‘When I say so.’
‘I am the designer here and I say that I need to have a fitting now.’
‘The bride is not ready.’
‘This is crazy. If your bride cannot manage to turn up for a fitting, how can you be so sure she’ll turn up for the wedding?’
‘She’ll be there.’
‘You think so?’ She hesitated, almost afraid to put to voice the thoughts her mind was now throwing around. ‘You know, I thought she must be desperately sick, that’s why the secrecy, that’s why her nonappearance for a fitting and her complete noninvolvement in this wedding. Yet you don’t act like the husband-to-be of an ill woman. Something’s not right. She’s not sick, is she?’
‘I never said she was ill.’
‘You let me believe she was.’ It was an accusation.
He shrugged. ‘What you choose to believe is up to you.’
‘But then, why else would she be so invisible? What other reason can there be for her not wanting to be involved in her own wedding?’
Her mind churned, wheels turning as the fight she’d had with Paolo came into sharp relief. He’d warned her that things weren’t right. The shudder that moved through her chilled her to the bone. She gritted her teeth to prevent them chattering as the knowledge of what he was doing seeped into her consciousness.
‘I have to question whether there even is a bride,’ she whispered, when at last the tremors in her body had stilled enough for her to talk. ‘That would explain why she’s not exactly champing at the bit to walk down the aisle with you. I’ve been here for two weeks without catching a glimpse of her. Nobody talks about her and I don’t even think she’s got a name. You’ve certainly never mentioned it. There’s no bride and no wedding and no reason for me to be here. Yet I don’t understand—’
‘There is a bride!’
‘Oh? Then maybe Paolo was right. I should have listened to him. He warned me this was on the cards, that even if there was a bride, she might be less than willing.
‘Is that closer to the mark, then?’ she continued, her voice lifting in her own certainty. ‘Is that what you’re worried about—that your reluctant bride has to be dragged kicking and screaming to the altar because she’s being forced to marry you? Is that why you can’t let her have a fitting, because the poor girl can’t bear the thought of wearing the dress on her wedding day, let alone any other time? Because she can’t bear the thought of marrying you?’
He spun towards her, reaching out, cold fury gathered like storm clouds in his eyes, the lines of his golden skin drawn and tight around his mouth. His hands clenched down on her upper arms like iron claws, manacles for her arms, pinning her to the spot with a white-hot grip.
‘You think your Paolo knows everything? Obviously he could not or you would not be here.’
‘Wha—? What do you mean?’
‘You really want to meet my bride? You so desperately want this fitting?’
She swallowed, tasting his fury on her tongue, swirling in the heated fog of his proximity. Yet even in a rage she felt his raw sexuality reach out for her. Even in her fear she felt her own body react, her breasts achingly firm, her thighs soften and pulse within.
She battled to focus on his words when his lips were so close. Too close. She could bury herself in his heat, lose herself in his power.
He could make it happen and she would be powerless to stop him.
She wouldn’t want to stop him.
She wouldn’t even try to stop him.
‘Well?’ he demanded, dragging her thoughts back into focus. ‘You want this fitting?’
She sucked in a breath too low on oxygen and too highly charged with the scent of him and tried to forget how much he affected her. ‘All she needs is to try on the dress. Just once. That’s all. And then I’ll be happy.’
He scoffed. ‘Then you’ll be happy?’
Her chin kicked up, reclaiming some measure of defiance. ‘Just one fitting. It’s not too much to ask, surely?’
‘Okay,’ he said, almost discarding her as he let go his grip and wheeled away. Two strides on he turned back, the fury in his eyes replaced with something else—boldness? ‘You win. You get your fitting.’
At last. She let go a deep breath she’d been holding and rubbed her arms where the touch of him lingered like a brand. She would finally get the fitting she’d been asking for, then she could complete the dress and get on the next flight out of here. It wouldn’t be soon enough. ‘So when? How soon can you arrange it?’