Michelle Conder - Billionaire's Wife On Paper / Their Royal Wedding Bargain

Losing his father after a devastatingly brief battle with cancer had compelled him to settle down as soon as he could. With hindsight, he could see now how many signs he’d missed about the suitability of Susannah, even his own readiness for such a permanent commitment. He’d had no way of knowing how that night of celebrating his engagement would end less than a year later in Susannah’s death. How could he have been so ignorant of the demons she’d battled on a daily basis?

What did that say about him ?

It said he wasn’t relationship material, that’s what it said. Or at least, not that sort of relationship. Promising to love someone no matter what, making a long-term commitment were things he could no longer do. Would never do.

But a paper marriage to save his beloved home was something he could do and do it willingly.

Logan selected a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge in the cellar next to the racks of vintage wine. His upcoming marriage to Layla might not be a real one in every sense of the word but it was surely worth celebrating their joint commitment to save Bellbrae.

Layla wheeled the serving trolley into the green dining room rather than risk carrying plates and dishes. Because of the muscle grafts performed to keep her leg functioning as best as it could, it was often weaker and more painful at the end of the day. And the last thing she wanted to do was make a fool of herself by losing her balance again and needing Logan’s assistance. She was already feeling a little nervous about having dinner with him.

In the early days, Aunt Elsie had been very old-school about dining with the family upstairs and had always insisted Layla eat in the kitchen with her. But since the death of Logan’s grandmother the rules had been relaxed as Angus McLaughlin had appreciated the company at dinner to get him through the long lonely evenings.

But she had never dined alone with Logan.

The green dining room was one Layla’s favourite rooms in the castle. It had windows that overlooked the loch on the estate and the Highlands beyond. She left the curtains open as the moon had risen and was shining a bolt of shimmering silver across the crushed silk surface of the water.

Logan came back from the cellar just as Layla was straightening the settings on the table. He was carrying a bottle of French champagne in one hand and holding two crystal glasses by the stems in the other.

‘I seem to recall you like champagne. But if you’d prefer wine…’

‘No, I love champagne. It’s my favourite drink.’ She raised her brows when she saw the label. ‘Gosh, that’s a good one. But should we be wasting it on an everyday dinner?’

He placed the glasses on the table and began to remove the foil covering and wire from the cork. ‘This isn’t an everyday dinner. Tonight, we’re celebrating our success in saving Bellbrae. That’s worth ten thousand bottles of this drop.’

Layla watched as he deftly removed the cork and poured the champagne into the two crystal glasses. He handed her a glass and raised his own glass in a toast. ‘To saving Bellbrae.’

She sipped the champagne, savouring the honey and lavender notes as they burst on her tongue. ‘Mmm…lovely.’

Logan put his glass down and reached for something inside his trouser pocket. ‘I have something for you.’ He took out a vintage emerald-green velvet ring box and handed it to her.

Layla knew exactly what was inside the box. She’d helped Aunt Elsie pack away Logan’s grandmother’s things when Margaret McLaughlin had died from complications after routine surgery. The collection of beautiful heirloom jewellery had fascinated Layla so much she had secretly looked at it on many occasions when no one had been around. She knew the code to the safe where it was kept, and had even tried various pieces on, looking at herself in the mirror, pretending she was a princess about to be married to the handsome prince of her dreams.

Layla put her champagne glass down and prised open the lid of the box and stared at the gorgeous Art Deco setting with its array of glittering diamonds. ‘Oh, my… I’d forgotten how beautiful your grandmother’s ring is.’ She met his gaze. ‘But surely you don’t want me to wear it? I mean, given the circumstances of our…um…marriage?’

His expression was largely unreadable…all except for the way his eyes dipped to her mouth before going back to mesh with hers. ‘My grandmother would want you to have it. She was fond of you. Try it on. See if it fits. We can have it resized if not.’

Layla already knew how well it fitted but didn’t want to reveal her guilty secret. She took the ring out of the box, a part of her disappointed he wasn’t the one slipping it over her finger for her, just as a man deeply in love with his fiancée would do. But nothing about their engagement was normal, so how silly of her to wish for things she couldn’t have.

But as if Logan had suddenly read her mind, he held out his palm for the ring. ‘Here—let me do that. I believe it’s my job.’ There was a strange quality to his voice, a low deep chord of some unidentifiable emotion.

Layla placed the ring in the middle of his palm and held her breath as he took her hand in his. Her fingers were so white against the tan of his, her skin alive with sensations—tingly, fizzing sensations—that sent tiny zaps of electricity to the far reaches of her body.

He slid the ring over the knuckles of her ring finger and smiled when it met no resistance. ‘It’s like it was made for you.’

She was so captivated by his smile she forgot to look down at the ring on her finger. It had been years since she had seen him give a genuine smile. Not one of those half-baked twists of his mouth but a real smile that involved his eyes, making them crinkle attractively at the corners. He looked younger, less stressed, more approachable. The grief-damaged landscape of his face restored to one of hope instead of quiet despair. He was still holding her hand, his fingers warm and gentle as if he was holding a kitten.

The atmosphere changed as if there was a sudden rent in time. A stillness. A silence waiting with bated breath for something to happen…

Layla couldn’t tear her gaze away from his mouth, couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to feel his lips against her own. She moistened her own lips with a darting movement of her tongue, her heart giving an extra beat like a musician misreading a musical score. ‘I—I don’t know what to say…’

‘Don’t say anything.’ The pitch of his voice went down another notch and he slid his other hand under the curtain of her hair, his eyes locked on hers.

Every nerve tingled at his touch, every cell in her body throbbing with awareness. His eyes were the deepest blue she had ever seen them—bluer than the Bellbrae loch at midnight, bluer than a midnight winter sky. He was still holding her left hand, the heat from his hand seeping into her body with the potency of a powerful narcotic. She was aware of every part of his hand where it touched hers—the pads of his fingertips, the latent strength of his fingers, the protective warmth of his palm.

Layla forgot to breathe. She was transfixed by the slow descent of his mouth towards hers, spellbound by the clean fresh scent of his warm breath, mesmerised by the magnetic force drawing her inexorably closer, closer, closer to his lips. It was as if she had been waiting her entire life for this to happen. She hadn’t been truly alive until now. She had been a formless ghost wandering through life until this moment when she had morphed into a live and vibrant female body with urgent needs and desires. Her heart sped up, her pulse leapt, her anticipation for the touchdown of his lips so acute it was almost unbearable.