Modern Romance October Books 1-4. Miranda Lee
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of guilt away before it could plunge into him.
Sophie had made a huge effort for this occasion. Her actions had shown him more clearly than any words could that this was a commitment she took seriously.
He slid the ring onto her finger knowing she deserved so much more than the man she was pledging herself to.
Then it was her turn to put the ring on his finger.
His father had never worn a wedding ring. For that reason alone, Javier would wear one.
She took his hand gently in hers and then, her eyes gazing right into his, pushed the cold metal over his knuckle.
Its weight hit him like a physical mark to his person.
He stared down at it.
Where for thirty-five years there had been nothing, a gold band now lay.
Her fingers tightened around his.
Suddenly he became aware of expectant eyes upon him. The officiant’s, Sophie’s parents’...
And Sophie herself. Except hers weren’t expectant, they were pleading.
He could read everything contained in those pale blue eyes that shone beautifully under the bright sun filtering through the glass roof.
For my parents’ sake, please kiss me, her eyes beseeched.
Kiss her?
She should be pleading with him to never touch her again.
The weight pressing down inside him increased, making it hard for him to draw breath.
He had to kiss her.
A kiss to seal their marriage and spare her humiliation was the least she deserved from him.
Tightening his fingers around hers as hers were clasped around his, he placed his other hand lightly against her waist and lowered his face to hers.
There was not a sound to be heard. Only the thrashing of his heart.
Holding his breath, he pressed his lips to her mouth.
The thrashing turned into a heavy thud.
The floor he stood upon began to sink beneath him and he had to dig deeply all the way from his toes to keep himself grounded and not sink with it, not give in to the nerve endings all straining to her.
He counted to five, then pulled away.
Then he made the mistake of looking at her.
That beautiful face, cheeks slashed with colour, eyes wide...
He forced air into his lungs.
Her perfume fell in with it.
He shuddered and, gritting his teeth, turned back to the officiant.
He had done his duty. Now it was time to sign the document that would confirm them legally as husband and wife.
SOPHIE EMBRACED HER father tightly, holding onto the wonderful feeling of safety that engulfed her for the last time.
This was a different goodbye from all the others they’d shared. Before, there had always been the knowledge that Sophie would return, not necessarily to her parents’ home but to England, somewhere close enough that their lives would entwine again.
Living in Madrid as she intended to do for at least the next eighteen years, that would not be possible.
Then she embraced her mother and squeezed her even harder.
Without these dear, loving people taking her into their hearts and their home, who knew how her life would have turned out? She owed them everything.
And then they were gone, bursting with happiness for their only child, their blinkers well and truly switched on, seeing exactly what they wanted to see, as they had always done and as Sophie had always enabled.
They had watched her perform hundreds of times, blissfully unaware that her heart had yearned to be elsewhere.
Now they had seen her marry a fabulously wealthy man, seen the home she would raise their grandchild in, and that had been enough for them to leave with contented hearts.
If either thought it strange that neither had had the nerve to embrace their new son-in-law, their faces hadn’t shown it.
Sophie turned her head.
Javier was leaning against his giant sphinx artefact, his arms loosely crossed over his stomach. He’d removed his jacket and tie during the horrendously awkward meal they’d shared with her parents. The meal hadn’t been pre-planned. He’d snapped his fingers and ordered it to be done after they’d exchanged their vows and before Sophie had had the humiliation of telling her parents the celebrations they expected were not happening. A bottle of champagne had been produced, the first alcoholic drink served since Sophie had moved in. Javier had stuck to the same sparkling grape juice that she’d consumed.
Sophie thought hard, trying to remember if he’d drunk alcohol in front of her at all, but came up blank. Was he being considerate of her pregnant state?
Somehow she could not believe that to be the reason. Javier would not make a concession like that when he barely knew what the word ‘concession’ meant and refused point-blank to learn it.
But he had arranged the meal and raised a toast to his bride, all for her parents’ benefit.
Maybe he did have a conscience in that steel heart of his.
She sighed. ‘I’m going to have a bath and go to bed.’
He nodded but made no verbal answer.
She wished she could read him but he was impossible to interpret. She had never known anyone so capable of keeping their thoughts and emotions hidden.
Did he even have emotions? That was something she was beginning to doubt.
But she thought she’d seen something in his eyes when he’d given her that fleeting kiss right after they’d exchanged their wedding rings.
He hadn’t touched her since, not even an accidental brush of his arm to hers.
She ran the bath and added a good dollop of scented bubble bath to it, watching the foam develop in the swirling water, determined not to cry.
When it had filled sufficiently, she walked back through the bedroom to the dressing room and armed herself with a pair of pyjamas, her oldest, most comfortable pair. Javier wouldn’t care that they were as sexy as a clown’s outfit. She’d worn her prettiest nightdresses all week and he hadn’t even cared to look at her in them.
She was about to step back into the bathroom when a vibrating sound caught her attention and a quick look found her phone on the bedroom table. A member of the staff must have put it there. She’d forgotten all about it, not having used it since at the hotel with her parents that morning.
She turned it on to find three returned messages from Freya.
She read the first.
What? Sophie, you CANNOT marry Javier. He will eat you alive. Come to France. We’ll take care of you and the baby.
The second:
Call me.
Then the third—the one she’d heard vibrate a moment ago.
It’s never too late. Please, Sophie, for your baby’s sake, take your passport and run. If you cannot escape then just say the word and we will rescue you.
Sophie read the messages with unfamiliar anger swelling inside her.
She fired a message back.
I don’t need rescuing. Javier is the father of my child. I’ve married him.
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