The ceremony was held in a five-hundred-year-old cathedral, conducted by an archbishop, witnessed by royalty, aristocrats, heads of state and celebrities from film, stage and the athletic arena. The route to the hotel, where the reception was held, had been blocked off and was lined ten-people deep with bystanders, photographers and even television cameras. Drones buzzed between the cars and a helicopter pattered overhead.
They hurried from the cavalcade up the red carpet, past the deafening cheer of the throng behind the velvet ropes, through the security checkpoint and into the relative peace of the ballroom where they finally caught their breath.
Mirrored tabletops reflected the lush floral arrangements of orchids and roses. Wisteria dripped from the ceiling along with crystals that glinted like snowflakes. A harpist’s delicate notes welcomed them along with uniformed staff carrying trays of gold-rimmed glasses of champagne.
“That was insane,” Xavier said, not dropping his protective hold across her back.
“Small wonder I’ve never been on a date before, isn’t it? We’re a nightmare to take anywhere.”
Surprise loosened his clean-shaven jaw. “You never dated? At all?”
“Well, there was this one stranger I met in Paris.” She gave him a cheeky wink and made a tiny adjustment to his boutonniere. It was a delicate creation of spotted feather and red-throated orchid with a lacy fern frond behind it. She deliberately avoided looking at the red sash that scored his chest, announcing his station—the role that was more important than she could ever hope to be.
“Seriously? I’m the only one?”
She shrugged. “One of Ramon’s friends recovered from a crash at Sus Brazos two years ago. I ate dinner with him by the pool a few times. We kissed once, but it was...”
“What?” His fingers dug into her hip, something flashing in his eyes as his expression grew unreadable. She wouldn’t let herself believe it was possessiveness.
“Nothing. Over before it started. Like you and me.” Affair, pregnancy, marriage. They were all slipping like sand through her fingers, refusing to be slowed. “But thank you for coming with me tonight. I should have said that before. I was dreading coming alone and having to dodge awkward questions about our marriage.”
She made herself smile and meet his eyes as she started to step out of his embrace. His arm hardened.
“The things I’m still learning about you,” he muttered. The fingers of his free hand looped around her wrist. He looked across the room, expression tight then came back, fierce and hot. “I hate this, bella. We had one damned night that was perfect. The only regret I had was that I didn’t have more time to get to know you better and now we have time and we’re wasting it.”
Edginess came off him in waves, rattling whatever defenses she still managed to hold up against him. Her bottom lip grew wobbly and she had to tuck it between her teeth. “I thought you were just putting the time in, waiting for us to be over.”
“No.” He shook his head, voice deepening. “No, I’m... I’m trying to protect you.”
“Oh, Xavier.” She sighed. “I’m tired of being protected. That’s why I slept with you. I wanted to feel what other people feel. The ones who aren’t sitting in a vault waiting for their lives to start. I wanted to flirt. Feel pretty. Dance.”
“Go on a date?”
“Yes.”
His thumb stroked the thin skin inside her wrist. “This is a date.”
Not a real one, she thought. People who went on dates were hopeful of a future. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. She forced herself to make a face of forbearance as she said, “It’s not dinner and a movie, but I suppose it will do.”
His expression relaxed, lips twitching. “Too cliché. I’ve brought you star gazing.” He deliberately let his attention scan the growing crowd of celebrities.
Relief as much as amusement sent laughter bursting out of her. She slid her arm around him, hugging herself into him as lightness filled her. “If you promise to have me home by curfew, then yes, I would love to be your date.”
* * *
Over before we started.
These last few days had given Xavier an unprecedented glimpse into Trella’s world. She was right. All too soon they would be strangers again. He couldn’t countenance it. Like his last night of freedom in Paris, he was compelled to grasp this chance with her.
Unlike Paris, he couldn’t steal her away and it was delicious torture standing beside her, setting a subtly possessive touch upon her, but unable to do more. All the while, he fell under her spell, as did everyone she spoke to.