In the actual moment, that fear felt absurd and selfish. No one was focussed on her love life except herself. This was Alice’s day, and happiness abounded. The only thoughts were good and kind. She walked to the beat of the classical music, just as she’d been instructed, more than confident in the sky-high heels she’d selected for the day. As she neared the front of the church, her eyes were caught by a pair that were intimately familiar to hers, a pair that sent a blade of ice down her spine. She looked away from Ashton again immediately, not even bothering to offer him the ghost of a smile.
Her eyes – as though they knew what she needed – bounced straight into Luca’s. Her heart skipped a beat. Her step faltered. Her smile was instinctive. Wide. Genuine.
He was wearing a stunning tuxedo – dark grey with a lighter grey waistcoat and tie – he looked unbelievably handsome. His dark hair had been brushed back from his brow, drawing attention to the symmetrical angles of his features, and he’d shaved, so her fingers itched, even then, to run over the smooth square of his jaw.
She lifted three of her fingers in a small wave as she passed, and he matched the gesture, lifting his fingers off the back of the pew, his smile sending ripples of something delightful through her body. She took her position and tried not to look at him again.
It was impossible not to be aware of his eyes on her, though. She felt his gaze the whole time she was standing beside her sister, listening to Alice and Edward recite their vows and pledge their lives to each other, a frisson of awareness was rushing through her. Once, she risked looking towards him and sure enough, found that his eyes were trained on her as though she were the only person in the room. There was a fierce look of possessive intensity on his features. Her stomach squeezed.
The ceremony wasn’t long – perhaps thirty minutes. Once Edward and Alice were announced as ‘husband and wife’, the crowd erupted in delighted cheers. They began to make their way down the aisle, guests reaching out to congratulate them as they passed. Bronte smiled from ear to ear as she walked behind them, finding it impossible not to be carried away by the euphoria of the moment. As she approached Luca, he extended his own hand, and she moved towards it quickly.
“You look good enough to eat,” he said, without smiling, that same burst of possessive heat in his eyes sending a blade of desire through her body. She winked at him, with difficulty – her insides were melting and all she wanted to do was slide into the seat beside him, to be near him. But her job wasn’t yet done.
She pulled her hand away and re-joined the procession, accidentally catching Ashton’s eyes as she passed. He smiled at her and this time, her lips were already locked in a smile, so she inadvertently returned it.
A feeling of joy was pervasive, even in the perfect summer’s afternoon that enveloped the ancient grounds. A gently sloping hill ran away from the chapel, carpeted by bluebells and snowdrops.
Guests pushed out of the chapel, surrounding the couple. ‘Congratulations’ were abundant. Bronte watched, smiling, standing close to her parents, until a hand captured hers and pulled her away without warning. She looked up to see Luca guiding her from the crowd, his face averted from hers, his body radiating – tension? She frowned.
Was something wrong?
Around the corner from the church there was a formal garden, paved paths f
ramed by box hedges, and in the centre of the paths, at the point where they bisected, a large stone urn covered in moss.
“Luca? What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” He finally stopped walking, abruptly turning to face her, his body hard against hers. “What’s wrong is that I don’t think I can go another minute without doing this.”
He captured her face in his hands and kissed her, with no regard for the delicate make up an artist had spent the better part of an hour applying to Bronte’s face that morning. He kissed her as though it was all he’d been thinking of all morning; he kissed her as though his life depended on it.
She trembled against him, her body surrendering to him, to this – the heady fragrance of the summer garden, his total possession and command of her, the sound of bees in the air, and the warmth of sunlight on her back. She lifted up onto her toes, not because she needed to but because she wanted to be as close to him as possible, because her surrender was complete.
“You looked so goddamned beautiful up there.” He groaned into her mouth, his hands moving around to her hair.
She shook her head, pulling back for the briefest moment. “Don’t destroy the hair. Alice will kill me. I still have to do photos.”
His eyes sparked with hers and she could tell he was tempted to pull it loose anyway, but he didn’t. He dropped his hands to her waist instead, holding her where she was, his breath punching from his lungs.
“How long will photos take?”
“Um, I don’t know,” she said, apologetically. “I suspect at least an hour.”
He padded his thumb across her lower lip, shaking his head once.
“There’s champagne being served on the lawn somewhere.”
“I don’t care about champagne,” he muttered. “Meet me in our room as soon as you can.”
Her jaw dropped.
“Are you –,”
“Yes, Bronte. I’m very serious. I’m not waiting until tonight to be with you again.”
She shivered, and again felt the intensity of his need, the possessive heat with which he’d been watching her thrilling and unexpected. And then, she remembered that they were already living on borrowed time – the wedding was over. He could leave at any point after tonight. He was just trying to make the most of the time they had left.
She wouldn’t let that dim her pleasure, though. He wanted her now, and God knew she felt the same.