Chapter Fourteen
Santiago
Beatrix and I stand together before a low table in the room designated for marriage ceremonies. It’s been a couple of days since we arrived back from Spain, and now we’re in the town hall, where all legal marriages happen in France, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
I have expedited all the paperwork, so everything is in order, and one of the mayor’s delegates is standing behind the table, ready to perform the ceremony.
I’ve been assured it won’t take long, which is just as well, since I want to be able to claim my new wife in a different, more personal way, and as quickly as possible.
Beatrix is standing beside me, her hands clasped tightly together.
I told her not to bother to dress for the occasion if she didn’t wish to, but apparently Helene decided that Beatrix needed to mark it in some way, and found her a dress of white silk to wear.
It’s form-fitting around the bodice, cupping her beautiful breasts, with frothy skirts that fall to her knees.
Her long golden hair is loose and she holds a single white rose in one hand.
She looks stunningly, impossibly beautiful.
It’s a very different wedding from the one she had with my father, who turned it into a big, splashy affair in the cathedral in Toledo, with hundreds of guests.
Then she wore an ornate gown with long skirts and a train, a silken veil, and a diamond tiara.
And I know this because I looked at each and every press photograph there was, blindly furious.
I told myself I had to know as much as possible about the wedding so I could answer any questions my mother had about it, so she didn’t have to look at the pictures herself.
But of course that wasn’t the only reason.
I wanted to see if Beatrix was smiling. I wanted to know if she was enjoying her wedding day, if she was happy to be marrying the man she’d chosen over me.
I never found out the answer to that question, yet now I’m the one standing next to her, and there is no cathedral, no crowds, no wedding dress costing hundreds of thousands of euros, no press.
There is only us, the mayor’s delegate, who will preside over the ceremony, and a couple of witnesses brought in for the occasion.
We didn’t discuss what kind of wedding we wanted, because there was no reason to. This is happening because she required it, and I agreed. It’s purely legal and not symbolic in any way.
Not that we’ve had a moment to discuss anything. Not when I’ve taken full advantage of her promise to be in my bed, and have been keeping her there every opportunity I get.
That first night we had, where she was fully mine at last, was incendiary.
I couldn’t get enough of her taste, her cries, her hands in my hair, and her nails in my skin.
I couldn’t get enough of how she came apart in my arms so beautifully, each and every time, and I made a vow there and then that I would ruin her for any other man.
Since then I’ve approached that goal with a single-mindedness that equals my single-mindedness in the lab when testing a new design. Trying different pressures, different scenarios, checking every component to make sure they’re all performing at the optimal level.
She never protests, reaching for me as hungrily as I reach for her, taking everything I give her, then giving back in return. Her passion is electric. I’m obsessed, and our mutual hunger shows no sign of waning any time soon.
That doesn’t concern me, though. She’ll be my legal wife in a few minutes, and then we’ll spend the night together, consummating this marriage in every way possible.
Perhaps it’ll take weeks for this need to disappear, perhaps a month.
Perhaps it won’t go away until after the baby is born.
It doesn’t matter, since it will go away eventually—physical passion always does—and then we’ll have to decide how best to separate.
In the meantime, there’s lots of pleasure to be had, and I aim to gorge myself on every drop of it.
The ceremony proceeds and within ten minutes we’re signing the documents on the table. I sign first then stand back to let Beatrix have her turn. Her hand doesn’t shake as she signs her name, a name that will not change even though I have married her.
This irritates me. I wanted everything to be different from her first marriage, yet the fact that she gets to keep his name, that she had it from him first, needles me.
That I’m even irritated at all needles me.
I should have got past this by now. He’s dead, beyond my reach and hers, and besides, she didn’t marry him because she loved him.
She didn’t marry you because she loves you.
No, but love was never going to be part of any marriage we had anyway.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling of annoyance.
I didn’t bother with rings, since again, this union is purely legal, but now I’m regretting the decision.
At least choosing a ring for her would make it different, because it would be my ring she’d be wearing.
I find myself watching her as she signs the documents, looking for a smile, for a sign that this is something that makes her happy, though why I should want her to be happy is beyond me.
Perhaps it’s because those smiles in her previous wedding photos were all fake, and I want something genuine from her. Something that’s mine and only mine.
Her passion is yours and only yours.
Yes, that’s true. Perhaps I’ll have to be satisfied with that.
She straightens and stands aside for the witnesses, one man and one woman, who are waiting to sign the documents too. As the woman finishes signing, Beatrix smiles and holds the rose out to her.
It’s real, that smile. It’s genuine, and it makes something tight and painful gather behind my breastbone. It feels almost like jealousy, that this stranger should earn a beautiful smile and a flower as a gift from her. From my wife.
Her smiles are few, and I have earned a couple in bed, but only there. They should be mine, her smiles, all of them should be mine like that very first one was mine, and for this woman to earn one by simply signing a piece of paper infuriates me.
Why should you care who she smiles at?
I shouldn’t care and I know this. She’s mine now, I have the documents to prove it, and yet it feels…
as if that’s not enough. Even her passion being mine is not enough, no matter how I tell myself I’ll have to be satisfied with it, and I don’t know why I feel this possessive when she was the one who suggested we marry in the first place.
I need to crush this jealousy and possessiveness. It’s purely a biological response and I need to ignore it. I already have her in the one place I wanted her, and that’s in my bed.
The woman takes the rose Beatrix offers her, and smiles back, giving her a pretty merci, while I stand here like a fool, being jealous of a stranger.
‘You look like a thundercloud,’ Beatrix observes as we make our exit from the room. ‘What’s wrong? Too late to change your mind about marrying me now.’
Her tone is light, the remains of her smile playing around her pretty mouth.
She’s so stunningly lovely. She’s my wife now, I have to remember that, and getting angry because I want more of her smiles is an irrational response.
Still, I can’t help the urge to make this wedding different from her first, and so I’ve decided on something.
‘Nothing is wrong,’ I say, taking her hand as we walk down the town hall’s steps to where my driver waits with the car. ‘I’ve decided to make a quick stop on the way home, however.’
‘Oh?’ She glances at me as we get into the car. ‘Why?’
‘Because we’re missing something,’ I say.
She gives me a curious look. ‘Missing what?’
I’m very tempted not to tell her, to make it a surprise, but I can’t think of any logical reason to do that. So I say, ‘A ring.’ Then as my driver gets into the front seat, I instruct him to take us to one of Paris’s most exclusive and expensive jewellery showrooms.
Beatrix is frowning at me, no sign of her smile this time as the car pulls away from the kerb. ‘I don’t need a ring, Santiago.’
‘I disagree,’ I say coolly. ‘It’s a good reminder that you’re my wife.’
‘A reminder? I’m hardly likely to forget.’
Annoyed at myself for my ill-chosen words, I once again have to force myself to relax and not to snap. ‘A wedding present, then,’ I say, trying to match her earlier lightness. ‘And an apology for my appalling behaviour towards you.’
Her frown doesn’t lift though. ‘You don’t need to get me a wedding present and you’ve already apologised—’
‘Let me do this, Beatrix,’ I interrupt before my temper can cause any more issues. ‘Please. I would like to.’
She stares at me for a moment, and then her frown eases, her mouth softening. I’m not sure what she saw in my face, but there’s something in her eyes I don’t recognise and it makes my chest feel a little hollow. ‘Okay,’ she says simply. ‘That would be lovely.’
I’m disconcerted by her easy capitulation, especially when I’m used to fighting with her, and something in my face must have given me away, because she gives a soft laugh. ‘I’m not plotting your death, Santiago. I promise.’
‘Why would I think that?’ I ask, even more disconcerted that she managed to read me with such ease.
Her eyes are alight, sparkling like tiny blue stars. ‘Because you gave me an incredibly suspicious look.’
I want to tell her she’s wrong, but she’s not, so I give her the truth. ‘I was expecting some kind of protest, I have to admit,’ I say. ‘I’m not used to you just giving in.’
Her lashes lower, blue gleaming from beneath them. ‘Really? After the past few nights?’
A flash of heat grips me by the throat, and I want to pull her into my arms, sit her in my lap, lift her white skirts and sink myself into the luscious heat between her thighs. Make her give in to me here as she does in bed every night.