“See?” Gina said.
“Yes.”
“I know it’s common to put your hair up with a strapless dress, but I think leaving yours long is the right answer.” She lifted a lock of Ella’s hair. “You have beautiful hair, and leaving it long emphasizes innocence and virginity.”
Ella was a little shocked. “You’ve thought about this a lot.”
Gina laughed. “I love weddings. I admit it. Honestly, if I weren’t an entertainer, I’d be a wedding coordinator. There’s just something about watching a girl walk down the aisle—and seeing the groom’s reaction to her—that makes me happy. When the groom has no idea what’s going to happen—and even sometimes when he does—the look on his face is just… Oh…”
Ella couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. “Cash won’t be looking at me that way. It’s like that reality show where they got married at first sight. That’s us. Most of those didn’t work out, right?”
“Yes, but you’re playing a part here. For the media. So we’re going act like this is a love match.”
Ella gulped. “I can do it.”
“I know you can. Ready?”
Ella nodded and Gina led her back out to the living room. Jack and Cash weren’t there, but someone rapped on the door, and a servant appeared out of nowhere to open it. Ella wondered why Gina hadn’t let the man open the door earlier, but maybe he hadn’t gotten a chance. In fact, the man had pretty much rushed the door like he was attacking it. Quite possibly on orders from Jack Hunter.
It wasn’t anyone dangerous on the other side though. It was a man in an Elvis costume, along with a woman who carried a briefcase. Ella blinked and Gina clapped, laughing.
“Perfect,” she said. “Absolutely perfect.”
“Is this little lady the bride?” Elvis asked with a curl of his lip.
“She is indeed.”
Ella thought it was a little obvious, but whatever.
“Thank you. Thank you verra much.” Elvis swaggered inside and then dropped on one knee in front of her. When he broke out into “Love Me Tender,” Ella’s eyes widened in shock.
He took her hand, singing that he wanted her to love him tender, love him true. All his dreams fulfilled. It was silly and poignant at the same time, because the man she was marrying felt none of those things.
As if on cue, Cash appeared with Jack. He’d changed into a black tux, and her heart did a flip in her chest. My God, how did he manage to look so handsome and so tough at the same time?
He glared at Elvis for a long minute, but Elvis didn’t seem to care. She thought that Cash shot her an odd look, but she wasn’t sure. Probably he had. He didn’t want to get married, and now this.
Freaking Elvis.
When Elvis finished his song, he got to his feet with a flourish, kissed Ella’s hand, and straightened the lapels of his white sequined jumpsuit. “Y’all ready for some tender lovin’?”
Gina was laughing. “We certainly are.”
Cash’s frown was heavy, but he strolled over and stood beside Ella. “So where are we doing this?”
“Right there’s good,” Elvis said.
He turned to the woman with the briefcase. A moment later, he was wearing a shawl and holding a Bible. His expression grew serious.
“Dearly beloved,” he began.
It didn’t take long to run through the ceremony. Ella kept expecting her aunt and uncle to burst into the room and put an end to the whole thing, but it didn’t happen. Before she knew it, she was saying, “I do.”
“You may now kiss the bride,” Elvis said, and Cash turned to face her.
He looked awfully angry. Or maybe it was despair. Because he was trapped.
“Sorry,” she mouthed.
He frowned harder. And then he reached for her. Her heart thudded a dizzy drumbeat in her ears as he wrapped her in his embrace. His mouth lowered to hers. She braced herself for a whirlwind of sensation, like earlier—but it didn’t happen.
He treated her like he had the first time he’d kissed her. A brief touch and then it was over and he was looking down at her. She blinked up at him. Before she could gather her thoughts, he set her away—gently—and turned back to Elvis.
Elvis was smiling, his thick black hair and bushy sideburns almost comical as he shoved on his sunglasses and clicked his teeth. “Thank you. Thank you verra much, Cash and Ella. Congratulations. I hope your life together is long and fruitful. Now, if you can sign these documents, we’ll be done.”
Ella and Cash both signed, and a waiter appeared with champagne flutes. Ella took one. So did everyone else. Gina stood with Jack, a tear in her eye.
“Oh my gosh, y’all,” she gushed. “I’m just so happy for you both. May you be as happy as Jack and I.”
Jack put an arm around her and kissed the top of her hair. He murmured something to her that made her smile and swipe a finger beneath her eyes. Then she turned to him and cupped his jaw, kissing him swiftly and hotly.
Ella burned with envy. That’s what she wanted. What she’d always wanted. To belong. To know she had a home with one person who cared.
Gina lifted her glass. “To Cash and Ella.”
Ella touched the glass to her lips. She’d had champagne, so it was nothing new, but this version tasted so much better than the one her aunt and uncle served. It tasted expensive, and she found that it went down much easier than anything she’d ever had before.
Her insides warmed as the wine hit and burst into tiny bubbles in her belly. She felt mellow, calm, and she smiled as a photographer appeared and took pictures of them together—and with Elvis. Ella didn’t find it hard to smile with a glass of champagne in her. She threaded her arm into Cash’s and smiled big as the photographer snapped photos.
Cash twirled her into his arms and held her close. Her heart pounded and her belly flipped as she laughed. Jack and Gina joined them, the four of them hamming it up for the photos. In another picture, it was just her and Gina. It felt so natural, so ordinary, that Ella had no trouble smiling and laughing.
When Elvis, his assistant, and the photographer were gone, her veins still hummed from the champagne. She wasn’t drunk, but she was happy.
“Well, that went over rather well,” Gina said. And then she sighed. “Not the ideal wedding, but good. Ella, if it doesn’t work out with this clown, let me know. I’d love to coordinate a real, big gala wedding.”
“I will,” Ella replied. But in truth she couldn’t imagine it. She’d nearly had the big gala wedding, and it had unnerved her to the point she’d run. And thank God she had.
She glanced at Cash. He’d accepted a second glass of champagne, but he was frowning. She took another one too. She was going to need it if she had to endure his frowns.
Gina clapped her hands. “All right, I know this is the time when you’d run off to the reception in a typical wedding, but I need an hour to take care of some prior commitments before we go out on the town. Can you two amuse yourselves?”
“Yeah, we got it,” Cash said.
She didn’t know what that meant, but after copious cheek kissing and plans to meet downstairs in an hour, Ella and Cash left the suite and strode silently toward their room. Cash didn’t say a word, and the longer it went on, the more unnerved she felt.
They reached their room and he swiped the keycard.
Ella drifted past a mirror on her way inside and started. “I left my clothes!”
The white dress was stunning, but it wasn’t something she should wear out on the town. Cash flicked a glance at her. He glanced down and realized he was still in his tuxedo.
“Fuck. Damn that Gina.”
Ella felt a little bit offended on Gina’s behalf. “She’s nice. I like her.”
“She is nice. She also meddles.”
“She means well.”
“She thinks every damn wedding leads to happy ever after.”
“I don’t think she thinks that at all. She’s happy in her marriage. She hopes other people will be as well.”
Ella shook her head. She was still swimming from the last one.
She was surprised when he handed her a glass of white wine. She thought about refusing, but she took it anyway. He took a sip of his drink—whiskey, she thought—and she did the same.
“Tell me more about Capriolo,” he said.
Ella blinked. “More? I have never been there.”
“How was the monarchy set up? Who was the king? That kind of thing.”
Ella frowned. She honestly didn’t remember much about what she’d been told. “I don’t know. My grandfather was the king—but there was a coup, and we were sent into exile. My parents lived in Europe. Italy. I think I spent the first eight years of my life in Tuscany and the Amalfi Coast. I loved it there.”
“How did your parents die?”
Her heart pinched. It always hurt to think of Mama and Papa. They had loved her. When she’d gone to Aunt Flavia and Uncle Gaetano, she’d thought she’d get more of the same. She’d been terribly wrong.
“A car accident. The Amalfi Coast is very twisty and turny. They were out driving—and something happened. Failed brakes, a car running them off the road—I don’t know precisely. All I know is they never came back. And I was sent to America.”
Chapter 14
Cash was having trouble processing what Hawk told him earlier. Ella was a queen. Or would be, if Capriolo still had a monarchy. She hadn’t told him she was a princess—had she also hidden the fact she would be a queen, or did she truly not know? Not that it mattered really. She wasn’t a queen—and never would be unless Capriolo suddenly decided they wanted to invite her back.
But it might explain a lot about her aunt and uncle. The way they’d treated her, the way they’d sold her into marriage to Sheikh Fahd. It would explain a lot about Fahd as well. Why he wanted her, why he was willing to pay to marry her. A queen—even an exiled queen—would go a long way toward cementing his claim in Qu’rim.
“Who would the king be today, assuming you still had a king there?”
She frowned. “My uncle, I think. He is a Rossi.”
“But who was the eldest Rossi? Your uncle or your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve never googled these things?”
“No. My aunt and uncle restricted what we could search for. If I wanted to keep my privileges—downloading music, reading books—then I knew not to violate the restrictions.”
Ella Rossi—hell, Ella McQuaid now—was a goddamned queen, and her relatives had hidden it from her. Hidden it from the world, apparently. Because like Hawk had said, it was buried deep. The line of succession went from her grandfather to her father to her. She’d effectively been the exiled queen since she was eight years old—and she apparently didn’t know it.
It was clear to him she didn’t. So did he tell her? Or did he keep it from her because it didn’t matter?
He wasn’t certain—but he was certain that now was not the time to discuss it.
“Why are you asking me this?” Her head was tilted as she stared at him. He couldn’t help but notice the pinkness of her mouth, the smokiness of her eyes. Her hair was a lush waterfall of silky darkness. Her eyes were pools of sepia ink. The urge to kiss her smashed through him like a nuclear detonation.
A little voice whispered that he had the right. He could kiss her. He could undress her, explore her, make her come. It was his right. She was his wife. His wife.
Cash shook himself and turned away, taking a gulp of the whiskey he’d poured. It scalded his throat. He needed to remember. Remember that she was a virgin and he shouldn’t touch her. Because this wasn’t real and it wasn’t going to last.
It was a job. She was his job. Protect her. Keep her safe. Let her go at the end of it so she could make her own life.
“Just wondering,” he said. “Figured I should know more about you.”
He tried not to let his gaze wander down her body. Damn that Gina. She knew how to dress a bride. It had taken everything he had not to let his tongue fall out earlier when he’d walked into the room and seen Ella in that white dress. It was strapless, and the white of it set off her creamy olive skin and made her glow. The bodice was fitted, and the skirt clung to her hips before flaring below the knee and dragging in a silky puddle behind her. There was no ornamentation, unlike the dress she’d been wearing when he rescued her yesterday.
But this dress suited her so much more. In that dress, she’d seemed untouchable, armored. Like a doll instead of a woman. In this dress? She was feminine and appealing. Touchable, though he couldn’t touch her. Not ever.
He wanted to. More than ever, he wanted to. He tossed back the whiskey and chalked it up to the perversity of the situation. He, Cash McQuaid, the avowed bachelor, was married. A thing he’d sworn he’d never do. It was as if fate were laughing at him. Fate had found Ella, put her in his path, and was currently laughing her ass off at him. Or was it asses? He seemed to remember that the Fates were plural in Greek mythology.
Whatever.
“And what about you?” Ella asked, her dark eyes liquid pools of curiosity. She held the wineglass in delicate fingers, taking periodic sips of the golden liquid. Was it his imagination, or did she sway a tiny bit on her feet?
“What about me?”
“You asked about my parents, my past. What about yours? I know nothing about you.”
“You know enough. I’m a Navy SEAL. I protect people. I’m protecting you.”
She took a delicate sip of wine. “I thank you for that. But who are you, Cash McQuaid?” She frowned and shook her head as if to clear it. “That is such an odd thing to say. Cash McQuaid—I am Mrs. McQuaid, am I not? My last name has been Rossi for so long.”
“I think you will always be a Rossi,” he said. “And this is America. You don’t have to take my last name.”
“But I did. It was on the forms.”
He shrugged. “That was done to protect you. When we divorce, you can change it back.”
She frowned and dropped her gaze to her drink. “Of course.”
“Don’t be offended, Ella,” he said. “I’m just telling you the truth. You won’t want to stay married to me.”
Her eyes flashed as she lifted her gaze. “I didn’t say I did.”
Jesus, did she have to be so pretty? “Didn’t Gina give you any other clothes?”
She frowned. “I selected an outfit on the plane. That was all. Besides, I don’t want her to give me clothes.”
Cash blew out a breath and went to pour another whiskey. Damn.
“I don’t think you want to go out on the town wearing a wedding dress. That’s all I’m saying.”
Her lower lip stuck out for a second before she sucked it back in. “I don’t want to go out on the town at all.”
“That makes two of us,” he grumbled before sipping his whiskey.
She went over and sank down on a plush Queen Anne chair. Her dark eyes studied him. “You have not answered my question. Who are you, Cash? Besides a Navy SEAL. Where do you come from? Who are your parents?”
He frowned. He didn’t like talking about this stuff. But she kept looking at him expectantly and he thought, What the fuck.
“My dad is an asshole. A misogynistic, womanizing bastard who thinks women are possessions. My mother left him years ago. I haven’t heard from her since. I have a stepmother though. She hates me. My half sister is a sweetheart who adores me. I don’t go home much other than to see friends.”
Ella’s lip trembled and then stopped. She sipped her drink and tried to look cool. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “Don’t be. I knew the score years ago. I couldn’t leave fast enough.”
“You sound like me in a way. I wanted to leave but could not. They wouldn’t let me.”
He did feel sympathy for her. “And now you have. How do you feel?”
“Str
ange. I ran away from a marriage and now I’m married. I wanted to make my own decisions, but so far they have all been made for me. I don’t see that changing soon.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, but I don’t either. It’s the nature of the business. To protect you, we have to create and control the situation. Eventually you’ll be free.”
“Yes, I’m sure I will.”
“Are you hungry?” he asked after a few silent moments. “We can order something from room service. Hell, we can tell Gina we aren’t going anywhere if you wish. She has pictures of the ceremony. That should be enough.”
Ella looked relieved for a moment, but then her expression hardened as if she was summoning all her willpower. “No, I think we have to stick to the plan. I can wait for dinner.”
He glanced through the open bedroom door at the king-sized bed and cleared his throat. There was still that hurdle to cross, wasn’t there?
Ella glanced at him. Her gaze followed his, and he was certain a red flush crept up her throat. He hurried to reassure her.
“I’ll get the hotel to bring up a cot,” he said. “You can have the bed.”
“That’s kind of you,” she murmured.
Kind? He didn’t think it was kind at all. Instead, he thought it might be an act of self-preservation.
He took another slug of whiskey. It was starting to send warm fire snaking along his veins. The temptation to down it chipped away at him, but he refused to lose control. He had too much discipline to do so.
“No problem,” he said.
“But Cash,” she replied when he strode to the phone on the table and started to pick it up.
“Yes?”
“Will it get out to the press that we had a cot brought up? Should we perhaps think of something else? Gina says that what the press reports is very important to my future.”
Shit.
He laid the phone in the cradle and drew in a deep breath. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“You could sleep in the bed,” she said. “With me. There is plenty of room.”
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