We stand face to face, and the ceremony begins. It’s perfunctory, with zero frills. And after we say our vows, I fully expect the officiator to just say, “I now pronounce you man and wife,” and instead she adds, “You may kiss the bride.” Damien draws me in and plants a kiss on my lips. It’s a small quick kiss, but it still leaves me rattled all the same. Eight years later and he still has the power to disorient me with a brief kiss.
There are more than a few people than I expected. Nicole and Terry, of course, and Damien’s driver, bodyguard, and a handsome couple I don’t recognize. When the ceremony is over, the couple is the first to congratulate us. The man, a handsome Italian-looking guy, takes my hand in his and shakes it.
“Ivy, this is Dante Morelli,” Damien says as Dante places a kiss on my cheek.
“Congratulations!” Dante says.
“Thank you.”
He gives space for the beautiful blonde woman to congratulate me as well. “And this is Corina Morelli,” Damien says, “Dante’s wife.” She, too, places a kiss on my other cheek.
“I never thought he would do it,” she says, winking at Damien. “I’m glad he did.” Damien smiles at her and I wonder what he has told the couple. Certainly not the truth, judging by their reaction. Terry, Nicole, and the rest congratulate us as well.
Half an hour later, I am a married woman on her way back to the hotel with her temporary husband on her side. “Thank you,” I say to him.
“I’m getting a substantial sum of shares in return, so I can’t complain.
“I mean the ceremony. Thank you for turning it into one.”
“That’s not me. You can thank Morelli for that. When I told him to arrange a marriage license for me, he arranged not only the chapel but also the reception. He thinks I fell in love and wanted to marry you as soon as possible.”
“Oh.” I feel like I have been doused by cold water. The glimmer of hope I had during the wedding dies. Why would he, of all people, do anything for me? Of course, it’s his friend who did all this. “Well,” I say, trying to sound chipper. “Tell him I said thank you.”
“Tell him yourself at the reception.”
The reception is as small as Damien said. Dante has chosen one of his VIP rooms to host it and had it decorated in a wedding theme. It’s a small ballroom with a dancefloor, a few tables, and even a wedding cake. If you don’t look closely, it feels like a real wedding.
“Thank you,” I say to Corina and Dante as we sit down for the reception dinner. They both protest profusely. “We wanted to give you something,” Corina says as her husband leaves us to talk to Damien. “When I heard Damien is getting married, this was the only gift we could think of in such a short time.”
Corina flashes a brilliant smile. She’s a genuinely nice person and keeps me company throughout the night. And as everyone gets progressively drunk, including Terry, who’s now dancing with one of Dante’s men, Corina, who’s only drinking a spritz, is one of the few people still sober. She has been telling me all about how she met Dante here while working for him, and their relationship got kicked off when Dante accused her of stealing from him.
I raise my eyebrows at that. She chuckles. “And spying. He thought I was working on behalf of his rival.”
“How did you get from there to married?”
“A lot happened. Let me just say that he’s a good man once you get to know him. He protects his own. That’s his best trait.” Absently, she rubs her belly as she casts her gaze toward Dante. I don’t want to ask if she’s pregnant. It feels intrusive, but I have a feeling she is.
“What about you? How did you two meet?” Corina glances at Damien. He has been sitting beside me all evening and yet neither of us has said anything to each other. He has spent most of the night speaking to Dante, and I’ve tried to ignore him. But it hasn’t been easy. I can feel him beside me and that means thinking straight is hard. Each time his hand accidentally brushes mine as he takes a sip of his drink, my heart skips a beat. And whenever he laughs at whatever Dante says to him, butterflies flutter in my stomach. Even now, when he has his arm around my shoulder in what anyone would think is a loving embrace, I have to sit still so I can keep myself from leaning into him.
I wonder what exactly I should tell Corina that isn’t the truth. She seems to have bought into the narrative of Damien and I being in love and my pride won’t allow me to dissuade her from it.
Before I can concoct a believable story, we’re interrupted by Dante, who shouts. “Isn’t it odd? I didn’t see the bride and groom dancing.”
Damien and I lock eyes and then he smiles. It’s so heart-warming that for a moment I allow myself to be fooled by his charm. He extricates his arm from my shoulder, rises, and offers his hand. The music changes to a slow ballad. I take his hand and let him lead me to the dance floor.
Damien is an excellent dancer. I’ve always known this, but I never danced with him, even back then. He was always with some lucky girl or with other women who were lucky to gain his attention. Me, however, he always avoided.
And dancing with him now, even though it shouldn’t, feels life-changing. He holds me by the waist and whisks me around the floor. His feet are quick, but he makes it easy for me to follow his lead. When his hands touch my palm and waist, they ignite my skin, and my body perfectly aligns with his. And his scent…eight years later and he still smells as delicious as he did eight years ago. Sandalwood and spring water. Intoxicating.
Calm down Ivy, it’s just a dance.
We sway and swing along to the music in silence and after a couple of minutes he says, “Are you sure about the no sex thing?”
I’m too shocked by his question and I take a while to understand exactly what he’s asking. No sex between us was the stipulation in our contract. “Weren’t you the one who insisted on it?” I say.
“I can be allowed to change my mind.”
Damien has a talent for wrecking my axis with a few sentences. I’m sure he hates me. He has a good reason to do so.He vehemently stated that he didn’t want me, but now he wants me? What is this?
