Chapter Eight
The music from the quartet changed, signalling the arrival of his bride, and Caleb’s shoulders tensed, the magnitude of the moment striking him squarely in the chest despite his efforts to pretend this was just another day.
It will be fine. You have this all under control, he assured himself in response to the apprehension thudding through his veins and thwacking against his heart like a drum as he thought back to the starlit moments he and Serena had shared on their beach just a few days ago, and how close they had drawn together in those moments.
Closer than he should ever have allowed…
But her confessions about her traumatic miscarriage and difficult relationship with her stepmother had touched a part of him that was normally untouchable, and once again, he’d felt sore at how much she’d endured, whilst also marvelling at her resilience and strength in refusing to give up.
Feeling so much for her had shaken him, and before he’d really known what he was doing, and before he could silence himself, he’d been telling her about Charlotte.
Why? He’d asked himself that question over and over again since, and as much as he’d tried telling himself it had been as a cautionary tale, a warning to Serena about wanting too much from him, he couldn’t make himself believe that.
No, it was almost if he’d wanted to share it with her, to be as open and brave as she had been with him and offer up a part of himself, deepening their connection instead of halting it, which was bizarre to him because that was never something he’d wanted before.
So, what had come over him in that moment?
And when she’d said he wasn’t to blame…for the first time Caleb had wondered if that could be true.
Her assurance had felt stronger than his guilt, and for a moment he’d wondered if he wasn’t destined to always cause pain, if he didn’t have to carry all that guilt with him into his future as a father. And husband.
Not that he wanted a real future, not with Serena, not with anyone. That was a decision he’d made long ago, long before Charlotte, after witnessing and experiencing the destruction that love could unleash.
The proud beaming man sitting in the front row with his wife of eight years by his side was not the father that Caleb had grown up with.
Back then, his father had been broken and distant, tormented by the loss of his wife and unable to offer his son anything because there was nothing in him to give.
Hollowed out himself from being deserted by his mother, Caleb had longed desperately for something, anything, from his father, and the ache when he hadn’t received it had been messy and tormented.
Agonised, hopeless feelings had rattled in his body all day and night long—feelings he had worked hard to suppress and lock away and which he had no interest in unleashing again, and until now, until her, they’d never felt in any danger of being unlocked.
But Serena evoked more feeling in him that anyone else had ever managed to.
And not because she was carrying his child and he felt a sense of responsibility towards her—he’d already tried dismissing it as that—but just because of who she was.
That was what was most disconcerting—that for no apparent reason she exposed the soft spots that still existed within him. The pieces that could be made to feel.
To hurt.
Parts of himself that he didn’t want to exist, and keeping himself so busy in the preceding days had been as much about closing down those weaknesses within him as it was about preventing a repeat of anything that had arced between them on the beach—that sense of closeness and connection and the yearning for more of it—especially that.
Because there was no place for it, not in their marriage and certainly not in his life. The last thing he wanted was closeness and confidences. He was happy holding everyone at arm’s-length and didn’t want Serena to override his usual emotional reserve.
It had happened twice now…there couldn’t be a third time. He wouldn’t let there be. Their marriage was a practical endeavour after all, and after a lifetime eschewing emotion, it shouldn’t be difficult to heed the warnings filtering down from his brain that counselled—urged—caution. Distance.
He had managed it successfully the past few days, resetting their relationship to what it should be, and saw no reason for the lines to blur again.
Sensing Serena’s approach from the buzz running through the guests, Caleb turned his head, eager to prove that the past days distance had worked and he could look at her and remain detached… Only for the sight of her to punch every last whisp of air from his lungs.
She was…exquisite. Breathtaking.
Beyond retaining the services of a renowned French fashion designer and instructing them to provide a dress that endorsed his narrative of a whirlwind, fairy tale falling in love, he hadn’t much considered how Serena would look.
Now he wished that he had in some way prepared himself, because then maybe his heart wouldn’t be beating quite so fast and the fabric of his custom suit wouldn’t feel quite so tight as his body swelled with sexual hunger.
The dress, whilst every inch the romantic and elegant creation he had specified, clung to her like a second skin, revealing to his appreciative eyes the changes wrought by the pregnancy.
Her hips had more curve, and her breasts were unquestionably fuller.
Whilst aware of his promise to maintain distance, physically as well as emotionally, suddenly he craved the taste of her in his mouth more than anything else, craved the intimacy of her essence lingering on his tongue.
Caleb imagined drawing the material of the dress down and sucking her nipple in his mouth and an answering heat sliding sinuously in the pit of his stomach, before shooting south with all the force of a bullet.
Later, he thought excitedly, and it took a moment for awareness to strike that there wouldn’t be a later. Because this was not a real wedding. How had he forgotten that, even momentarily?
Serena reached him, her caramel eyes meeting his with a nervousness that she was clearly trying to fight, and he reached for her hand, squeezing it tight, belatedly telling himself he did so as part of the show.
The officiant started to speak, and Caleb tried to listen to the words, but was prevented by the feeling pulsing steadily beneath his skin.
It only intensified as Serena pledged herself to him, her voice rattling ever so slightly with nerves, and he returned the sentiment with a possessiveness that he knew should not have been beating quite so fiercely in his chest but which refused to calm.
It was acceptable for other men to feel that way on their wedding day, but not him.
This was not a real wedding, after all. Not a real marriage.
‘With great happiness, I declare you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride.’
Caleb smiled down at Serena, ignoring the surge of delight the officiant’s words had prompted, and curled his arm around her, drawing her in slowly to deliver the gentle kiss that would be appropriate and risk-free.
However, the moment his lips met hers and he was struck with her intoxicating scent, all thoughts of slow and steady faded.
Instead, there was hunger and need and those flagrant forces conspired to drive his tongue into the warm cavern of her mouth.
He devoured the taste of her, thinking only of staking his claim so completely, of doing what he hadn’t allowed himself to do, to even really think of doing.
Serena shuddered against him, but didn’t resist. One of her hands flattened against his chest, the other sliding around his neck and with that tender touch, the flames roaring in his gut raced along his veins, the kiss gaining heat with each second.
He angled her head for better access, drawing more of her elemental response from her as he hugged her even closer to his pounding body.
Then he heard it, the sound of applause exploding around them, and finding some remaining vestige of control, Caleb eased his mouth from hers.
Keeping hold of her trembling body and avoiding her dazed gaze, he turned to face their cheering guests.
But as they walked back down the aisle, showered by thousands of flower petals, behind the smile etched on his face, Caleb’s brain whirred with troubled whisperings.
Suddenly he was wondering if this marriage was going to be as manageable as he kept telling himself.
‘It’s time for our first dance, Mrs Morgenthau.’
Serena glanced at the hand that Caleb held out, fear skittering along her veins at the heat that would take hold when her skin brushed against his, when he pulled her against his body and held her close.
But Evie was right beside her, watching, and everyone else was watching too, so Serena summoned a smile and, drawing up as many barricades as she could, placed her hand in his, letting him lead her to the centre of the dance floor.
The hand that settled on her back scorched, burning through the thin fabric of her stunning gown, and she fought with all of her might not to melt with instant desire. But that was a battle that she’d been losing nearly all day long.
Serena had started the day a nervous wreck, her stomach cramping as she sat through hair and make-up, antsy with the thoughts of what lay ahead even though she knew it was the right thing.
But, in spite of that, more than once she’d wanted to turn and run as she’d waited to begin her walk down the aisle.
Had still been thinking about it as she made her way to the altar, but then her eyes had locked on Caleb—seeing him properly for the first time in days—waiting beneath the abundant arch of fragrant white flowers, and her feelings had shifted.