He rested his forearms on his legs, watching her as amusement and dark desire tangled inside him. ‘You should tell me more about that.’
With a reflection of his amusement and desire sparkling on her face, she did.
* * *
The ethics of marrying a man when she was supposed to announce her engagement to another confused Elena if she thought about it too much. But she was sure it was the right thing to do. If she and Micah didn’t get married before they went to speak with her father, she was afraid they never would. She couldn’t risk that. This marriage had become a shiny light in a darkness she hadn’t realised she’d entered into. It made her feel strong again. She had no idea when she’d lost that feeling, but she had, and to have it back was heady. Especially when she didn’t know if it was permanent.
It might be, Elena comforted herself. She might hold on to her strength, her power when they saw her father and told him the news. But the fact that she wasn’t sure was enough to make her feel unsteady. Looking at herself in the outfit she was going to get married in didn’t make her feel that way though. Nor did the fact that she was about to get married.
Elena stared at herself in the mirror of the hotel suite. They’d arrived in Cape Town hours before, had gone straight to Micah’s lawyers and signed their papers. Something had come up for Micah’s attention while they were there, and they’d parted, agreeing to meet at the hotel they’d booked a suite in until things were finalised.
She had no idea what that meant, or how it would look, but for illogical reasons it felt like the right thing to do. A part of her expected paparazzi to be at her home, taking pictures of her before she could speak with her father. Or worse, Jameson would be there. Or her father. None of that was likely, but she didn’t want to worry about that, too. So she accepted Micah’s offer of the suite, went to a store and bought herself something to get married in. Then she got ready to get married.
Her outfit of choice was a white suit and lace vest. It was pretty much like the other suits she wore, but fancier. The material was softer, more expensive because it was her wedding day. It was also much sexier than any suit she wore. The lace vest was to thank for that. It covered everything it had to, but it clung, and, with the material like a spider’s web, seemed created for temptation.
She felt more comfortable in it than she would a wedding dress, she was sure. And it meant something to her that she wasn’t giving up a part of herself to marry someone for her father. Although strictly speaking, she was marrying someone for her father. She wouldn’t be marrying at all if it weren’t for him.
But at least this way he can’t weaponise the fact that you aren’t married against you. At least now you’re safe.
She hadn’t realised how much she’d needed that security until now. She hadn’t realised how powerful the threat of her father’s presence—the threat of his demands—was in her life. Her heart pained that this was her reality, but it was time she faced it. Just as she had to face that she would rather have the peace of no longer being threatened by her father than the hope of being loved by him. Facing it made her smart. Accepting it would make her happy. At this point, she could only manage the first.
A knock on the door brought her out of her head. Thank goodness. She went to open it.
Micah stared at her dumbly. Shook his head. ‘Wow.’
‘Hello to you, too,’ she said with a smile. It lightened the darkness inside her. Reminded her why she’d agreed to marry him. The light grew when his eyes kept dipping to her outfit. ‘You know I have a face, right?’
‘Right,’ he said, his head snapping up. His eyes widened then, too, and if she didn’t think he’d tease her for it, she’d thank him for the reaction. It soothed any remaining shakiness thinking about her father had brought.
‘I thought you looked beautiful that night at the banquet. No—I thought you couldn’t look more beautiful than you did that night at the banquet.’ He blinked. ‘I was wrong.’
Good heavens, this man was a charmer. She wanted to be annoyed by it, but she couldn’t be. The gooeyness slid into her bloodstream, carried to her heart before she could even try.
‘Thank you. I’m glad this non-wedding wedding has some wedding wedding elements.’
His eyes grew concerned. ‘You know we don’t have to do this today.’
She stepped back so he could walk into the room. ‘You know we have to do this today.’
He brushed a hand against hers as he walked past her. ‘Fine. We can have another wedding. A wedding wedding.’
‘I appreciate the offer, Micah, but I don’t want a wedding wedding. The elements of a wedding I want, I have. A man I respect is marrying me. Also someone so completely enthralled by my good looks that he’s aware of how lucky he is.’
Micah smiled. ‘I guess you do have it, then. But we can talk about it later. The business thing took longer than expected. We have about twenty minutes before we have to leave for Home Affairs.’
‘It’s unlikely a government-run department is going to require us to be there on time,’ she replied, rolling her eyes.
‘Only if you don’t have connections.’ He winked. ‘I’m going to have a shower.’
On his way to the bedroom with its en-suite bathroom, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Elena spent much too long thinking about the casual gesture. It was just so...easy. She didn’t completely trust it. Not because she didn’t want to; precisely because she wanted to. Whenever things seemed too good to be true, they usually were. At least when it came to Elena and relationships.
She was trying not to think about it when Micah walked into the living room of the suite wearing only a towel. It was like an advertisement, but it was anyone’s guess for what. Cotton, for the towel? He was clean-shaven, so it could have been anything to do with shaving. The scent trailing after him was powerful, but not overwhelming, so perhaps he was selling some perfect combination of men’s cologne. Or perhaps he was selling nothing. Perhaps his intention had always been to make her salivate.
When they met, she remembered admiring the muscle that was clear in his frame. Now, she could do it first-hand. She’d been right to think there was a layer of softness insulating that muscle. It made Elena wonder why only perfectly sculpted men were used as models. Micah’s build made it clear that he was strong and human; he had a life beyond the gym.
As it turned out, that build was exactly her type.
And Micah knew it, too.
‘Should I worry about the way you’re looking at me?’ he asked casually.
‘Why did you come out of the bedroom if you didn’t want me to look at you like this?’
‘I’m looking for the suit bag with my clothes in.’
‘The one you took into the bedroom?’
He smirked. ‘Did I? I must have missed it.’ He paused. It felt as though he was giving the electricity between them time to spark. ‘I’m not mad about it.’
‘I don’t imagine you are,’ she said in the same mild tone he used. ‘Now, get ready so we can go.’
He was smiling when he went back into the bedroom, and when he emerged again minutes later, he looked exactly like the models she wanted to see in fashion campaigns. His suit was tailored to fit his broad shoulders and lean hips, and the navy colour was perfect against his brown skin.
‘You look nice,’ Elena said when he reached her.
His eyes danced with amusement. ‘If that’s what your face looks like when I look nice, I might have to call an ambulance to check your heart on days I look gorgeous.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘The ego on you.’
‘It’s not ego when it’s the truth.’
‘I can’t believe I’m marrying someone who said that.’
He offered her an arm. ‘Let’s make it official anyway.’
She took the arm with a firm grip and a nod that was just as firm. ‘Yes. Let’
s.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MICAH’S CONTACTS ENSURED they were in and out of the Home Affairs office in exactly forty minutes. Married.
They were now married.
Elena refused his offer to get dinner to celebrate. She was worried someone might recognise them and take photos. Those photos would almost certainly reach her father, and they wouldn’t have the opportunity to surprise him with the truth.
‘It’ll be easier if we surprise him, trust me.’
That was all she said until they reached the suite.
He hadn’t thought to book two separate rooms for them. Not based on the way they had responded to one another when they’d kissed, or on the plane. Their kiss after they made their vows to one another hadn’t been as hot as either of those occasions, but it had lingered, and he’d felt a promise in it. Perhaps that had been presumptuous, but Micah thought he could be on the night of his wedding. Now, he doubted it. Elena had all but curled into herself, and nothing he said lured her out of it.
‘Do you want something to eat?’ he asked, loosening his tie.
She kicked off her shoes and shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’
He didn’t think she’d eaten anything since that morning, so he knew she wasn’t denying it because she wasn’t hungry. He was about to ask when she grabbed her phone and disappeared onto the balcony.
He didn’t follow immediately. She needed time and space, clearly. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have taken it. But he wanted to follow her. He wanted to demand she talk to him. They were married now, for heaven’s sake. He didn’t want their marriage to start off on this foot, where they didn’t speak with one another.
He had enough of that growing up.
He swore at the reminder.
He’d been avoiding thoughts about his parents since he’d had that revelation about his relationship with his mother. It had been easy to do with everything that had happened in the last few days. But it was still there, as it always was. Lurking around the distractions he offered himself, waiting for an in. Apparently, he’d given it one now.
He threw off his suit jacket and tossed the tie on the bed. He undid his cufflinks and set them on the bedside table. He rolled up his shirt’s sleeves, kicked off his shoes, then headed for the minibar in the living room. It was fully stocked, and he grabbed a brandy as he had the night he’d proposed to Elena. Now though, it wasn’t to celebrate his actions; it was to clear his thoughts.
His mother would never know about his plan to gain her attention by partnering with Elena’s father. That simple fact anchored him. If she knew, he would feel more pathetic than he already did. He was a grown man, and he thought he could get his mother to pay more attention to him through a business transaction. If he had his mother’s attention, he wouldn’t feel so bad about not having his father’s. It would still smart, there was no doubt, but at least he wouldn’t feel as abandoned as he did now. Because at least his father had left him for a reason—another family. The kind his father had always wanted, no doubt.
His mother though? She’d left him for a business. For work. Something that had no value in the grand scheme of things.
That very thought told him how much things had shifted in his brain. He’d felt the same way about work as she had for the longest time. Up until this trip to Italy, in fact. In Italy, he’d learnt he could be himself. Have his interests, and still be cared about. He didn’t have to twist into impossible shapes for that to happen either. It had just happened, naturally, and it had put a lot of things into perspective.
He was still processing all of it, but he knew this: Elena was his family now. Their marriage might be a business agreement, but their relationship had more emotion in it than anything he’d experienced with his real family. He trusted her, and she wouldn’t hurt him the way his mother did. He knew it.
The thought had him stalking to the balcony and opening the sliding doors. He found Elena sitting with her feet against the railing, her phone in her lap.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she said before he could talk. ‘I will never forget Italy and everything we saw there, but this? This is...’ She trailed off with a head shake. ‘This is home.’
Slowly, he took a seat next to her. The hotel was in Cape Town’s centre, and looked out on the buildings and streets of the business hub of the city. They were up high enough that they could see the ocean during the day. Table Mountain loomed above it, dark and steady at night. It didn’t have the quietness or the quaintness that Italy had, but the sounds were familiar, the stars were brighter and, as Elena said, it was home.
‘I sent Jameson a message telling him I’m not marrying him.’ She wasn’t looking at him, so she didn’t see his head whip towards her. ‘Then I messaged my father to tell him there wouldn’t be an engagement party tomorrow, and that I’d see him at eleven a.m. to explain why. Figured I’d give us some time to have breakfast, at least.’
No wonder she’d gone quiet.
Even as his instincts congratulated themselves on knowing something wasn’t right with her, his heart chastised him. He’d forgotten about the party. He should have known saying no to it, to the engagement, would be hard on her. She was worried about disappointing her father, about sacrificing what she wanted from him. Their wedding hadn’t only been about them, not for her, and he should have known that.
‘How do you feel?’
There was a long silence.
‘Good.’ She laughed, but it didn’t sound free or unburdened. It sounded as if it was wrenched from somewhere deep inside her. ‘I feel good. I’m so relieved I made the decision—the right one—and I don’t feel like I’m betraying him.’
Her voice changed as she spoke, getting higher and less steady, and he stood and gently pulled her into his arms so she could lean on him.
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ Elena assured him, but her face was pressed into his chest and he could barely hear her. He was also fairly certain his shirt was wet. ‘I’m glad it’s you,’ she said with a hiccup. She leaned back. She was crying, but she didn’t seem to know it was happening. Perhaps she was refusing to acknowledge it.
‘I’m so glad it’s you.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘This feeling in my chest that used to be there isn’t there any more. It feels weird. Empty. Which I know makes no sense because it also feels right.’ She curled her hands into his shirt. ‘We feel right.’
Now she lifted to her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips.
‘I’m so glad it’s you,’ she whispered again, before wrapping her arms around him and hugging him more tightly than he’d ever been hugged before.
Maybe that was why it felt as if something clicked inside him.
She’d just fixed something broken.
* * *
Elena was sure there were rules about not blubbering all over a spouse on the night of a wedding. Too bad. She hadn’t paid attention to the rules before when it came to Micah. Though it might have been more accurate to say their relationship hadn’t followed the rules since she hadn’t actively willed it that way.
She wasn’t supposed to feel as though a man she’d met a week ago was the only person she could trust in the world. Trust. It terrified her that she even thought it. There were still parts of her that worried Micah would turn out like her father. Or like any of the powerful men she’d come to know in her life. But she also knew that was unfair. He had proved to her that he was different. Ever since he came to Venice to find her, he’d offered her honesty. He was protecting her. He’d held her when she cried. And when he touched her, he made her head spin and her heart fill.
It was that filling heart that was the really scary part about trusting him.
She tried to talk herself out of the fear. Things weren’t too good to be true. It was okay to feel safe with him. She didn’t have to worry about her father or Jameson or losing her job any more. She would be okay.
‘I’m sorry for messing up your shirt,’ she said as she pulled back and saw the damage. Smeared make-up and wetness didn’t do anything for what she was sure was an expensive piece of clothing. ‘I’ll pay to have it cleaned.’
‘I’ll take care of it,’ he said. He didn’t move closer to her, but it felt as if he wanted to. She had no idea how she knew it. ‘Just tell me you’re okay.’
‘I’m fine.’ She walked back into the room. ‘It was residual stress from the last few days. Or the last month. I’m fine,’ she said again.
‘If you’re sure.’ He was watching her intently. ‘Tea?’
‘Please.’ She watched him go through the motions for a second, then said, ‘Who told you to give someone tea when they’re feeling shaky?’
He glanced over his shoulder. ‘That’s a thing?’ He smiled when she gave him a look. ‘It’s part of pop culture. I’m not completely oblivious.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ she murmured. She went to the bathroom, washed her face and tied her curls up. She was still wearing her wedding suit, but she had her Italy suitcase with her. She could change into a sleepshirt.
When she left the bathroom, her tea was steaming on the table in the little lounge of their suite. The sleepshirt could wait, she thought, but took off the jacket of her suit and draped it over the back of a chair.
‘Thank you,’ she said to Micah, who was sitting in the seat opposite the one she’d taken.
‘It’s a relatively simple way to make you feel better.’
His eyes pierced hers as she took a sip from her tea. She sighed as the warmth soothed the remaining unsteadiness. Then she sighed when she found Micah still looking at her.
‘I feel a lot better, I promise. It was really just tension. And all the stuff with my father and Jameson.’
‘I understand.’ His drink was brown liquor. He sipped it slowly. ‘I also understand that you don’t always deal with your feelings when they come up, which means something like this happens, I’m betting, quite frequently.’
Marrying His Runaway Heiress Page 12