Clare Connelly - Her Wedding Night Surrender

Her eyes were thunderous too. Thunderously pissed off. He could practically hear the storm brewing.

Good. Let Little Miss Refined work on that.

‘I swear to God, kiss me again and I’ll wait until you’re asleep and do some serious damage to you,’ she said angrily, but her smile was plastered on again seconds later as Col came up behind them.

‘I know I wanted this for you both, but seeing you together...’ He shook his head wistfully, tears in his eyes. ‘I could die a happy man right now.’

Emmeline laughed, not noticing the way her husband had stiffened at her side. ‘God, Daddy, don’t say that. You’ll tempt the heavens.’

‘Che sera, sera,’ Col said with a shrug.

Emmeline dismissed that attitude. Her father was clearly thrilled that the wedding had taken place, and she wasn’t going to take that away from him. Now there were several family photographs to pose for.

Emmeline had met Pietro’s mother Ria a few times over the years, and it was easy enough to make conversation with her. His brother Rafe was similarly easy. At least five years younger, Emmeline wondered why he hadn’t been suggested as a possible groom by her father. He boasted the same pedigree and was equally handsome. Less established in his career, it was true, but with their family fortune what did that matter?

‘So, you’re now my sister-in-law, eh?’

She returned Rafe’s smile, and felt herself relaxing as they posed in the sunshine for the requisite shots.

Nonetheless, it was a relief when the photographer declared she had enough ‘for now’ and they were free to return to their guests. For Emmeline, that meant Sophie and a hint of normality.

‘Ah, the woman of the hour.’ Sophie grinned, passing her half-finished champagne flute to Emmeline.

‘Don’t remind me.’ She took a sip, and then another, closing her eyes as the cold bubbles washed down her throat.

‘So, Maria was just running through the details with me.’

‘Ugh—there’s still more, isn’t there?’

Sophie laughed softly. ‘The reception. But don’t worry—that’s just a cocktail party at a gorgeous restaurant overlooking the river.’

‘Okay, I can cope with that.’

‘Then you and Pietro will take your leave—insert catcalling and whistling—and the rest of us young, hip and happening people will have an open bar at some club that’s just opened. Apparently your husband had something to do with the financing of it.’ Sophie shrugged. ‘Sounds kind of fun.’

Emmeline pulled a face. ‘Not to me. I can’t think of anything worse.’

‘Yes, well... I’m sure you’ll have your hands full anyway...’

Emmeline sent her friend a scathing look. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘Hmm, I saw the way you guys kissed. I know passion when I see it.’

Emmeline practically choked on her champagne. She coughed to cover it, lifting a hand to her mouth.

‘Trust me—that’s not what this is.’

‘Then you need to get to a hospital, because if you can be in the same room as that guy and not need CPR then you are some kind of cold fish.’

‘Or just a very sensible woman,’ she said quietly.

* * *

The formalities seemed to last forever. Speeches. The cutting of the cake. Their first dance as a couple...

Emmeline stood in Pietro’s arms, trying her hardest to pretend not to be affected by her husband’s touch when a single look had the power to turn her blood to lava.

‘So...’ he drawled, the single word imbued with more cynicism than she’d known was possible. ‘You are my wife.’

The sentence brought a smile to her face, but it wasn’t a smile of pleasure.

‘Don’t sound so thrilled about it.’

He slowed the movement of their bodies, his eyes scanning the crowd. ‘I can name three people who are beside themselves,’ he said coldly.

She followed the direction of his gaze. Her father and his mother stood to one side, each of them beaming with obvious pleasure.

‘Yeah, I guess this is a dream come true for Daddy,’ she said with a small shake of her head.

There was a look of frustration in her eyes that Pietro thought about probing. But the last thing he wanted was to get to know his inconvenient bride any better.

‘And for my mother,’ he said simply. ‘I’m sure she’s imagining a lifetime of calm now that I’ve apparently hung up my bachelor shoes.’

‘Apparently.’ She repeated the word, rolling it around in her mouth, wondering about the practicalities of what they’d agreed to. The idea that he’d be free to see other women so long as he was discreet.

It didn’t bother her. At least that was what Emmeline told herself. And yet a pervasive sense of confusion filled her.

They would be living under the same roof, seeing each other in the hallways, the kitchen, the lounge, the pool. Despite her protestation that they’d be like flatmates, was it possible that she would be able to ignore her husband at such close quarters?

From the first moment she’d seen him she’d found him worryingly distracting, and the years hadn’t stilled that awareness.

And now they were married...

‘You are as stiff as a board,’ he complained. ‘Did you never learn to dance?’

Her cheeks flushed pink and the look she cast him was laced with hurt. ‘I was lost in thought,’ she mumbled, making an effort to pay attention to her husband.

‘Dancing does not require your mind. It is something you feel in your body. It is a seduction.’

He rolled his hips and colour darkened her cheekbones. His body was every bit as fascinating as she’d imagined. All hard edges and planes, strong and dominating, tempting and forbidden in equal measure.

It would be playing with fire ever to touch him in earnest. This was different—a dance at their wedding was unavoidable. But Emmeline had to keep her distance or she’d risk treading a very dangerous path.

‘Relax,’ he murmured, dropping his head towards hers. ‘Or I will kiss whatever it is you are thinking out of your mind.’

She started, losing her footing altogether. She might have fallen if he hadn’t wrapped his arms more tightly around her waist, bringing her dangerously close to his body.

‘Don’t you dare,’ she snapped.

His laugh was like gasoline to a naked flame.

‘Then smile. Relax. At least pretend you are enjoying yourself.’ He dropped his mouth to her ear and whispered, ‘Everyone is watching us, you know.’

She swallowed, her eyes scanning the room over his shoulder. The room was indeed full of wedding guests dressed in beautiful clothes, all smiling and nodding as he spun her around the dance floor.

Emmeline’s heart sank.

Pretending to be married to Pietro Morelli was going to require a hell of a lot more patience and performance than she’d envisaged.

* * *

It was late in the night and Emmeline stifled another yawn. Sophie had found a group of friends—as always—and was charming them with her wit and hilarity. Emmeline listened, laughing occasionally, though she knew all the stories so well they might as well have been her own. Still, sitting with Sophie and pretending to laugh at her hijinks was better than watching her husband.

Her eyes lifted in his direction unconsciously.

He was still talking to her. The redhead.

Emmeline’s frown was instinctive—a response to the visual stimulus of seeing a stunning woman so close to the man she, Emmeline, had married only hours earlier.

The woman had auburn hair that tumbled down her back in wild disarray, and she was short and curvaceous, but not plump. Just the perfect kind of curvy—all enormous rounded boobs and butt, tiny waist and lean legs. Her skin was honey-coloured and her lips were painted bright red. Her nails, too. She wore a cream dress—wasn’t it considered bad manners to wear white to someone else’s wedding?—and gold shoes.