Spanish Escape. Maisey Yates
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got something for you.’
Estelle bit her lip, hoping they hadn’t spent money they didn’t have on a gift for a wedding that wasn’t real.
‘Remember these?’ Andrew said as she opened the box. ‘These’ were small diamond studs that had belonged to her mother. ‘Dad bought them for her for their wedding day.’
She had never felt more of a fraud.
‘Enough tears,’ Andrew said. ‘Let’s get this wedding underway.’
* * *
Raúl was rarely nervous, but as he stood at the altar and waited for Estelle, to his own surprise, he was.
His father had almost bought their story, and Raul’s future with the company was secure, but instead of a gloating satisfaction that his plans were falling into place today he thought only of the reasons he had had to go to these lengths.
His head turned briefly and he caught a glimpse of Angela in the middle of the church. She was seated with his father, as ever-present PA. His mother’s family were still unaware of the real role she played in his father’s life—and the role she had played in his mother’s death.
He stared ahead, anger churning in his gut that Angela had the gall to be here. He wouldn’t put it past her to bring her bastard son.
Then he heard the murmur of the congregation and Raúl turned around. The churning faded. Just one thought was now in his mind.
She looked beautiful.
He had wondered how Estelle might look—had worried that, left to her own devices, a powder-puff ball would be wobbling towards him on glittery platform shoes, smiling from ruby-red lips.
He had not—could not have—imagined this.
Her dress was cream and made of intricate Spanish lace. It was fitted, and showing her curves, but in the most elegant of ways. The neckline was a simple halter neck. She carried orange blossom, as was the tradition for Spanish brides, and her lipstick was a pale coral.
‘Te ves bella.’ He told her that she looked beautiful as she joined him, and he meant every word. Not one thing would he change, from her black hair, piled high up on her head, to the simple diamond earrings and elegant cream shoes. She was visibly shaking, and he made a small joke to relax her. ‘Your sewing is terrible.’
She glanced at his shirt and they shared a smile. With so little history, still they found a piece now, at the altar—as per tradition, the bride-to-be must embroider her groom’s shirt.
‘I’m not marrying a billionaire to sit sewing!’ she had said teasingly, and Raúl had laughed, explaining that most women did not embroider all of the front of the shirt these days. Only a small area would be left for her, and Estelle could put on it whatever she wanted.
He had half expected a € but had frowned this morning when he had put on his shirt to find a small pineapple. Raúl still couldn’t work out what it meant, but it was nice to see her relax and smile as the service started.
They knelt together, and as the service moved along he explained things in his low, deep voice, heard only by her.
‘El lazo,’ he said as a loop of satin decorated with orange blossom was placed over his shoulders and then another loop from the same piece was placed over hers. The priest spoke then for a moment, in broken English, and Estelle’s cheeks burnt red as he told them that the rope that bound them showed that they shared the responsibility for this marriage. It would remain for the rest of the ceremony.
But not for life.
She felt like a fraud. She was a fraud, Estelle thought, panic starting to build. But Raúl took her hand and she looked into his black eyes. He seemed to sense that she was suddenly struggling.
‘He asks now that you hand him the Arras,’ Raúl said and she handed over the small purse he had given her on arrival. It contained thirteen coins, he had explained, and it showed his financial commitment to her.
It was the only honest part of the service, Estelle thought as the priest blessed them and handed it back to her.
Except it felt real.
‘It’s okay,’ he said to her. ‘We are here in this together.’
It felt far safer than being in it alone.
The service ended and an attendant removed the satin rope and presented it to Estelle; then they walked out to cheers and petals and rice being thrown at them. Raúl’s hand was hot on her waist, and he gripped her tighter when she nearly shot out of her dress at the sound of an explosion.
‘It’s firecrackers,’ Raúl said. ‘Sorry I forgot to warn you.’
And there would be firecrackers later too, Estelle thought, when they got to bed and she told him the truth! But it was far too late now to warn him.
* * *
It really was a wonderful wedding.
As Raúl had told her on the night they had met, there were no speeches; instead it was an endless feast, with dancing and celebration and congratulations from all.
She met Paola and Carlos, Raúl’s aunt and uncle, and they spoke of Raúl’s mother, Gabriella.
‘She would be so proud to be here today,’ Paola said. ‘Wouldn’t she, Antonio?’
Estelle saw how friendly they were with Raúl’s father, and also with Angela, who was naturally seated with them. No longer were they names, but faces, and a shiver went down her arms as she imagined their reaction when the truth came out.
‘My son has excellent taste.’ Antonio kissed her on the cheek.
Estelle had met him very briefly the day before, and Raúl had handled most of the questions—though both had seen the doubt in his eyes as to whether this union was real.
It was slowly fading.
‘It is good to see my son looking so happy.’
He did look happy.
Raúl smiled at her as they danced their first dance as husband and wife, with the room watching on.
‘Remember our first dance?’ Raúl smiled.
‘Well, we shan’t be repeating that tonight.’
‘Not till later.’ Raúl gazed down, saw her burning cheeks, and mistook it for arousal.
He could never have guessed her fear.
‘I ache to be inside you.’
Other couples had joined them. The music was low and sensual and it seemed to beat low in her stomach. His hand dusted her bare arm and she shivered at the thought of what was to come, wondered if those eyes, soft now with lust and affection, would darken in anger.
‘Raúl…’ Surely here was not the place to tell him, but it felt better with people around them rather than being alone. ‘I’m nervous about tonight.’
‘Why would you be nervous?’ he asked. ‘I will take good care of you.’
He would, Raúl decided. He was rarely excited at the thought of monogamy but he actually wanted to take care of her, could not stand to think of what she might have put her body through. There was a surge of protectiveness that shot through him then, and his arms tightened around her. He could feel her tension and nervousness and again he wanted to make her smile.
‘Can I ask why,’ he whispered into her ear as they danced, ‘you embroidered a pineapple on my shirt?’
‘It’s a thistle!’
A smile spread on her lips and he felt her relax a little in his arms.
‘For Scotland.’
Raúl found himself smiling too. ‘All day I have been trying to work out the significance