Her Wedding Night Negotiation

by Chantelle Shaw

  The door was usually kept locked, but she’d been able to charm the manager of the venue into leaving it unsecured for a fictional delivery. A surprise for the groom.

  ‘Wait!’ Elena squeaked.

  Thea whipped around, her heart pounding with the electric spike of adrenalin. They’d been discovered?

  All she saw was her friend, a slender shape framed by the light from the doorway behind.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Rings!’

  How could she have forgotten her engagement ring? The dead weight of the baguette diamond. Huge. Impossible to miss. And her wedding ring wasn’t far behind, with its twinkling encrustation of pure white gemstones. Her husband’s mark. His claim.

  Thea prised the pair of them from her finger and handed them to her friend. Now she was free.

  Time to go.

  ‘And that is where this absurd charade ends.’

  The deep, growling voice rumbled like thunder as a shadow loomed from a darkened alcove.

  Christo.

  * * *

  Christo strolled over to a petite side table and turned on a lamp. The room shone with a soft glow. Such a pretty space, with delicate gilt furniture and swathes of brocade fabric draping the walls. Perfect for wedding preparations. Not so perfect for the curious machinations of the two wide-eyed females now frozen before him.

  He’d been prepared to allow their odd scene to take its course. There was no chance of his sparkling new bride running away. One of his men stood waiting outside the door. She would have walked into a wall of immovable security.

  He gritted his teeth. Breathed through the heat blistering his veins. The rings.

  Holding out his hand, he nodded to the Drakos girl. She placed Thea’s bouquet on one of the fine chairs and dropped the glittering tokens into his palm. He curled them into his fist and they burned in his hand. Hundreds of thousands of euros in jewellery sat there, abandoned without care.

  Christo slid them into the pocket of his trousers and addressed Thea’s bridesmaid. ‘Leave us.’ He kept his voice level and calm. His bride and his future were secure for now. Any further emotion was misdirected.

  ‘You can’t make me. I’m staying here.’

  Such a brave statement. Christo smiled. He’d been told he looked wolf-like when he did, so he tried for a less predatory edge. Elena shuddered, and wilted a fraction. Ah, so he’d failed. Again.

  He sighed, reaching into his pocket for his phone. Pressed speed dial. ‘Raul,’ he said evenly, ‘I need you. Miss Drakos would like to dance.’

  He’d attend to Thea soon enough. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed her, standing straight. Stiff. Glancing at the door. Would she run or hold her ground? He suspected the former and hoped for the latter. Why? It was hard to say. He was used to women running when life didn’t meet their expectations. His mother had been the finest advocate of that coping strategy.

  Raul, his appointed head of security and best man, arrived at the door. Elena was the maid of honour. She was required to dance with Raul at some point. Now was an opportune time as any.

  ‘Elena stays.’

  The lady speaks. Although it was more like a hiss. Quiet. Serpentine. Curling a chill tight on his spine.

  He ignored it. ‘Elena, you’ll dance with Raul now.’

  Christo had little doubt she’d leave. His commands were invariably followed. Raul held out his hand. His prospective dance partner took it, removed her ridiculous hat, placed it on a chair and left the room with a tearful ‘Sorry...’ to Christo’s bride. Such a touching moment.

  He turned his attention to Thea.

  She didn’t wilt. She stood rigid. Head held high. So fierce and proud. Dressed in jeans and leather with exquisitely coiffed and braided hair. All contradiction—such a heady mix.

  A tantalising buzz thrummed through him.

  ‘How long were you hiding there?’ she asked.

  Christo would allow her some questions. He had a lifetime to get answers of his own.

  ‘Long enough.’

  ‘And you watched us dress?’

  He shrugged. ‘There was nothing to see.’

  She’d been half dressed already. Yet even in the darkened room Thea had blinded him. Her gentle curves. The slender waist. That crushing corset. An interesting foil for jeans and heavy boots... Everything about her had proved interesting tonight.

  ‘I didn’t realise my husband lurked. I would never have married you if I’d known. Lurkers can’t be trusted.’

  He laughed. Such an unfamiliar thing it sounded more like a bark. Thea didn’t flinch. Most people would have.

  ‘That’s something I’ve never been accused of. I’ll add it to the list of my many documented achievements.’

  His laughter seemed to increase her courage. She took a step forward. Still clutching her gloves, helmet and a white envelope. He wanted that envelope.

  Instead of taking it, as he would in due course, Christo allowed her another question. He knew it was coming. Her brows creased in a slight frown and her mouth was opening and closing a fraction, as if silently practising the words.

  ‘How did you find out?’

  Her voice stroked soft as a feather over his skin. The perfect balance of seduction and wheedling. Lashes downcast. Deferential. If she’d been close enough no doubt she’d have placed a fine-boned hand on his. Gazed into his eyes. Perhaps granted him a few false tears. Such a subtle act, and all too familiar.

  He despised it.

  ‘Take care, Thea. I don’t endure theatrics.’

  She tossed her head and the artfully placed curls of her hair flicked and bounced. ‘I’m no performing seal.’

  ‘Then what’s today been about, if not a performance?’

  He’d known she had spark. That much had been evident in the interminable parades he suspected her father had imposed upon her each time Christo had visited their ostentatious home. Thea’s beauty shone fierce and bright, and such beauty came from intelligence. Yet she’d attempted to hide it from him until today.

  When he’d lifted her veil there it had been, boiling through her icy veneer. Those eyes...tight and burning with hatred. He’d almost recoiled, witnessing the wild creature beneath. And then her face had smoothed, as if a wave had washed away writing on sand, and it had gone.

  But he’d watched her at the reception. She and her friend wandering to and from this room. The furtive whispers between them. After one trip Thea’s skirt had hung more loosely. After another the hem had dragged on the floor. So he’d schooled Raul, had the door to the alley placed under guard and silently thwarted her plans.

  Creeping into this room to wait in the darkness was beneath him, perhaps. Still, he’d needed to witness the deception personally. It would serve as a reminder of why he couldn’t trust.

  Thea hadn’t taken long to reveal herself.

  ‘Today? It was about escaping you.’

  The words might sting, but he was used to his parents’ rejection so what did one more matter? He’d been the child they’d weaponised to hurt each other, not loved for being their son. That was what the people closest to you were capable of.

  He’d inured himself against the pain of those boyhood lessons years ago. Never again would he beg for meagre crumbs of affection from another’s table. All he dealt in now were cold truths and hard cash. And Atlas Shipping, the company his grandfather had founded, was his ultimate and only reward for being born into the misery of his family.

  Christo walked towards Thea, towering above her. At six foot four, he towered above most people. It was an edge which many might exploit, but he refused to be known as a bully.

  He rolled his tight shoulders. Swallowed down the anger roiling in his gut. Tried again for a smile which was conciliatory. Who knew whether it had worked? As she looked up at him Thea’s face was as blank as a fresh sheet
of paper.

  ‘You want an escape, and yet I still have you.’

  Christo plucked the envelope from her hand and slid it into the inner pocket of his tuxedo. Thea wasn’t expecting it. She broke a little. A slump of her shoulders. A tremble in her bottom lip. Her freedom had been stolen, as his had been.

  Would she understand? He almost felt sorry for her in that moment, but finer feelings had no place here. Later he might make time to regret what he had to do. Not tonight.

  ‘Wait. I can’t... I won’t...’

  Emotion ran high in her voice as it quavered and cracked. Nothing moved him. He had no choice. She’d realise soon enough and then a deal could be struck—although only on his terms, because her compliance was essential.

  ‘Did you really think your childish plan would work?’ He schooled his voice, low and sharp as a blade. He’d witnessed grown men crumble at this tone. ‘That I wouldn’t notice the switch immediately with only that monstrosity of a headpiece as a disguise?’ He nodded to the discarded hat.

  She dropped her helmet and gloves onto a chair. Brushed a fine strand of hair behind her ear. ‘It was all about misdirection.’

  ‘So now you’re playing conjuror’s tricks?’

  ‘I was supposed to be a happy, blushing bride—not a prisoner planning an escape. People saw what they wanted to.’

  Well, her confidence was misplaced. Time to show her.

  He cupped her chin in his right hand, felt Thea’s perfect skin, silky and warm under his fingers. Her lips thinned, but she didn’t move.

  ‘I see your cognac eyes. Your skin like mountain honey. And your hair rich as dark chocolate,’ he said, his voice pitched soft as a caress. ‘I see your haughty grace as you walk. The ferocity in your gaze. I see who you try to hide. I see you, Thea.’

  A new look flickered across her face. That look he understood. Those incendiary eyes were all flash and fire. He wanted to set her alight and watch her burn. But he wouldn’t. He wasn’t weak, like his father. Falling for lies about love. Letting a woman trap him into marriage. Love was for vulnerable fools. Not him. Having once been a weapon, he’d learned how to defend himself. And love was the deadliest weapon of them all.

  Yet as he looked down at her, Thea’s glorious lips parted. Her pupils went dark and wide. So he dropped his head and brushed his lips across hers as a test. For effect. She gasped when he pulled away.

  ‘Elena is a pretty dark-haired, brown-eyed girl,’ he said, his lips burning where they’d touched hers. ‘But she could never pass as you. You’re a fool to imagine it.’

  He released this new Thea. This aware Thea.

  She raised shaking fingers to her lips. He took her free hand, dropped the rings back into it. She snatched her hand away and looked down at them, eyes still wide. Not so good at hiding now. Her mouth fell open, her skin paling to ivory.

  He knew that look too. Horror.

  His stomach clenched. He’d felt much the same when he’d realised he required a bride. A cruel trick of his father’s. Christo had sworn off marriage until Hector’s actions made it necessary. His father had procured secret loans from Thea’s. Failed to pay the crippling interest. Become indebted to a man who had demanded Christo’s marriage to his daughter to stop the impending foreclosure.

  Christo didn’t want this debacle any more than Thea did. Still, no matter how distasteful the task, he’d do whatever was required to save Atlas Shipping. To secure his birthright, his inheritance and the company his father had nearly destroyed.

  ‘It would have worked,’ Thea whispered. ‘It would have.’

  ‘Perhaps if you’d married anyone else. Unfortunately, you married me.’

  Thea’s hand clenched into a fist, tight around the rings. ‘And what’s so special about you?’

  ‘I understand people.’ He’d learned as a child. So he knew when to hide from his hostile mother. To avoid his mercurial father. For Christo, people were transparent as glass. ‘It’s why I’m unparalleled in business.’

  ‘I’d say you have an unparalleled ego.’

  He stalked past Thea and opened the rear door of the room. The gritty smell of real life wafted in from the alley behind. He spoke to the man outside and ordered him in.

  ‘An ego’s only worth something if it’s backed by ability. Which I have. You see, Thea, your plan wouldn’t have worked.’ He stood back and let her take in the hulking security guard he’d posted outside. ‘There was no chance you’d escape. Every exit was being watched. Your transportation is now safely in my garage. You’d failed even before you’d begun. Accept it.’

  He nodded to his man, who left the room. Thea watched him go, realisation spreading across her face.

  ‘I’m not a slave to be traded. I won’t stay with you. This marriage is a sham.’

  In some ways, he agreed with her. Yet here he stood, with a gold wedding band prickling on his finger. Thea still held her rings. He needed her to put them on. If she did, he’d won—for tonight.

  ‘You’re asking me to return you to the tender care of your father?’ A man Christo suspected didn’t have a sentimental, loving bone in his body.

  Thea grabbed the back of a spindly chair, clutching it till her fingers blanched. ‘I’m asking you to let me go.’

  ‘No.’

  Christo had heard whispers about Tito Lambros. He was reported to be cruel and vindictive. The bitter burn of loathing coursed like poison through his veins. That his father’s negligence had allowed such a man to hold Christo’s future in his hands...

  There was a great deal he needed to learn about Thea’s family—some of which he might be able to use. But that could wait. Now it was time to give her something to cling to. Hope.

  ‘You’ll come with me as my wife and we’ll discuss the situation in which we find ourselves. That’s my promise. But we’re leaving now.’

  She looked down at her clothes and back at him. Her liquid amber eyes glowed in the soft lights. ‘I can’t go dressed like this!’

  No more delays. She glanced at the door again. He didn’t want a scene. Her tantrums could occur at his home, where any witnesses would be paid to hold their silence.

  ‘You look perfect,’ he said, waving his hand in her direction. ‘It shows a flair for the dramatic—which you’ve proved to have in abundance tonight. Our exit will be unforgettable.’

  She seemed to compose herself. Thrust her chin high, all glorious defiance. ‘But my hat... I told everyone about it. I can’t disappoint them.’

  ‘Life’s full of disappointments. Tell them it wouldn’t fit over your magnificent hair.’

  Thea’s lips twitched in a barely suppressed sneer, her eyes narrow and glacial. The look she threw him would have slayed a mere mortal. Luckily for the most part he felt barely human.

  ‘Rings,’ he said.

  She jammed them carelessly on her finger. Victory. He held out the crook of his arm and she hesitated before slipping hers through it. All stiff and severe. But her body still fitted into his in a way which enticed him. Caused his heart to thrum, his blood to roar. Strange. Intoxicating. All Thea.

  ‘Now, smile,’ he said.

  She plastered on a mocking grimace.

  He leaned down and whispered in her ear. ‘Like you mean it, koukla mou.’

  ‘I’ll smile when you say that like you mean it, Christo.’

  And he laughed.

  This second laugh was more practised. More familiar—like an old memory. But the warmth growing in his chest was real. Beyond all expectations, he was enjoying her. For his sanity, perhaps a little too much...

  Copyright © 2020 by Kali Anthony

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  ISBN-13: 9781488059704

  Her Wedding Night Negotiation

  Copyright © 2020 by Chantelle Shaw

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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