describe the hell this stubborn woman put me through.”
He stood for a moment, studying Grace’s face. She braced herself, but his next words didn’t carry either the condemnation or the sting she expected.
“Everyone, me included, will tell you that my brother is the better man. But once he sets his mind to something, he can be as ruthless as I am and as hardheaded as our mother. Blake’s convinced us this marriage is what he wants. Is it what you want?”
Her fingers tightened on the stem of the roses. Their white velvet scent drifted upward as she turned to her groom. Blake stood tall and seemingly at ease, but his blue eyes were locked on hers.
“Yes,” she said after only a minuscule hesitation. “I’m sure.”
Was that satisfaction or relief or a brief flash of panic that rippled across his face? Grace was still trying to decide when the judge boomed out instructions.
“All right, folks. Y’all gather round so we can get these two hitched.”
Blake held out a hand. Grace laid her palm in his, hoping he couldn’t hear the violent thump of her heart against her ribs. As they faced the judge, she reminded herself she was doing this for Molly.
Mostly.
It was actually happening. It was for real. Grace had to fight the urge to pinch herself as Blake slid a band of channel-cut diamonds onto her ring finger. Dazed, she heard the judge’s prompt.
“With this ring…”
Her groom followed the cues in a deep, sure voice. “With this ring…”
“I thee wed.”
“I thee wed.”
The diamonds caught the light from the overhead lighting. Brilliant, multicolored sparks danced and dazzled. Grace couldn’t begin to guess how many carats banded her finger. Four? Five? And she couldn’t reciprocate with so much as a plain gold band.
“By the authority vested in me by the state of Texas,” Judge Honeywell intoned, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
He waited a beat before issuing another prompt. “Go ahead, Dalton. Kiss your bride.”
For the second time that afternoon, Blake slipped an arm around her waist. Grace’s pulse skittered. A shiver raced down her spine. Apprehension? Anticipation?
She knew which even before he bent toward her. Her whole body quivered in expectation. He was gentle this time, though. Too gentle! She ached to lean into him, but the deal they’d struck kept her rigid. Their marriage was first and foremost a business arrangement, a legal partnership with Molly as the focus. Grace might eventually accept Blake’s oh-so-casual offer of sex, but she’d damned well better keep a close watch on her heart.
With that resolve firm in her mind, she accepted the hearty congratulations of Judge Honeywell, another fierce hug from Julie and a kiss on the cheek from her new brother-in-law. At that point Alex produced an envelope from his inside suit coat pocket.
“Mother wanted to be here, but Molly’s cutting a tooth and was too fussy to fly. She sent this instead.”
Grace took the envelope with some trepidation. Inside was a folded sheet of notepaper embossed with Delilah’s raised monogram. Before unfolding the note, she looked a question at Blake. His small shrug told her this was as much a surprise to him as it was to her. Nervously, Grace skimmed the almost indecipherable scrawl.
I can’t say I’m happy with the way you decided to do this. We’ll discuss it when you get back from France. DI’s corporate jet will fly you to Marseille. Contact Madame LeBlanc when you arrive. Blake has her number. Julie, Alex and I will take care of Molly.
For a wild moment Grace thought she was being hustled out of the country so Delilah could hammer some sense into Blake. Then the last line sank in. Julie, Alex and Delilah would care for Molly. She and her groom, apparently, were jetting off to France.
Wordlessly, she handed the note to Blake. After a quick read, he speared a glance at this twin. “Were you in on this?”
“I figured something was up when Mother had me ferry the Gulfstream V down to San Antonio. Where’s she proposing it take you?”
“The south of France.”
That produced a quick grin. “You get no sympathy from me, Bubba. She sent Julie and me to Tuscany on our wedding night. Good thing we’re both pilots and know how to beat jet lag.” He winked at his wife before addressing Grace. “Hope you have a passport.”
“I do, but…”
But what? She’d decided in a scant few moments to turn her whole world upside down by accepting Blake’s proposition. What possible objection could she have to capping an unreal marriage with a fake honeymoon?
“But Blake probably didn’t bring his,” she finished helplessly.
“He didn’t,” Julie interjected, fishing in her purse. “I did, however. Delilah had me race over and pick it up from your executive assistant,” she explained as she slapped the passport into her brother-in-law’s palm. “I forgot I had it until this moment.”
He fingered the gold lettering for several moments, then shrugged. “Good thing you’re packed,” he said to Grace. “I can pick up whatever extras I need when we get to France.”
* * *
They said their goodbyes at the airport. Then Alex and Julie boarded the smaller Dalton International jet that had flown Blake to San Antonio and the newlyweds crossed the tarmac to the larger, twin-engine Gulfstream V.
The captain met them at planeside and tendered his sincere best wishes. “Congratulations, Mrs. Dalton.”
“I…uh… Thank you.”
Blake stepped in to cover his wife’s surprise at hearing herself addressed by her new title. “I understand you just got back from Tuscany, Joe. Sorry you had to make such a quick turnaround.”
“Not a problem. Alex and Julie were at the controls for most of the flight back, so the crew is rested and ready to go. We’ll top off our gas in New York and have you basking in the sun a mere seven hours after that.”
Blake made the swift mental calculation. Three hours to New York. Seven hours to cross the Atlantic. Another hour or more to contact Madame LeBlanc and travel to the villa DI maintained in Provence. Eight hours’ time difference.
He was used to transatlantic flights, but he suspected Grace would be dead by the time they arrived at their final destination. Just as well. She could use the next few days to rest and get used to the idea of marriage.
So could he, for that matter. He’d lined up all his arguments, pro and con, before he’d flown down to San Antonio. Then Grace had opened the door in those cutoffs and he’d damned near forgotten every one. Only now could he admit that the hunger she stirred had him twisted in as many knots as her refusal to trust him with the truth. Helluva foundation
