She nodded and shifted beside him to the middle of the altar.
The minister she’d hired immediately recognized the change when he saw Sheena’s face, full on, which had been shielded from the side by the swaths of veil. Matteo held her hand and nodded at him. “We’re ready, though the bride’s name is now Sheena Marceau.”
The minister waited for Sheena’s approval but cautioned, “We’ll need to change the legal documents.”
“Afterward.” She smiled as if this sort of thing might happen all the time and it was best to just go with it. “We have guests. Paperwork can be fixed.”
The minister cleared his throat after she gave him a nod and opened his book. “Then let’s begin.”
Matteo’s mind buzzed, and he wasn’t sure what had just happened. Maybe he’d drunk too much last night at his bachelor’s party and this was a dream? Sheena had been the one to tuck him in bed, sweetly reminding him that he wanted to be at his best for his own wedding.
To think he’d almost married Patrice, because she was pretty and related to a wealthy family.
Sheena was his best choice and his stomach knotted as he realized just how horrible of an option he was for her. The minister asked, “Do you take this man to be your husband, through sickness and health, till death do you part?”
She squeezed his hand like they were best friends and said, “I will.”
Matteo stood taller. Those two words showed her faith in him. Because she’d done this for him, he’d do anything to make her happy as well. He swore it to himself just as the minister asked him, “And do you take Sheena Marceau as your wife, through sickness and health, till death do you part?”
“I will.” The spoken oath backed up his inner promise.
Sheena Marceau had everything in her to be the perfect lady even though she hadn’t been born into the peerage.
Once they married, she’d become one for real and no one would ever doubt her again. He recalled their school years when she’d been left on the sidelines, having money but no title.
He’d ensure everyone they’d ever met apologized to her if they’d treated her wrong in the past, including himself—right after this.
The minister said, “You may now kiss the bride.”
Kiss? Sheena? The thought hit him like a sucker-punch. His gaze dropped to her pretty pink lips and he wondered what she tasted like. She tilted her face upward, her eyes half-closed. “We’ll be fast.”
Their mouths met and any reservations left his body faster than a bullet. He hadn’t expected to want her. Their wedding night would be fun. She held his waist like she needed momentary support. “Wow.”
Agreed. He let out a small sigh as his lips tingled to kiss her again. “Hold my hand, Sheena.”
She walked down the aisle with him and into the hall that the staff had transformed into a banquet area for their cocktail party.
The wedding she’d planned for him.
Her father stood with a confused expression near the buffet table.
Any second now guests would join them and there would be questions they’d need to answer. She squeezed his hand. “My papa. Let’s go see my papa.”
Matteo owed Nicoli Marceau, her father, a lot and it wasn’t a check for catering.
He needed to ask for her hand—which was backward, since the vows were done.
He squared his shoulders and walked with her toward her father in his white chef’s hat and tall, thin frame like he never ate his own food. Nicoli looked past him. “Sheena, did you get married without talking to me?”
Sheena cringed.
Matteo wrapped his arm around her waist and offered to shake her father’s hand. “Sir, Sheena will never want for anything, I assure you. I hope you can forgive us for the haste and grant us your blessing.”
Nicoli stared at Matteo like he’d spoken a foreign language. “Sheena, do you think you’ll be happy like this?”
Sheena gripped Matteo’s hand and nodded. “Papa, I’m happy. I know this was fast and unexpected, but please, tell Matteo you give us your blessing. You sent me to school with nobles and I’ve known Matteo all my childhood. You wanted me to be a lady.”
“Oui.” He bowed to the pair of them as he said, “Then I’m happy for you both. I need to go direct my kitchen. If you need me, I’m here.”
His own father would never have bowed out so easily, but then again his father hadn’t cared for anyone other than himself. And from the simple glances between Sheena and Nicoli, the Marceaus were different. Maybe one day Sheena might tell him what having loving parents was like, if he asked nicely. His own father had been stupid, about many things, including his feud with Stephano’s father.
Guests filed out of the room and headed toward the bar, the appetizers, and them. He wasn’t prepared. He swept her into the bridal suite. Matteo needed to know if today had been just to help him in the moment, or if she was serious about being his bride.
If this fell through, he had just weeks left to marry and secure his inheritance. He closed the door to ensure they had privacy. Unlike the hall, the suite had a view of the white boulevard and touches of Sheena’s flowers were everywhere, like she’d spent hours picking every petal for today. He glanced at her and again his body relaxed, like he was near the one person who brought him peace. “Sheena, we only have a minute before we have to go out there.”
She unpinned the veil like it burned through her scalp. “What’s wrong, Matteo?”
Once she took the veil off, she combed her blonde hair and massaged her scalp like she’d been in pain. Had the veil been too tight? He stood behind her. “Do you have a boyfriend? I hope that you’re willing to make this legal as soon as we can.”
She put the hairbrush down on the vanity and turned around. “I can do that, Matteo. I don’t have anyone else.”
“Then I’m a lucky man.” He sat on a cushioned armchair as she dismantled a flower arrangement and then pinned white blossoms around her head. He said, “Marrying you was a shock to the system.”
She nodded as she twined flowers together with bits of ribbon. “I get it.”
Sheena’s golden blonde hair was a mix of braids and curls and she artistically tucked tiny flowers in. He’d forgotten how pretty she was. He sat forward and said, “A good shock, on my part, I must say.”
“You must?” She stopped making her flowered crown.
He stood and handed her the next flower. “Yes, since I had to marry, it should have always been with someone I trust.”
She gestured for another flower and he handed it to her—he imagined she was weaving their future together with slender, capable fingers. “Well, I never expected to marry you. I want to continue running my art auctions and help struggling artists succeed.”
His estate could house a museum. If Sheena might somehow transform the three hundred and sixty-five room mansion, with seventy-five bedrooms, and five miles of corridors, into something other than an ode to his father’s sins, he’d giftwrap the keys for Sheena to fill the place with any art she wanted. “Sounds like a worthy cause for the new countess.”
She shrugged, finished her floral crown and used the mirror to attach it to the flower base she’d already pinned in her hair. “It’s not noble or anything. I make money.”
Money was good. They’d work out the details later, but marriage secured both their futures. She wrapped parts of the veil in her flowers with small pins, keeping her face visible, and then twirled.
“Sheena, you’re one of the smartest people I know. It’s why we’re friends.”
She offered her hand to shake though she’d transformed herself into a beautiful bride that would make any man proud. His lips tingled, reminding him he’d kissed her once and he’d do it again. “Right. Friends. Let’s get into the party.”
Tonight, after the paperwork, they’d discuss securing an heir and how pleasurable that process might be. He walked with her toward the door. “My lawyers will draw up the papers to make this all legal fast.”
She nodded, picked up the bouquet she’d married him with and said, “I’m ready to sign whenever they come.”
“We’ll talk about that, after the party.” He covertly eyed his new bride’s small frame.
How had he missed that Sheena had a figure until now? And now that he’d noticed, he wanted to see every inch of her.
They joined the others having cocktails and Chelsea stormed toward them first--she hugged Sheena as she asked, “Matteo, Sheena, is everything okay?”
Matteo nodded. Chelsea was Sheena’s friend. The two of them had been tight in school and they’d worked together for this month to plan his wedding. He stayed beside his wife and said, “Sheena just agreed to save me.”
The two women exchanged looks and Sheena then turned toward him and said, “I need to go talk to Chelsea. I’ll be right back, Matteo.”
She hadn’t given him a choice. He nodded as the ladies, head to head, rushed off.
His two best friends, Stefano Durnovo, the Marchese of Normanni, and Astorre Manfredi, Duc of Modena, walked over and patted him on the back. Astorre asked, “Sheena?”
Across the decorative hall, Stephano’s new bride, the American Rossie something, and her best friend, Clara, stood. Astorre and Clara had been tight, so all three might save their estates, money and title with fast marriages. He nodded and said, “She’s a good choice.”
Stefano pointed toward Sheena, huddled with Cassidy and Chelsea. “Did Chelsea’s sister give you her name?”
Cassidy, Chelsea’s sister, was notorious as a computer expert/matchmaker. But not for Matteo. “No. I never asked who the computer would pick for me. I had already settled to marry Patrice.”
Stefano shrugged. “She’s talking to Cassidy and Chelsea now so I wondered.”
“That doesn’t matter now,” Astorre said. “Besides, she’s… she’s not bad looking. She’s grown quite beautiful actually, but I didn’t know she was on the agenda.”
His stomach knotted. His friends shouldn’t notice how beautiful his new bride was until she was actually his. Matteo’s heart steadied as he stared at Sheena. Blonde, blue-eyed, petite, yet with curves. She was his now and he’d show her his every attention, soon. Matteo’s face was hot as he said, “She’s… she should have been. We were all foolish.”
Astorre broke from their group as he stepped away. “I’m not marrying anyone. The fortune can rot.”
Within weeks his friend would lose everything. He’d be more upset than he realized if he lost his title, money and estate. None of them had ever lived poor and Matteo never intended to find out what that was like. “Astorre, you’re being foolish. Marry and marry fast.”
Stefano bowed like he intended to end the conversation and return to his wife. “There are no more girls like Sheena in our lives, though I do have to say she’s better than Patrice for you.”
Every muscle in his body tightened. Stefano was always about titles and rank, which Patrice had and Sheena didn’t. “How?”
Stefano said, “Sheena never struck me as a fortune hunter. She was on my possible last-straw list before I met Rossie. As for Patrice… let’s just say you’re lucky to escape that noose.”
She’d been on his list? Stefano always had a plan, and a backup plan, and a backup of the backup, but how had he missed Sheena being on his list?
Luckily Stefano had married the American.
Before Matteo could part his lips to ask, Astorre murmured, “Chelsea is coming over with the bride.”
Stefano bowed in greeting. “Sheena, Chelsea.”
Chelsea ignored him and Astorre, and speared Matteo with her direct gaze. Without blinking she said, “Look, Matteo. No more wild parties. Respect my friend. She’s not your servant but your wife.”
Sheena’s face turned bright red.
He reached for Sheena’s hand, kissed it, and as she walked beside him he told Chelsea, “Sheena is now the Countess of Golchin, or will be once we get her back to Avce. She will always be treated as a lady.”
Chelsea lifted her chin and said, “Without her husband throwing any more wild parties.”
“I will honor my wife.” He squeezed Sheena’s side.
They needed to talk about their life together, alone. His friends and Chelsea all then said goodbye. Sheena spoke quietly, “Sorry about Chelsea, she’s over-protective.”
He kissed Sheena’s cheek. She was beautiful and had said yes publicly. He would not dishonor his family name. He’d never be anything like his father.
Chapter 3
Sheena’s heart beat rapidly in her chest. She pretended to smile as they made their way to his hotel room “to talk” but her nerves were shot.
Soon, he’d ask why she’d said yes to his proposal. Why had she done this?
And she wasn’t sure she had an answer.
They walked down the hall, side by side, where the floral and modern art denoted the change of floors. She hadn’t decorated here.
Matteo was tall, regal, square-shouldered, with dark hair and espresso eyes.
He slid the electric room card in the slot of the cream-colored door. She needed to get her pulse back to normal so she started a conversation. “The wedding was beautiful.” Just as they’d planned.
He motioned for her to come inside. As she entered the two-story suite with a circular stairwell that went toward a loft bedroom, she unpinned the flowers from her head. Her scalp stung but they’d been worth it.
He followed behind her but then headed toward the bar while he said, “The lawyers will be here in a few minutes. I need this to be official.”
She glanced around the room and discovered her small American Old West satchel with the brown leather handle an artist friend had sewed for her. Luckily she’d left her every day clothes in a bag in Chelsea’s room. “Looks like Chelsea already sent over my stuff. Can I go and change into my jeans before we talk?”
He found two glasses. “Of course. I’ll meet you on the balcony.”
Right. Alcohol probably wasn’t a good idea for her right now, with her racing adrenaline and empty stomach. Sheena stood in the doorway of the bathroom and called out, “I hope there’s food hidden somewhere in this suite. I didn’t realize brides don’t actually get to eat their sit-down dinners and I’m starving.”
He nodded and saluted. “Easily remedied.”
“Perfect.” She quickly closed the door and leaned against it.
If she was going to talk seriously with Matteo, she needed to feel like herself. She removed the white gown she’d chosen for the event and hung it up.
Sheena finger-combed her hair into a mass of waves around her shoulders, picking out the occasional petal. She slipped on her black jeans and beaded lime-green paisley-patterned shirt she’d worn to inspect the hall before the guests had arrived.
She pulled her hair into her usual ponytail that she wore in her studio and wiped her makeup off. Once her skin showed through and some of the airbrushing was off, along with those fake eyelashes, she relaxed.
Now she was done with design and needed to just be herself.
Minutes ticked by and she knew she was stalling. Now that she was married to the one guy she’d had a crush on as a girl, she honestly had no idea what happened next. These minutes were like a reprieve, but that was ending. She’d do it all over again to save him. Now she squared her shoulders and headed out, pausing at the door.
Matteo peered over the railing of the balcony.
He was a foot taller than her, at least, and his frame was muscular, strong, and lean.
His amazing body easily attracted women in and out of bed.
Not that she had ever been offered or anything. Her face heated but she went outside onto the cool balcony. “Are you ready to talk?”
“Not yet. I ordered room service.” He gestured to the table and kissed both of her cheeks. He’d done this countless times before, but now she had goosebumps.
Was she really his wife? The question burned in her mind. When he let her go, her gaze went to
the meal before her. She saw her favorites. For the starter, there was Terrine du Chef, petite compotée d'oignons, terrine with onion chutney.
Her father must have done this—she sniffed, and her nose confirmed the Jarret de Boeuf à façon du pays, haricots verts pommes vapeur, Shank of beef, French beans and steamed potatoes, and for dessert, hidden under the silver cloche, there would be Crème Brulée à la confiture.
Matteo hadn’t known, how could he have? ”These are my favorites.” She took a seat at the small metal table for two covered with a white table cloth, with a view overlooking the Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile. She picked up her fork. “This looks delicious.”
“Let’s wait on talking—your father is a master chef.” He also ate his starter.
It was a companionable silence, she thought, as they dug into the main dish.
The food gave her much needed energy and once her stomach was full, she sipped her wine, and relaxed in her seat. “Shall we have dessert?” he asked, pushing his empty plate to the center.
She nodded and removed the silver cloche. “Okay. Matteo, I’m ready to listen, and I will probably agree with what you have to say.”
He sipped his wine and looked out at the evening sky as he said, “Probably scares me.”
Ominous wasn’t good. And while as adults or even children, they hadn’t been the best of friends, he’d never once been scary. She switched his creme brûlée for his entrée dish. “Then talk, and let’s sort it out.”
Instead of saying anything, he edged his fork into the creamy dessert with appreciation. She finished hers too—her dad really was so talented.
Matteo put his fork down. “As my wife there are obligations.”
She pulled her legs up to her chest and let the cool air of the night relax her, along with the wine. She recited what she’d learned by heart. “The parties. The ceremonies. The dinners. If you remember, we went to school together—I know what is expected.”
He stared at her over his wine glass as he said, “You haven’t had to live out these responsibilities, before now.”
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