“Oh, Ellie--,”
“No.” Ellie’s interruption was soft, but laced with intent. “You’re pregnant. You’ve seen what that means to Apollo. Now imagine any circumstances that would justify you keeping that from him.”
Nell opened her mouth to speak and then slammed it shut. “It’s different.”
“Fundamentally, it isn’t,” Ellie contradicted. “A child’s a child. I should never have hidden from this. Xavier is Joshua’s father and he deserves to be a part of his life.”
“His life, yes. But your life is your own…”
“I’m done hurting people,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Done. Over. No more. I need to fix this – starting today.”
“At what cost?” Nell prompted, stroking Elizabeth’s shoulder gently.
“There is no cost too high. I have to do this.”
“Damn it, Ellie, you’re not thinking straight.”
“Eleanor, I’m thinking straight for the first time in years. So much of this happened because I wasn’t strong enough to make the right decision. I should have fought for Xavier in the hospital with all of my heart. I should have confronted Arabella, and I should have confronted his parents. I should have forced my way into his life to tell him about Joshua, and I should have made him see, four weeks ago, that I have been trying my hardest to do the right thing this whole time. I have made so many mistakes, but marrying him? That’s not a mistake.”
Nell’s eyes swirled with doubts, but Ellie’s were loaded with determination. She had no doubts that she was making the right decision – even if it did feel a little like a lamb being led to slaughter. Her voice was softened when she picked up the thread of her thoughts. “I’m standing in the church, wearing the dress, and my son is out there, with his father, waiting for me to walk down the aisle and make us a real family. So don’t argue with me now. Not now. Not here.” She had to bite down on her lower lip to stop the tears that were threatening to fall.
Nell groaned softly and then wrapped her twin sister in a hug. “I just want you to know I’m here for you.”
“I do know that. And I’m grateful to you. But I have to do this.”
* * *
As Elizabeth walked down the aisle, Xavier couldn’t help but contrast her with the way she’d been at that ball in London. He’d watched her from afar for long enough to see that she glowed with a radiant inner-confidence; he’d seen her as a beautiful, happy, shimmering creature, part mythical for how perfect she was.
And now?
She was the farthest from that she could be. She was tense. Miserable. Reluctant.
Perhaps no one else would notice those emotions, but to Xavier, he could see every betraying gesture and indication. He knew how she felt as well as he did his own heart.
She walked towards him with a tight smile on her face that went nowhere near her eyes – eyes that wouldn’t meet his, but focused instead on a point somewhere to his right. With every step she took, that brought her closer to him, he was aware of more signs of her despair. Fingers that shook, skin that was pale, shoulders that were impossibly tense.
But she kept walking, and at the front of the church, opposite him, she turned slowly, facing him, and he wanted to say something to make her laugh, or make her smile. Something to relax her.
But what? Which words would work? Nothing felt sufficient. And though the wedding had been his idea, in that moment, he wanted to click his fingers and make everyone else disappear. They’d been estranged for days, silent and unspeaking, and now he wanted to speak all the words in his mind and his heart. He wanted to hold her hand and rub his thumb over her palm, calming her, soothing her, until his words were poured from him.
But she was closed to him; utterly and completely. She was like a statue – a shadow of the woman he’d first met, a shadow of the woman he’d watched from a distance and felt ghosts of his past stir to life.
The cardinal began to speak, and Xavier couldn’t help but wonder if a special place in hell would be reserved for him – that he’d used his political power to have one of the highest members of the Catholic church conduct this farce of a ceremony.
Elizabeth listened with the appearance of concentration, but he wondered if she was as distracted by this as he was?
Her chin was tilted, her face pointed towards the Cardinal as he spoke. Xavier did likewise, but impatience was tearing him apart.
I, Xavier Salbatore, take you, Elizabeth Jones, to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you in times of prosperity and adversity. In healthy times, and times of sickness. I pledge here, on this day, that I will love and respect you on all the days of my life.
He repeated the words after the Cardinal, but each one landed against him like a bullet. When he’d proposed this marriage, he’d seen Elizabeth as property. Little more than something he wanted, and could acquire by maneuvering the pieces in the proper fashion. It never occurred to him that pledging himself to her would feel as though he were gradually walking towards the edge of a cliff – with no concept of how far he would fall.
Worse, when she said the words back to him, in reverse, it was an agony. To hear the hollowness to her tone, the dutiful recreation of sounds that meant nothing. The pledging to marry him not because of love or honour, but because he’d made it impossible for her not to.
Xavier wanted to stop the world, stop the clock, stop everything.
His eyes ran over his bride’s face and his whole body felt like it was ripping itself apart. And because he’d threatened to take their son away unless she fulfilled this promise to him. Unless she played the part of his wife – even in bed.
His eyes flickered shut, his dark lashes thick on his cheeks, as he recalled in vivid detail that conversation. He’d been so furious! He’d been robbed of so much and to discover that included a son?
He had wanted to push the continents off the edge of the earth; he’d been irate.
I will take him and I will keep him until your debt is repaid.
His eyes roamed her face once more. Her debt had been more than repaid; so what kind of Shylock was he, now, insisting upon his pound of flesh? Because for days he’d known this wedding was every kind of wrong, that he had moved into the realm of pure self-interest, and yet he’d gone ahead with it regardless.
And it wasn’t about punishing her.
It wasn’t even about claiming his son.
He wanted her.
He wanted Elizabeth Jones to be his wife – and it went beyond the sexual heat that burned between them. This was a primal ache that pushed out of his gut and through his whole body. With all of himself, he needed her to be in his life.
Even if it destroyed her?
He stared at her with a sinking feeling, because it was clear that this marriage he wanted so badly was the worst thing he could do to Elizabeth. A muscle throbbed low in his jaw as he ground his teeth together.
And right when he thought about turning to the Cardinal and calling the damned thing off, she took his hand and lifted it, just so she could slide a ring onto his finger. The touch was electric and it burst his heart back into a normal rhythm. Her eyes met his, and there was such defiance in them, such a look of cold determination, a challenge that stirred something inside of him, and he knew he couldn’t do the honourable thing and let her go.
If only he was that man! If only he wanted her less…
He returned the gesture, sliding a ring onto her finger, but as soon as it was in place, she pulled her hand free, as though he’d burned her with his touch.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the Cardinal said with a benevolent smile.
Xavier’s gaze locked to hers and fire flared between them, but fire and flame were easy to surrender to. They’d done that again and again, giving agency and rational thought over to sensual needs. Instead of claiming her passionately, he curled a hand around her neck, his fingers soft on her exposed flesh and gently, as though she were made of glass, he drew her nearer, and when her lips parted, he buzzed his against
them, so gentle and soft.
It was nothing. A kiss to seal the deal, rather than a promise of what lay ahead. How could he make a promise when he himself had no idea?
She pulled away, her eyes glancing to his with uncertainty in their depths, but it was for the briefest of moments, before falling away again.
“What next?” She asked, the words croaky.
Xavier’s chest heaved, because it was done, they were married, and she was asking what else he expected of her. Because she was willingly going through whichever hoop he presented in order to be able to stay in their son’s life.
His smile was sardonic, but all his mockery was self-directed. “We pretend we’re jubilantly happy and head off on our honeymoon,” he muttered, the frustration all directed at his own foolish plan – his idiot belief that marriage could be a simple act of offer and acceptance.
“No reception?”
“When we get back,” he said, trying not to think that far ahead. There was so much that gulfed between now and then.
“Fine.” And then, with a frown, as though his words had been on a delay for her: “What honeymoon?”
“Mummy so pretty.” Joshua came towards them at that moment, and Elizabeth turned away from Xavier with obvious relief, lifting their son onto her hip
Xavier’s heart squeezed in his chest for an entirely different reason now. His wife and his son. A primal sense of possession tore through him at the sight.
His family.
This was why they’d married. This was why he’d insisted on this – because they belonged together. Not just him and Elizabeth. All three of them.
They walked side by side down the aisle of the church, but he didn’t touch her. Oh, he wanted to, but he knew with every fibre of his being that his touch would be unwelcome. She was as stiff as a board, her tension palpable. And he needed to find other ways to ease that tension.
Once outside, guests showered them with confetti, as though this were a normal wedding and they were a normal, happy couple. Eleanor and Apollo joined them, from amongst the crowd.
“Take care of our Ellie,” Apollo said, the words congeniality themselves, but Xavier heard the warning undertone and his pride was invoked. The first hint of a headache speared his temple and he willed it away, determined not to be incapacitated on his wedding day. Not when so much was at stake.
“I will.” He reached for Joshua and gave the little boy a tight hug, then passed him back to Elizabeth. “Your sister is going to mind Joshua for two nights while we are away.”
“What?” Elizabeth looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” Xavier said heavily. He thought of the island he owned in the Mediterranean, where he’d decided they would start their married life. But suddenly, it didn’t seem right. It wasn’t right. There was another place he wanted to take her, somewhere she wouldn’t expect, somewhere as far removed from distractions and the real world as possible. He needed to be truly alone with his bride to see everything clearly: and there was only one place that afforded such privacy.
“Come here, little master,” Nell grinned, taking Josh from Elizabeth’s arms. “Congratulations.” She didn’t look at Xavier when she spoke and his stomach dropped even lower.
His wife’s sister hated him. And could he wonder at that?
“Thank you.”
A limousine was waiting, the door held open by José. His bride slid in first, looking so beautiful in that dress. He took a moment to speak to José, advising him of the change of flight plans, and then stepped into the car, taking the seat beside his reluctant, blackmailed bride.
“Where are we going?” She asked without looking at him. The words were blanked of any emotion. She sounded… desolate. Her grief set something off inside of him – a domino effect of anguish.
He wanted to ask if she was okay, but it was a foolish question. He could see, quite clearly, that she wasn’t.
“You’ll see.” He settled back in his seat and stared out of the window as London passed in a blur, wondering if this was craziness. Not the wedding – but the honeymoon. He had her where he wanted her, theoretically. But it wasn’t enough.
She was his wife – but she didn’t want to be.
The realization kept unfolding inside of him and he saw the truth in every aspect of this past month. Only two things between them made sense: Their love for Joshua, and the way they were in bed. The rest of this relationship was made up of his anger and resentment and her guilt and apologies.
It was not enough. It never would be.
The limo took the private entrance to Heathrow and his jet was waiting. She pleaded exhaustion and slept on the flight – he stared out of the window, brooding, replaying the last month and wishing, more than anything, that he could remember every single detail about Elizabeth.
It was only a short flight to Spain. His jet touched down in Valencia and one of his helicopters was waiting on the tarmac.
“Yours?” She asked, scanning the ‘Salbatore’ scrawled on the tail.
“Ours,” he confirmed with a brusque nod.
Her weak smile was a rebuke of that sentiment; he ignored it for the moment, his sole focus now was on getting Elizabeth to their destination. He guided her to the sleek white chopper, opening the passenger door and helping her in. She dropped his hand as soon as she was seated.
He ground his teeth as he came to the pilot’s side and hopped up. “Here.” He held some earphones towards her, and then donned his own pair. Before taking off, he checked her belt was properly secured, his touch clinical as he felt the tightness of the straps.
And then he pressed the dial to begin the chopper’s ascent, glad to be behind the controls – glad to be in control of one damned thing in his life.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said, the words whispered but carrying to him through the earphones they both wore.
The ocean sparkled beside them, glistening in the afternoon sunlight. It was a striking view, but he’d seen it so often, he’d become complacent.
“Yes,” he admitted, steering the chopper slightly inland. He checked his instruments and then sighed heavily.
From the periphery of his vision, he felt her jerk her attention to his face and then quickly shift it away once more.
“We’re almost there,” he said through a clenched jaw, wondering at the wisdom of kidnapping his wife to a place that was as remote and rustic as it came.
But they needed privacy, and only here could it truly be assured.
15
IT HAD BEEN AT least ten months since he’d been to Borde del Mondo and it showed. The tiny cabin at the top of a cliff overlooking the ocean had been shuttered up, but cobwebs and dust had paid that little heed. The rock walls, formed into this shape at least three hundred years earlier, had absorbed the day’s heat so the cabin remained warm even when the night was beginning to cool off, and the breeze from the ocean sent a warning of what the night would be like.
He placed the rucksack he’d brought down onto the table and a plume of dust rose in response.
“This is where we’re honeymooning?” His bride asked, her wedding dress so absolutely immaculate and elegant in the midst of this run-down, ancient stone building on the edge of the world. She looked completely wrong here, and he didn’t want that to be the case.
He nodded slowly, looking around, seeing it through her eyes and wincing. A little preparation would have been wise, but bringing her here had been a last minute decision.
“After the accident,” he said gruffly, “and after my divorce, I spent a lot of time here. It was the only place I found I could clear my head.”
She didn’t speak and yet he wanted to hear her voice. He needed to hear her voice, and hear her answers.
“There’s no cell reception,” he continued, opening the rucksack and pulling out a bottle of water. He handed it to her, and used the opportunity to force her to meet his gaze. “I liked the solitude.”
; “Would you like me to leave?” She offered, a single brow arching. Challenging him. Just as she had when she’d slid his wedding ring onto his finger.
“Do you know how to pilot a chopper?” He couldn’t resist teasing.
“I know how to walk,” she responded with defiance, and he was so glad for it. Glad for her defiance because it was an alternative to the trembling, sad woman who’d married him only hours earlier.
“Don’t walk,” he said gruffly, and the words were meaningful. He didn’t refer only to that moment, to wanting her to stay in the cottage with him. There was a broader implication, a more wide-reaching question.
She was hurting – they’d both been hurt. He needed to do something to fix it, somehow.
And he asked a question to which he feared the answer, because he needed to know the truth unequivocally. “Why did you marry me today, Elizabeth?”
She blinked at him, and then looked away, her features so fragile and etched in stress. A large window had been cut in the stone, and a glass panel sat in it, but it was grimy – the result of sea wind and salt air. “For Joshua,” she said, eventually, heavily.
His gut churned. His heart throbbed. His jaw ticked. “I see.” All his fears had been confirmed. Was he surprised?
“He deserves to have a father.”
Xavier’s eyes narrowed. “I’m his father whether we’re married or not.”
She jerked her head to his, her gaze firing. “Yes. The father who threatened to take him away from me for at least three years.”
There was nothing he could say to excuse that, no defense he could offer, but those words felt like something he’d spoken in another life. He couldn’t imagine saying them now.
“I couldn’t live with that,” she said simply, oblivious to the tsunami of feelings she had spurred into motion. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “I’d do anything to keep him.”
“Even marrying me,” he surmised grimly. He turned away, seeing her as she’d been in the church. The look of stoicism carved onto her beleaguered features.
Claiming his Secret Baby & Blackmailed by The Spaniard Page 18