As for her dress…
She’d wanted to buy something understated, practical, a dress she could wear again, for why spend money on a real dress when this marriage would be far from real?
That was before she laid eyes on the strapless, sweetheart gown in ruched ivory silk chiffon and her neglected romantic soul demanded she buy it.
And she had, for when she touched the dress she imagined magic.
A magical marriage filled with light and laughter and love.
A magical mirage of a handsome groom with stars in his eyes and a bride who believed in the happily ever after she’d always dreamed about.
A magical mystery, that despite their motivations for this marriage they were embarking on something truly wonderful today.
Taking one last look in the mirror, satisfied she hadn’t streaked her make-up in a fit of misplaced sentimentality, she shook her head.
Magic wasn’t real and she was foolish to dream of anything other than what this marriage was: a business arrangement.
She slipped off her robe and padded across the room to the wardrobe, her fingers trembling as she slid the zip open on the dress’s carrier bag.
Every metallic slide, every crinkle of the thick plastic, every rustle of silk chiffon brought her closer to her wedding and her tummy twisted as she reverently lifted the dress out.
Emotion clogged her throat and she swallowed several times as the soft flowing skirt cascaded to the floor in a silken ripple.
The dress was a dream, and her breath whooshed out as she steeled her nerve and slowly, carefully stepped into it, wishing she could channel some of that magic.
Closing her eyes, she tugged at the bodice, smoothed the skirt, ignoring the sick churning of nerves gone awry as the reality of marrying Nick hit home, and hard.
Almost faint from anxiety, she took a deep breath, another, before opening her eyes…and gasping.
She looked like a bride.
But it wasn’t the divine dress or the fancy hairdo or the immaculate make-up that made all of this real.
It was the starry-eyed expression in her frightened gaze that said it all.
In spite of every sensible thing she kept trying to tell herself, she looked like a bride on the brink of marrying the man of her dreams.
Brittany’s breath caught as she stepped out of the portico and got her first glimpse of her husband-to-be.
Nick stood under a beautiful poinciana lush with vivid crimson blossoms, his black tux framed against the vibrant colour. With the sun setting behind him, casting a golden glow over everything, and the fairy lights strung around the trees in the garden just twinkling to life, the entire scene was surreal.
It shouldn’t be this romantic, this enticing, this special. This wedding was all business.
Tell that to my heart, she thought as she took a tentative step, her stiletto sandals skidding as they hit the sandstone pavers.
She couldn’t see Nick’s expression from this distance but as she walked towards him the shadows cast from the blossoms cleared and what she saw took her breath away all over again.
Honest to goodness, undiluted happiness.
Why would he look like that?
He was the one who’d proposed this ridiculous arrangement in the first place, had made it more than clear what they’d both get out of it.
So why the ecstatic, proud expression of a man who’d just glimpsed his real bride for the first time?
Her heart hammered in time with her steps, beating a rapid rhythm as she all but tripped towards him, eager to get this over and done with.
While the setting might be picture perfect and her groom beyond handsome, this wasn’t how she’d envisioned her wedding ceremony.
Sure, the groom might be the same guy she’d imagined, but that was a lifetime ago. So much had happened, so much had changed, and she was a fool if she thought for one second that anything about this marriage resembled her dreams of years gone by.
The closer she got, the louder her heart roared until she could barely hear by the time she pulled up next to him, a nervous, trembling mess.
‘You’re a beautiful bride,’ Nick murmured in her ear, so close his warm breath raised a trail of tiny goose bumps along her neck and she knew while this marriage might be all business on paper, she wondered how on earth she’d manage to keep it platonic in the bedroom.
‘Thanks.’
She cast a nervous glance at the civilian minister in a crass white suit, and a pair of bored witnesses in hotel uniforms. Her eyes squeezed shut as she dragged air into her lungs.
How had it come to this?
A quickie wedding, empty and meaningless, to a man she’d once loved with all her heart yet who hadn’t loved her enough in return, when all she’d wanted to do when she’d come home was gather enough information to secure a promotion.
‘Hey, it’s going to be okay.’
Nick squeezed her hand and she opened her eyes, captured by the kindness in his, kindness underlined by happiness she’d glimpsed earlier.
‘Trust me.’
Trust him?
She’d trusted him with her heart.
She’d trusted him with her virginity.
And he’d sent her away anyway.
So excuse her if she was a little light in the trust stakes these days.
Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile. ‘Let’s get this done.’
Shadows gathered in his eyes, obliterating his joy, and she mentally kicked herself for sounding so abrupt.
He wasn’t forcing her into this. She was a big girl, she’d made her own decision, and now the moment of truth had arrived she had to suck it up.
Nick gestured to the minister to start and the next fifteen minutes flew by in a blur of meaningless vows, empty promises and pretend smiles.
Her heart ached so much she almost cried, twice, but one look into Nick’s determined dark eyes gave her the strength to get through it.
Until the kiss.
‘You may now kiss the bride.’
The minister beamed as if he’d just bestowed the greatest gift on them, but all Brittany could think was how she’d hold it together when Nick’s lips touched hers.
Her eyelids slammed shut against the threatening tears, against the determination on his face as his head descended, slowly, agonisingly slowly, when all she wanted was for this to be done with.
She wanted a quick, seal-the-deal kiss.
What she got was something else entirely as his lips brushed hers, so soft, so gentle, so tantalising, drawing her towards him like an invisible gossamer thread being gently tugged.
She couldn’t break the hold, break the spell, as he bundled her in his arms and kissed her, really kissed her, with every ounce of pent-up emotion bubbling between them.
The tears started falling then, swift, coursing, raining down her cheeks and splattering his lapels as he dabbed them away with his thumbs, his smile too warm, too tender, too understanding.
‘Damn you, Mancini,’ she muttered, her gaze firmly fixed on the second button of his dress shirt as she blinked rapidly.
‘I feel this too, Red.’
He tilted her chin up,