‘Are you sure?’ questioned her only bridesmaid, for the hundredth time. ‘It’s not too late to back out. I mean, are you absolutely sure you’re doing the right thing?’
Of course she wasn’t. But Emily certainly couldn’t blame her friend for her repeated questioning. Wouldn’t she have done exactly the same if the situation had been reversed? Brushing her fingertip over one of the antique roses in her bouquet, she forced a smile. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Because it’s been so fast—’
‘I know. But we were lovers years ago.’
‘Yeah. So you said. But marriage? Especially when you seemed so unsure about even taking the job. And now this. A big, fancy wedding in front of the Argentinian ambassador and all. It’s such a big step. Do you...?’ Marybeth shifted a little awkwardly on her mauve satin ballet pumps ‘Do you love him, Emily?’
Emily felt her heart twist. She didn’t want to answer this—not to herself and certainly not to her closest girlfriend. Because who wasn’t to say that the churning emotions she’d been experiencing for weeks weren’t just the result of hormones—of her body finally being sexually satisfied after all the arid years since Alej had last made love to her? Yet because she could see the fear on Marybeth’s face, she found herself uttering soothing words, which happened to be rooted in truth.
‘I...care for him,’ she said.
‘Okay...’ said Marybeth, a little doubtfully. ‘Well, that’s certainly an improvement on what you were saying about him before you went to Oz. Better get going, then—and get this party started!’
But Emily’s nerves felt jangled as she made her way towards the grand function room, despite her smooth words of assurance. She hadn’t seen Alej since the day after his shock proposal and had since been beset by a growing fear that he might have changed his mind and simply not shown up. It was only when she’d peeped out of her hotel window that morning, and seen a whole fleet of black limousines arriving, that she’d realised he wasn’t planning on reneging on his intention to make her his wife—and she’d been taken aback by the relief which had washed over her.
In order to arrange a fancy wedding at such short notice, she had flown back from Melbourne alone, after Alej’s team had—in true fairy-tale tradition—won themselves a podium place at the city’s Grand Prix. Afterwards there had been fireworks and champagne and a party which had gone on all night, during which he had announced their surprise engagement to an already febrile press. And amid all the excitement of reporting that one of the world’s biggest commitment-phobes was finally taking the plunge into matrimony, Emily realised that her new fiancé’s political intentions had very definitely been put on the back burner.
But he had shrugged almost carelessly when she had pointed this out. ‘A couple of weeks won’t make any difference.’
‘Maybe not.’ Her voice had grown thoughtful. ‘We could announce it while we’re on honeymoon. It will be a good press release, especially if we pick a day when there isn’t much news around.’
There had been an odd note in his voice. ‘You think of everything, don’t you, Emily?’
‘That’s what you’re paying me for.’
His voice had mocked her. ‘No, querida. I’m paying you for a lot more than that.’
It was an observation which caused her some disquiet and one she didn’t want to reflect on for too long—but then she’d had a lot of practice at pushing unwanted thoughts away. Life was strange, she thought as the doors of the grand salon swam into view. Hard to believe that in a few minutes’ time she would be Alej’s wife—something she’d longed for in those far-off days as an impressionable teenager. But this was nothing more than a complex game they were playing—and she should forget that at her peril.
The sound of a string quartet greeted her as one of Alej’s hunky polo-playing friends pushed open the ornate doors and as everyone turned to look at her, for a split second, she felt beset by more nerves. She wondered if Alej’s friends were judging her and wondering why his standards had fallen so far below his usual diet of supermodels and heiresses. Yet wasn’t another part of her secretly wishing this was the real thing, instead of being the ultimate public relations gesture?
But then she saw him waiting for her beneath an arch of flowers and felt her heart hitch beneath the silk-satin of her gown, because he looked utterly gorgeous. The most gorgeous man in the room. Wearing a suit more formal than anything she’d ever seen him in before and, with a couple of centimetres clipped from his ruffled black hair, he appeared to be a more sombre version of the man she’d known in previous guises. His new air of gravitas was slightly unsettling, emphasising again that this was simply a different mask he was wearing. Yet the moment he took her hand in his, all her determination to keep emotion at bay drained away and her heart gave a great big leap of longing.
I don’t want to love him, she thought desperately. I don’t want to be hurt by him.
‘You look beautiful,’ he said.
It was said presumably to add credibility, but nonetheless his words made Emily glow as she handed her bouquet to Marybeth. ‘Thank you,’ she said, hiding her excitement behind a calm smile.
The ceremony passed without event and only afterwards did Emily realise she’d been on tenterhooks throughout the entire proceedings. Had she been afraid that his supermodel ex would burst through the doors and try to put a stop to it, like in some dramatic Hollywood film? There was a hush as Alejandro made his vows, his eyes fixed on hers with an expression of desire underpinned with something darker. Something which made her senses scream out a nameless warning, despite the sensual ache which was already starting low in her belly. Because wasn’t that hostility she could see flickering in the depths of his steady green gaze?
Afterwards, a starry reception spilled over into an adjoining function room, filled with politicians, actors and even members of the British royal family, with whom Alej used to play polo, back in the day. She thought how easily he mixed in such an elevated section of society and how her own guest list was far more modest—though Marybeth’s family certainly made up for any paucity in numbers with their noise and laughter. And then the music began to play for the first dance and, as Alej took her hand and everyone turned towards them, Emily felt as if she was walking onto a giant stage.
Because you are. Because this is all make-believe and none of it is real.
But in that moment it felt real as Alej laced his warm fingers in hers and led her onto the dance floor. As achingly familiar strains filtered into her ears, she wondered if he was deliberately torturing her with a song she hadn’t heard for many years.
‘What made you choose this?’ she questioned, the silk of her wedding gown whispering over the marble floor as she tried and failed to erase the blissful memories of those hot, Argentinian nights.
‘You used to love it.’
She shifted awkwardly but, annoyingly, it only seemed to decrease the space between them. ‘Maybe I did, but not...not any more.’
‘No. Your tastes are more sophisticated these days, perhaps?’
‘It’s not that.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘We’re not the same people any more, Alej. It doesn’t seem appropriate, somehow.’
‘What would you rather they played?’ He spun her round, his eyes glinting hard and green. ‘“Money, Money, Money”?’
She didn’t react to the taunt. ‘Let’s try to keep the hostilities to a minimum for the