Hers and hers alone. Her determination to keep their sleeping arrangements separate until after the ceremony had given Drakon free rein to throw himself into his work and he had been out at the office from dawn to dusk. Why, he hadn’t even asked her a single question about what they’d be eating at the wedding breakfast!
Caroline, her boss from Caro’s Canapés, was going to be in attendance—as well as two of the other waitresses, Judii and Jade. A heavily pregnant Patti, her best friend from midwifery days, was also going to be there—along with Tom, her new husband. And they all loved her, Lucy reminded herself fiercely. They would be rooting for her even if her sudden decision to marry a man they’d never heard her mention had perplexed them. She didn’t even have anyone to give her away, but had been loath to go searching for someone suitable. Tom had kindly offered to step in but Lucy barely knew her best friend’s husband. Which was why she would be walking towards Drakon completely on her own.
Donna stuck her head round the door and gave her a thumbs up. ‘Ready?’
Lucy touched her fingers to the pale glittery veil which rippled down her back, and nodded. She just needed to remember the special Greek traditions she’d been taught and which were to be incorporated into the day. They would eat sugared almonds at some point and people would attempt to pin money to her dress. After their wedding rings had been blessed, they would be placed on their fingers three times—to symbolise the unity of their entwined lives.
And during all this she would try her best not to feel like a hypocrite.
‘I’m ready,’ she whispered.
The double doors were opened with a flourish and all Lucy could see was the long walk which lay ahead, decked on either side by chairs festooned with yet more greenery and slivers of golden ribbon. Everyone turned to look at her and she clutched her bouquet even tighter, aware that even in here Donna had gone over the top with the Christmas theme, but she hadn’t wanted to come over as some sort of Grinch by telling her not to bother. Yet somehow the gloriousness of the occasion was starting to feel overwhelmingly poignant. Tall candles of scarlet flickered patterns of transparent gold onto the gilded walls and silver stars dangled on spangled strings which hung from the vaulted ceiling. The sound of a carol being sung by a single boy’s voice in Greek was making Lucy want to blink her eyes against the unwanted threat of tears and she hoped she didn’t need to blow her nose during the service because she didn’t have a handkerchief.
And there was Xander, fast asleep in the arms of his nanny, Sofia. Darling little Xander, whom she’d fed and played with that morning before she’d left for the hotel, wondering if Drakon ever intended to be anything other than a father in name. Because the man who was supremely confident in all things seemed wary of the innocent child he had adopted. She could count on the fingers of one hand the times she’d seen him hold the baby and she’d found herself wondering if she should try to bridge the distance he seemed to have constructed between himself and Xander. Was it her place to even try?
She began to walk with small steps—partly because she was terrified of toppling over in her spiky heels, but also in an attempt to quell her spiralling nerves as she saw her Greek bridegroom standing beneath an arch of Christmas roses.
As the music heralded her arrival, he didn’t turn to look at her and although Lucy told herself it was easier not to have to face the enigmatic glitter of his eyes, it was also daunting to be confronted by his imposing back view. She gazed at his powerful body, clad in a dark suit which accentuated his broad shoulders and muscular limbs. A body which very soon...
No. She wasn’t going to fret about her wedding night or give into the nebulous fears which had been bugging her. She wasn’t going to start worrying that their time on Prasinisos had been an aberration—a peculiar one-off, fuelled by sunshine and novelty.
Because what if she disappointed her new husband on the first night of their honeymoon? What if the reality of an arranged marriage had somehow extinguished the passion they’d shared before? Wasn’t that another reason why she had been secretly relieved to maintain separate rooms until the wedding—because she’d been afraid of being put to the test, and failing?
At long last she reached the fragrant green arch and Drakon turned around and stared down at her. He took her trembling hand in his and suddenly this became about much more than whether this was the craziest thing she had ever done. Suddenly Lucy felt breathless with longing as Drakon’s strength seemed to radiate from his powerful frame, his black eyes crinkling in a way which reminded her how long she’d known him. Surely that counted for something. Surely they could make this work if they worked at it.
‘Okay?’ he mouthed.
She gave a quick nod. ‘I think so.’
‘You look beautiful.’
‘Th-thank you.’
Her voice sounded tremulous, Drakon thought as the celebrant began to intone the words. And her face was as white as her dress. He stole another glance at her, aware that his compliment had been dutiful rather than genuine because this dazzling creature didn’t look a bit like Lucy. The huge dress swamped her and the sequin-spattered veil did not seem to sit well with the simple country image she’d always projected. And her fingers were cold. As cold as the gold band which, moments later, he slid onto her finger. He looked down at a similar band which now gleamed unfamiliarly against his own olive skin. He’d never worn a ring before and it felt heavy and alien.
‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’
The finality of the words shattered his thoughts like a spray gun and Lucy’s blue eyes were blank as she looked up at him, almost as if the whole ceremony had happened without her realising it. You and me both, agape mou, he thought with a black-humoured sense of identity.
‘You may now kiss the bride.’
Drakon slid his arms around her waist and bent towards her, aware that the kiss was mainly for the benefit of the watching congregation. He hadn’t kissed her since that afternoon when she’d arrived at his apartment and, as a consequence, his desire for her had reached a level of intensity he’d never experienced before. For days it had been heating his blood and gnawing at his senses with a remorselessness which had left him barely able to think straight. It had tortured him. Tormented him. But hadn’t he almost enjoyed the boundaries she’d primly put in place, which had heightened his exquisite anticipation of tonight’s consummation? Strange to think that this most unlikely candidate was the first woman who had ever denied him anything. Which was why he didn’t make this a real kiss. He didn’t dare. He was afraid that once he’d started he wouldn’t be able to stop. That he would pin her down to the ground and rip that monstrous dress from her body—contemptuously tossing aside the tattered satin to touch the soft flesh beneath. He gave a brief nod as he brushed his lips over hers, in nothing more than a swift acknowledgement that the deal was done and dusted.
But he was aware of the disappointment which flashed through her eyes as he pulled away from her. And something else, too. Something which looked almost like fear, as the applause of the assembled guests echoed up into the gilded arches and they walked into an adjoining room to sign the r
egister. Was it the sudden inexplicable need to quell that fear which made him whisper his fingertips against her waist, so that she relaxed a little?
‘All done,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I guess so.’
‘So how does it feel to be Mrs Konstantinou? Kyria Konstantinou,’ he amended as they made their way towards the desk, where the registrar was waiting.
‘Slightly weird,’ she admitted. ‘Probably about as weird as it feels for you to have taken a wife, but no doubt we’ll get used to it.’
Her brisk words were reassuring. Drakon had wondered if she would expect him to recite affectionate words he didn’t really mean—saccharine statements which would leave him with a bad taste in his mouth. But if she was prepared to treat this marriage as nothing more than a business merger with benefits—what could possibly go wrong?
‘I suggest the best way of getting used to it is by having as early a night as possible,’ he said smoothly, scrawling his signature on the wedding licence and strangely pleased by the blush which flared in her cheeks. ‘Since tomorrow I’m taking you on honeymoon.’