but effective.
‘Well?’ she demanded.
‘It’s perfect.’ He nodded his approval. ‘You’ve chosen well.’
‘I couldn’t bring myself to buy a floor-length traditional dress. It would have made this whole farce an even bigger mockery.’
‘Quite,’ he said sardonically, not liking the cramp of guilt that seized his gut.
Had Elena wanted a traditional marriage?
It wasn’t something he’d cared to consider.
And now was not the moment to consider it. Whatever she’d hoped for was none of his concern.
Besides, if a large, cherub-filled church wedding rather than what was regarded as an intimate elopement was something she wanted, she could always do it with someone else once they were divorced.
Remembering the delivery that had come earlier, he strode to the table and removed the delicately tied white roses from the box.
‘What are they for?’ she asked with a puzzled frown, taking them from him and sniffing them.
‘They’re your bridal bouquet to hold as we exchange our vows.’ As he spoke, he pinned a single white rose to the lapel of the blazer of his navy pinstriped suit. ‘You didn’t think your loving fiancé would forget such an important detail, did you?’
She smiled with poison-laced sweetness. ‘As we’re not bothering with an engagement ring, guests or a reception, I’m surprised you bothered.’
‘But, my love, there will be photographers there to witness our joy when we leave the civic hall.’
‘Let’s hope they don’t learn we spent the night before our wedding together, and that you saw me before we exchanged our vows. It would be dreadful if they were to say our wedding is doomed by bad luck before it’s even started.’
‘Then we must put on a worthy display of our love so those doubts never rear up. Don’t you think?’
She tilted her head coquettishly and fluttered her eyelashes. ‘But of course, my mouldy little acorn. Our love will shine through.’
‘A mouldy little acorn?’ God, she amused him. He had no idea why but she did.
And he had no idea why he experienced a pang to wonder what it would be like between them if they had met under entirely different circumstances...
THE THREE OTHER couples in the waiting room were bouncing with excitement.
Elena tried not to study them too overtly but their body language fascinated her. And saddened her.
These couples were happy. They were marrying with the best of intentions—for love. She was marrying to stop Gabriele from destroying her family.
She’d made her daily call to her father and had been utterly relieved when it had gone to voicemail. She’d left a message saying she would call tomorrow then switched her phone off.
It hurt to think how upset he would be to learn she’d married the man subtly poisoning minds against him.
Gabriele’s enormous arm was around her, her head nestled carefully in its crook.
She could feel the thud of his heartbeat. She could smell that masculine fruity scent.
It felt far too good to allow herself—for the sake of their audience—to sink into his strength.
Michael and his wife, Lisa, were sitting beside them, the pair beaming, clearly delighted their boss was getting married.
Romantic was the word Lisa had used when they’d met them there.
An elopement to a register office was romantic?
Elena’s parents had married in an old Tuscan church surrounded by hundreds of loved ones. The pictures in their official album had shown her father beaming with pride and her mother, dressed in a traditional floor-length white dress, glowing with happiness. Their love had shone through.
She had never expected to marry but in the back of her mind had always been the wistful imaginings of a big traditional wedding surrounded by people who loved her, and with happiness in her heart.
Not this. Nothing like this.
An official appeared, ready to lead the next couple to the room in which they would legitimise their relationship.
It was their turn.
Ice filtered through her veins, freezing her bottom to her seat.
Gabriele helped her to her feet and pulled her to him.
‘Ready to become Mrs Mantegna?’ he murmured, rubbing his nose against hers, a warning in his eyes.
Aware of happy gazes upon them drinking in their devotion, she pressed her lips lightly to his.
‘I hate you so much,’ she breathed.
She could only assume it was a form of punishment that made him dart his tongue into her mouth and kiss her with such possessiveness that she had to cling to him to keep herself upright.
Her legs turned to jelly, her stomach to goo and she had to fight with everything she had not to take pleasure from it... Except she did. Every part of her body took pleasure from it.
Done; his eyes gleamed before he turned to the official and said, ‘Lead the way.’
* * *
Five minutes later they were husband and wife.
They left the building into a blaze of afternoon sunlight, the rays bouncing off the elegant gold band now firmly placed on Elena’s wedding finger. It had surprised her that Gabriele had chosen to wear one too.
The handful of photographers who pitched themselves outside the building in the hope of business from those marrying on the spur of the moment had tripled in numbers.
The paparazzi had arrived.
No guessing who had tipped them off.
Hands clasped, they posed but refused to make any comment.
A crowd of curious well-wishers began to surround them, snaps from phones being taken at all angles and directions.
Michael and Lisa, trailing behind, spoke only to say of their happiness for them, then left in a cab, en route to the airport, where they would be taking a two-week holiday courtesy of Gabriele.
When enough pictures had been taken, they fought their way through the crowd that had grown to epic proportions and got into the back of Gabriele’s waiting car.
Elena would bet anything the snaps of them had been beamed around the world before they’d
