrifying sense of rightness.

  He knew it was time to kiss her when she slid her hands up onto his shoulders. She was smiling now. A big toothy grin that balanced her from elegant beauty to girl next door. But she was also wobbling.

  He leant down. He kissed her. Softly. Sent her trust with his lips. Succour. But still the lurking sensual flames licked round them.

  He pulled back. Now was not the time to get lost in her. He had to be feeling like this because of what she’d done to him in the car. Another boundry crossed. A deeper level of trust. So maybe the best thing would be to put a bit more distance between them anyway. If he was to get his sanity back. He’d need that very soon. Salim was sharp as a drawer full of tacks. And even though he could easily explain away his foggy brain with his newlywed cover, he’d need to have every aspect of his story—their story—straight so as not to be caught out. Not to mention his life’s work—the billion dollar deal that was still shimmering like a mirage.

  ‘You okay?’

  She nodded, but he noticed she kept her eyes trained away. She smiled, but not at him. Ursula, the Ambassador, wife of a personal friend with whom he’d so far managed to avoid getting into conversation, was congratulating her. Whispering to her in the conspiratorial way women had. About him. For sure.

  He moved away, shook a few hands and got a fair few whacks on the back. Dark horse. Lucky guy. Who’d have thought it? Yep. Who’d have thought it, right enough.

  He was handed a glass of something. Nearly necked it but put it down. It really was time to get back in the game. This was done. The next thing on the list was travelling back to Dubai to spend the night there. Then they’d be up early and on to Salim’s palace—because that was what it was.

  Even though he was a modest man, with modest tastes, who spent most of his time in a small private villa in Dubai, he liked to entertain his guests in style. And that meant that the next few days of high-powered business talks would be conducted in his vast palace in the desert.

  Danny looked at Georgia. He would be throwing her to the wolves there too. He hadn’t properly worked through that part yet. Yes, they were married now—cover intact, respect complete—but she might be quizzed or, worse, disdained. He hadn’t really talked over with her the fact that she would be on her own with the other women a fair bit. He’d been so focussed on the prize. On finally getting his hands on this contract.

  He paced over to her, slid his arm around her waist. Felt the electricity leap off her. ‘Georgia, we’ll need to leave shortly.’

  She nodded, ‘Of course. I’ll start to say my goodbyes, then.’

  She slipped out of his grasp and he watched her move across the room, her movements fluid and confident, her head high. She spoke to the assembled staff, thanked them warmly. Earned herself a hug from the Ambassador and benign looks from the old guard. From the younger guys it was a different story. They were openly admiring. Eyes trailing all over her. She was innocently, charmingly chatting and their eyes were lapping her up. He could feel a burning in his gut. He wanted her away from them.

  He growled her name.

  She turned, almost startled. As did the rest of the room. Then she held up her finger, as if he were one of her little pre-schoolers, before going back to her schmoozing.

  He had to draw in a breath to steady himself. It had been a long time since he’d felt a sudden swell of jealousy as fierce as that. He’d thought he’d buried those urges for ever. This was not good. Not good at all.

  Fourteen years out of Ireland—fourteen years to master every last impulse that had dragged him down, those angry rages he had taken against his brother until the last one. Belittling behaviour that he’d loathed but hadn’t been able to control—at the time. But out here he’d done it. He was his own boss, with no comparisons to anyone, no family name to live down, no reputation to uphold.

  And he’d be damned if he’d let himself slide back into any of that. No way. This was a warning to him. A well-timed, well-placed warning. He was letting emotion get back in the ring. Having his head turned by a beautiful woman. Lust over logic. And now jealousy—the worst sparring partner of all.

  He turned on his heel. He’d
get the car, get them back to the airport, get back in the game. Georgia was playing a part and that was it. She was an attractive woman—a very attractive woman—but that was all she was. After the trip she’d be going her way and he’d be going his. But first would come the not inconsequential round of talks with the Sheikh—that was where it was at.

  ‘Danny, wait!’

  He heard her as he felt her. Her hand sneaked through his arm.

  ‘Sorry if I took too long—they were all so nice. Throwing us that little reception... Did you get something to eat? I can’t believe they got that fabulous buffet ready in time—and I loved it that they did English ham and Irish soda bread sandwiches! And Ursula is so nice—it was lovely of her to come in and marry us. I wanted to thank her...’

  ‘She was told to. By her husband. It wasn’t a big romantic gesture, Georgia. No big deal—just a favour called in so we can get on with the charade—nothing else. So let’s get on to the next bit and show the world our fake wedding night.’

  He saw the impact of his words straight away. Her face was wiped clean of its sunshine.

  ‘Sorry. I’m sorry.’ He shook his head, felt his teeth clamp together. He was still in thrall to this rage.

  She stepped back...away. ‘Of course. I know. I was just...’

  He breathed through his clenched teeth, unfurled his fists and dredged every last bit of composure up from the murky depths he’d been plumbing.

  ‘You were just being nice. You were being pleasant and I was being an idiot.’

  She was digging deep for pride—he could see it. Colour had flushed over her cheeks and her eyes had flitted to the floor. But her spine was straight and her shoulders were back. A smile worked free, and an almost-laugh.

  ‘You said it! Shall we go, then? On with the party? Though can I suggest you lose the angry look?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got it. I’m worse than your four-year-olds.’

  She fixed her happy face and nodded, and he could see that she was an actress on top of all her other talents. Behind the cute grin there was a splintered smile. He’d cut her off and cut her up, but she was playing the part a good deal better than he was.

  He tried to put his arm round her, tuck her close to him by way of apology, and she played along—right until they’d said their final goodbye and stepped back inside the car. And then it really hit him what he’d done.

  Her poker spine and her poker face were turned straight ahead. Her hands were on her lap and her knees were locked together. And the air between them was colder than the frozen air-con that plagued every indoor space in the Emirates.

  ‘We’ll be back at the airport soon.’

  Perhaps she nodded. She certainly didn’t speak.

  ‘I’d better brief you on what to expect tonight and tomorrow. It might not be quite like the party we’ve just had.’

  She answered him by sliding the rings off. First one. Then the other. She opened the catch of her little silk purse, then pulled out a drawstring bag—tiny, only big enough for the rings. He watched, unable to speak because he couldn’t quite form thoughts into sentences.

  ‘I’m sure there will be time enough to brief me later. I’d really like to close my eyes. Just for five minutes.’

  He lifted her hand. He couldn’t help it. Rubbed at where the rings had been. The simple band of gold had slid on so easily. Slid off so easily too.

  ‘You know you’ll need to keep them on?’

  Her eyes were closed and she’d tipped back her head.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So what...? Why take them off just now? Are they too tight? Too loose?’

  A long, deep sigh.

  ‘Too much. They’re too much. You’re too much. It’s all too much.’ Her voice was light, eyes still closed. ‘Just give me a little space, Danny. I’m beat.’

  She was right. Completely right.

  ‘Sure.’

  That would be the ideal thing to do. Give each other a bit of space. Let him get a hold of himself again. Focus. Direction.

  Georgia and the whole wedding thing was a bit of frippery to smooth things over. This deal—this two-billion-dollar deal—was where it was at. Getting tucked up with Salim had been years in the making. Getting work for his boys and, even sweeter, making inroads for the immigrant manual workers. That was where his focus should be—completely.

  But the fact was that now he had this new variable to deal with—Georgia. He’d never factored that into his risk assessment. It had been his vision, his plan, his way the whole way. Those things he could control. And, though he’d had the brainwave to turn the problem of the party into the solution of the marriage, he’d need to use what was left of this time to work out every last angle that might come at them.

  Because although he might be the consummate risk-manager—although he might be the master manipulator of all the variables—the one thing he’d just realised he didn’t have complete control of was himself. Or her—the stunning redhead. Though she seemed to be completely herself. And add to the mix his temper—that was a wild card he really didn’t want to play.

  The car rolled on through the skyscraper-lined streets. Blistering heat outside. Glacial silence inside. She sat in her beauty, mutely composed. He kicked out his legs, feeling once again like the angry little boy who didn’t measure up. Damn it to hell. He’d get a hold of himself. He’d make sure his attraction to her was stifled until he had exactly what he wanted.

  Fourteen years was a long time to learn patience...to wait for his reward. No redhead was going to unravel him now. Not even this one.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘I’VE ARRANGED FOR a few friends to join us later at Indigo. Does that suit?’

  She sipped at her tea, took her time replacing the cup in the saucer. Finally she said, ‘Of course.’

  He barely looked up from his tablet.

  Imagine being his actual wife, Georgia thought. The contrast in his moods was worse than the contrast in the temperature. All over her like spilled whisky one minute and then frozen like a daiquiri sour the next.

  ‘Would you like me to pretend to be happily married or just married?’

  He looked up then. Flicked over the screen of his tablet and zapped her with that laser-blue stare. ‘It would be best if you could pretend to be both. Is that possible?’

  She shrugged. She was still tired. Still fed-up. She’d played along—stupidly played along—but she was all out of puff and there was still their ‘wedding night’ to live through. Here, in the outrageously luxurious boutique hotel that was to be their home for the next twenty-four hours.

  She had chosen to disengage her emotions while she went through the motions of changing from the cream gown into a silk tunic and skinny jeans combo. She had barely registered the lushly planted private courtyard garden and pool, the elegant Art Deco furnishings—genuine Art Deco, she’d been assured. She had noticed the bed, but more as if it was an exhibit in a museum than something she would actually be sleeping in—alone.

  He had considerately stayed out of the way, making calls and doing whatever other high-powered activities he did while she changed. But now they were facing each other across a large linen draped table in the private dining area, she stirring lemon round in an iced tea and he tap-tap-tapping away about who knew what.

  ‘I know today’s been difficult. I...I’ve been difficult.’

  He turned his power furnace down from scorch to soothe. She was getting used to recogni
sing how the lilting tones softened and settled when he was relaxed. Or in control. Because she’d witnessed first-hand what happened when all his little ducks didn’t line up just the way he wanted them.

  ‘Yes, you have.’ She wasn’t going to roll over like everyone else seemed to. He had been ill-mannered. Almost rude. She wouldn’t put up with that from a class of four-year-olds, and she wasn’t going to gloss over it for him—even for the short time she was going to be with him. Even for a two-million-pound pay cheque.

  He smiled his cutest smile, reached out his hand and squeezed hers. That smile must have got him out of so much trouble.

  ‘I’ll make it up to you. We’ll have ourselves a great party tonight.’

  ‘You mean a dinner party? Isn’t that going to look a bit odd? I mean, you’ve gone to great lengths to create a cover story. But who gets married and then goes out for dinner? Even if it is to one of the best restaurants in the world.’

  ‘The cover story is fine. We’re in love. We couldn’t wait to get our families here so the celebration dinner is with a small group of friends. Yours are out of town. It’s not going to last all night and we have to do something public. Plus, the Sheikh is going to throw us an Emirati reception when we get there tomorrow. We’ll release some pictures of that. I’ll get the business dealt with and then we’ll be heading off on honeymoon—except we’ll be able to shelve that by then, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ she repeated blandly.

  ‘We can fly to London, visit your sister, and then I’ll head over to Ireland. I doubt very much that the paps will still be following us at that point. And with Salim’s deal in the bag it’ll be fine to start our separation as soon as we’re out of the limelight. How does that sound?’

  ‘It sounds like you’ve got everything planned down to the last detail.’