by Day Leclaire
She nodded, taking in all the decorations. “And they’ve put white roses all around,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen so many.”
“Jordan told me they were your favorite.”
She knew his words were significant, but couldn’t seem to think straight. Nor did they have time for further conversation. At that moment, the organ played the bridal march and they started down the aisle. Arriving at the altar, they sat in the chairs provided. Once the rest of the congregation joined them, the ceremony began, taking on a dreamlike quality.
She knew the pastor spoke of marital responsibilities, but all she could think of was how irrevocably her life would change. He talked of faith and endurance, and she thought of her prisms and their promise of a better tomorrow. He mentioned love and commitment, something she knew couldn’t be hers. Yet glancing occasionally at Thor, she felt strangely reassured. Instead of adding to her nervousness, his presence eased her fears.
Time passed. She watched the sun gleam through the stained-glass window, the muted colors enclosing them in a special world all their own. She listened to one of Thor’s aunts sing, her lilting voice filling Andrea with hope and a quiet contentment. Thor’s hand cupped her elbow. Together they stood and faced the solemn pastor.
He first addressed Thor. “Har du lover å elske og ære hverandre til døden skiller dere ad?”
“Ja,” Thor spoke in a firm, carrying voice.
The pastor turned to her and repeated the question. Quietly Thor translated. “Do you promise to love and honor each other until death do you part?”
She hesitated, suddenly aware she did want to make such a vow. She wanted it with all her heart. Tears pricked her eyes. It didn’t matter what happened in the coming months. For today, and perhaps for tomorrow, she’d have Thor. He tensed beside her, and she realized he and the entire congregation awaited her response. Did he doubt her answer? She smiled mistily, intense joy rising within her.
“I do,” she said clearly.
Together they knelt for the blessing. Soon the ceremony would end. In another minute, she’d be married to Thor. Standing once again, they exchanged rings. She stared at the gold braided band in wonder, noting the care and attention taken with the intricate design. Had he chosen the ring with her in mind? She glanced at him uncertainly, wishing she could ask.
“Join hands,” the minister requested, interrupting her musings. In a booming voice, he offered his final pronouncement. “I declare you to be husband and wife, to live together in good days and bad for the rest of your time on this earth.”
They turned, facing the congregation. She heard the organ music swell. Hand in hand, she and Thor started down the aisle. At the doorway of the church, the sound of cameras whirring and clicking startled her. With a muttered exclamation, Thor swept her into his arms and kissed her.
“Andrea Thorsen,” he growled in a satisfied voice. “At last.”
Chapter 6
T he ride back to the Thorsens’ seemed much shorter than the one to the church. She must be in a state of shock, Andrea decided. That would explain how she’d found the nerve to go through with the ceremony. Somehow she had, and the proof weighed heavily on her finger. She twisted the braided gold band. It felt so . . . so permanent.
If only it was.
“Andrea?” Thor caught her attention. “Are you all right?”
She fixed a smile on her face and waved to the crowd. “Of course. I’m fine.”
“This part’s almost over.”
Did she hear regret in his voice? She dismissed the thought. No. It must be relief. “We still have the reception to go,” she reminded him. “Will it be at your parents’ house?”
“Not a chance. Not with so many people. We’ve rented a banquet room at a hotel for later this afternoon.” He glanced at her, his expression concerned. “You know we’ll be expected to stay late?”
“Late?” She forced out a laugh. “Your mother told me traditional Norwegian weddings last for three days. We still have another twenty-four hours to go.”
“We’ll leave the party before then.”
And go where? she wondered anxiously. She’d made her intentions clear about their living arrangements, they’d be separate. Could he be hoping for a traditional wedding night to match their traditional wedding? She set her mouth in a stubborn line. Well, hope was all he’d get. Right?
Unable to resist, she glanced once more at her wedding ring, shame flooding through her. A business arrangement. She’d married to save her father’s business. So noble. So self-sacrificing. So dishonest to the intent of the ceremony. Face facts. She’d learned from the cradle that business came first. Always. She couldn’t change that now.
Yet, close on the heels of truth came a wish. All she wanted, all she’d ever wanted, was to be loved for herself . . . .
“We’re here,” Thor’s voice interrupted her dreams. Once again he stood by her horse, holding out his arms. And once again, like a bird flying home to nest, she slipped into them. She trembled at his touch and knew he felt it.
“The wind’s picking up,” she said, attempting to excuse her shiver, not quite able to meet his eyes.
“It’s all right to be nervous,” he murmured.
Was she so transparent? She didn’t like her innermost feelings so clearly on display. Nor did she care to have him mention them aloud. Couldn’t he, for once, turn a blind eye? At the very least, he could pretend to be a bit myopic.
“I’m not nervous,” she attempted to lie. Unsuccessfully. She grimaced. There she went, flinging fibs when telling the truth wouldn’t hurt anything more than her pride. Well, honesty came to those who exercised it. Maybe she should give it a try. “Okay. I’m nervous. Is that a crime?”
His lips twitched. “Not as far as I’m aware.”
Retreating with dignity not quite intact, she managed a smile. “So what’s next?”
“The photographer will take more pictures, but as soon as that’s over, we can slip away and relax for an hour or so. Are you hungry? I can rustle up a few sandwiches and some of Caesar’s apple cider.” He grinned. “With any luck it’ll be fermented, after all.”
Her smile came more naturally this time. “Sounds wonderful.”
And it did. The thought of sneaking off and indulging in an impromptu picnic helped keep her sanity intact throughout the tedious photo session. The photographer seemed intent on snapping the “happy” couple from every angle, with every expression, and in every setting, indoors and out. After two hours, Thor called a halt.
“You can take more at the reception,” he instructed firmly. Grabbing Andrea by the hand, they raced for the house.
Thor ransacked the kitchen and loaded a tray, deftly evading the well-wishers who crossed their path. “Show me which bedroom Mom gave you,” he whispered in her ear. Moments later they’d slipped inside with no one the wiser, and closed and locked the door, the outside world held safely at bay.
Only then did Andrea feel the first hint of unease. She was holed up in a bedroom, all alone with Thor, or more precisely, with her husband. Not the smartest course to choose, if she hoped to maintain a prudent distance. She crossed to the window and untied the ribbons beneath her chin. Pulling off her crown, she set it carefully on a chair.
He placed the tray on the trivet table and stood behind her. Reaching up, he caressed the riot of curls tumbling free of her plait. “You’re tense. Why?”
Honesty was still a virtue she held dear, she reminded herself. Less now than earlier, true, but she’d managed it before and could again. “I’m uncomfortable being here. Alone. With you,” she admitted baldly.
“Afraid I’ll take advantage?”
“Yes.”
“Smart girl.”
She turned to confront him, instantly wishing she hadn’t. Unchecked passion marked his face. He stood close, his broad shoulders dwarfing her, his eyes
ablaze with desire. He touched a curl at her temple, twisting it around his finger.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
He gave a husky laugh. “I have no choice.” His hand drifted across her cheek, sliding along her jaw to cup her head. He tugged her closer, a single step all it took to bring them together. His hips and thighs pressed hard against her legs, the layers of petticoats creating a delicious friction.
The trembling started once more, shivering along her spine, filling her with nervous excitement. She put her hands up to stop him and instead found herself clutching his shoulders. He’d removed his overcoat and the rough linen of his red vest grated on her palms.
“Just a kiss, kona mi ,” he muttered in her ear. “Just one.”
My wife . Andrea stared at him, her brown eyes wide and apprehensive. She was his wife, and as such should be able to handle a single kiss. After all, it wasn’t their first. So, why not? She lifted her lips to his, losing herself in the light tender contact. Instantly the kiss deepened, his mouth hard and insistent. On its heels came her reaction, eager and impassioned.
His hand wrapped around her, anchoring her to him. He’d kissed her often during last year’s engagement, but she’d never felt this hot, unrelenting demand. It left her frustrated, unfulfilled, aware she could have so much more if only their marriage were real. Her hand slid upward, easing into his hair, and her fingertips brushed the small hammer earring he wore. She froze. Thor’s hammer. A symbol of strength and power, of the ruthlessness with which he strove to win.
The reminder hit hard—their marriage and the true reasons behind it. She struggled for control. How could she feel like this, need like this, when they’d based their relationship on business? She groaned softly. Constantine’s. That was why they’d married. Love— no, lust —had no place in her life.
“We can’t,” she murmured. “Please, stop.”
He made a sound deep in his throat, his lips drifting from her neck to her shoulder. “You’re right. This isn’t the place and it definitely isn’t the time.”
Nor would it ever be. He swept away her defenses so effortlessly. A simple kiss, and she couldn’t think straight anymore. Next time he touched her, she might not get a reprieve. Once he’d turned Constantine’s around, he’d be out of her life, and where would she be? Shattered and alone, that’s where. The same as last time.
She took a step back, and then another and another, with Thor’s shrewd blue eyes watching her every inch of the way.
“Hungry?” he asked mildly.
“Starving,” she admitted, striving for normalcy, as well as distance. “What did you bring?”
He crossed to the table and uncovered the tray. “Chicken sandwiches . . . and this.” He held a bottle of champagne aloft. A teasing smile touched his mouth. “Beats apple cider, don’t you think?”
It took a few quick twists for him to remove the wire and foil seal. With a muffled pop and a loud hiss, he uncorked the stopper from the bottle and filled two glasses. He crossed the room and handed her the fizzing wine.
“To you, my wife,” he said, raising his glass. “May your marriage be everything you could wish.”
She stared at him uncertainly. She could wish for quite a lot, like a real marriage . . . like a real husband. But wishes like those were guaranteed to bring heartbreak. “To a successful—” She couldn’t quite bring herself to use the word business . “To a successful venture,” she limited herself to saying.
“Now to arrange our picnic.” He opened a closet door and pulled out a quilt, which he spread on the plush rug. “Bring the tray over, will you? Go ahead and kick off your shoes and relax. We have an hour or so before the reception.”
The time passed with surprising ease. If she didn’t quite forget the passionate embrace they’d shared, she succeeded in putting it aside. They concentrated on their meal, the conversation light and amusing.
“Try this,” he offered at one point, holding out a cracker heaped high with salmon pate. Before she could take it, he’d slipped the morsel between her lips, his thumb stroking the fullness of her mouth. “Like it?”
The delicate flavor of the salmon eluded her, while his tender touch remained etched in her memory. “I love it,” she admitted, not referring to the food.
He leaned closer and her heartbeat quickened. “There’s more. Do you want some?”
She licked her lips. “Yes, please,” she whispered, her eyes captured by the intensity in his. His head dipped lower, his breath warm on her face. Before he could act on the promise in his gaze, the handle of the door rattled.
“You guys in there?” Rainer’s voice drifted through the wood panel, followed by a loud knock.
Andrea jerked away and Thor swore. He leapt to his feet and unlocked the door, yanking it open. “What?” Anger and impatience infused the word with sharp warning.
Rainer grinned cockily. “Naughty, naughty.” He stuck his foot into the room, catching the door before it slammed shut. “You’ll have to come out of hiding now. The reception can’t start until you’re there. I volunteered to lead the search party.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“You’re welcome.” He stepped over the threshold, eyeing their picnic with interest. “Why don’t you rejoin the family? I’ll clean this up.” He winked at Andrea. “That way I can give Jordan all the gory details.”
Their return downstairs almost went unnoticed. Sonja stood vigil by the steps. “You’re late,” she scolded, her indulgent smile taking the bite from her words. “The limousine’s ready to drive you to the hotel. I’ll follow in a few minutes.”
The reception passed in a blur of food and music and laughter. Andrea danced with all her employees, as well as most of her new Thorsen relatives. Rainer looked after the clients who’d attended, making sure they ate heartily of Milanos’ fare. He gave particular attention to a sour-faced older man, keeping his plate filled with cannoli, Joe’s special dessert pastry.
“Who’s that?” Andrea asked Thor, wondering why Rainer would waste his time with such an unpleasant appearing individual.
“Captain Alexander. He can swing a tugboat account in our direction, should he be so inclined.”
Andrea smiled wryly. Of course. Business. She should have guessed. “I assume he isn’t so inclined?”
“No, he isn’t.” Thor shrugged. “It’s Rainer’s problem. I’m off duty tonight. Come on. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”
They wandered through the room, smiling and laughing with friends and family. Food filled table after table, and beer, champagne, or fruit punch filled every glass. Following dinner, the formal speeches began—funny, romantic, joyous, and nostalgic. It seemed everyone had something to say.
Next came the cake cutting. Andrea stared in amazement at the huge multi-tiered cake Caesar wheeled out. Pure white roses and delicate pink buds covered the uppermost layer and cascaded artfully down the sides of the cake to form a wreath at the bottom. Speechless, she hugged Caesar, tears glittering in her eyes.
“I don’t want to cut it,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m afraid I’ll ruin such perfection.”
“What? Not taste Joe’s masterpiece? You would insult him.”
Thor showed no such hesitation. He cut them both a slice and, with a teasing glint in his eye, held the thickly frosted cake for her to try. “Come, my love. Have a taste,” he murmured in her ear.
She nibbled warily at the cake, laughing at him, only to have her laughter melt away the instant he swept her into his arms and kissed the frosting from her lips.
Finally came more dancing.
Of all the cherished memories from that night, the part Andrea remembered most was the bride’s waltz, or brudevalsen , as Alaric described it. The focus of every eye, she walked hand in hand with Thor to the empty dance floor. She envied the ease with which he turned her into his arms, his hand firm against he
r waist.
“Shall we?” he murmured.
“Yes, please,” she replied with heartfelt sincerity.
Andrea placed her hand on his shoulder, acutely aware of the contrast between the smooth silk of his shirt and the muscled power of his biceps. Before she had time to react, he pulled her close, holding her as though she was his most valued treasure.
She remembered every moment of that dance. She remembered his eyes, dark, serious, and possessive. She remembered drifting across the floor, their steps perfectly matched. Most of all she remembered the kiss that ended their waltz, a sweetly gentle, warmly passionate caress, as necessary to her as the very breath she drew.
Everything stayed clear in her mind, because in that moment, lost in an impossible dream, she realized she loved him still. She almost admitted it aloud. All that saved her was Rainer’s interruption.
“There’s trouble at Constantine’s,” he said in a low voice. “A break in.”
“Oh, no!” Andrea moved further into Thor’s embrace. “Is anyone hurt? Willie, our security guard?”
“I don’t think so. Marco’s already there with the police. They’d like one of you to come down and check on things.”
Thor nodded, edging them discreetly from the dance floor. “I’ll leave right now.”
“I’ve arranged for a car to drive you to the house,” Rainer continued, walking with them across the room. “You’ll want to change before heading over to Constantine’s.”
“Thanks.” Thor paused, glancing at Andrea. “Sweetheart, why don’t you stay here with my parents? This shouldn’t take long. I can get everything settled and return before I’m even missed.”
She shook her head, adamant. “No way. It’s my business and I’m coming.”
He didn’t bother arguing. “Rainer, make our excuses. With any luck, they’ll think we’ve turned in for the evening.”
“Right, but call me, okay? Things will continue here at least until dawn before the party moves to Mom and Dad’s.”