Chapter 18
TIFFANY
As wedding days go, this one isn’t up there with romance.
We are driven to the local town hall and as we wait on the plastic chairs, I notice the people who go about their business, casting a curious glance in our direction as we sit stony-faced waiting it appears to die.
Joseph is flanked by two men who stare at anyone who dares glance his way. On the other side of me is another guard; no eye contact, no interest at all. Even my groom is flicking through his phone as if this is merely another appointment in his day before lunch.
I don’t have any flowers, no friends to cheer me on, and no parents to smile with pride as I make my life’s commitment.
I am empty inside. Then again, I can’t remember ever feeling any different, and I’m a little shocked when Joseph’s hand finds mine and squeezes it reassuringly.
He is still checking his phone, his attention obviously elsewhere, and yet that simple act of humanity is way more destructive than his silence.
I squeeze it back, grateful for the gesture. I guess he pities me. I pity myself and yet I’m marrying a man who intoxicates me. He is rich, powerful, good-looking and the dream. Yet his soul is empty. He is a broken shell of a man, and I wonder what stole his heart.
“Mr. Ravera.”
A woman approaches with a hard expression that she attempts to mask with a smile as she glances at the rather somber party in front of her.
“Please follow me.”
I stand, my hand dropping away from Joseph’s, and as we follow the woman, nerves are churning inside me with every step I take.
Shall I refuse, tell the woman I am a prisoner and being forced to marry him? Will she care?
We head inside the slightly impersonal room with a huge window overlooking a garden outside. Light is streaming in, and it doesn’t escape my attention that there is a large wooden cross nailed to the wall.
Pretty flowers bloom on a table set by the window, and various chairs face what passes for an altar. Joseph stands to my right, and I take up my position with an empty heart.
The woman wastes no time. She isn’t even warm toward us, and as she speaks, her words crackle through the air like bullets.
No emotion, no sense of occasion, just a cold, impersonal ceremony to deal with the legalities of our situation.
All the time Joseph stands there as if his mind is elsewhere.
His guards look on, their expressions impassive, and as we are pronounced husband and wife, I make to leave with a heavy heart.
The simple wedding band sits heavy on my finger as Joseph snatches hold of my hand and pulls me back, his eyes searing my flesh, burning me inside.
His intention is clear as his hand wraps around my head and the intensity of his expression causes me to falter.
His finger tips my chin to face him, and he smiles, almost revealing a shaft of humanity, and then he claims me as if he has that right, already aware that he does.
His kiss is strong, hard, and dominant. It strips me of awareness of anything other than this moment.
He commands, desires, and demands my response, and it’s an easy one because I doubt kissing him will ever get old.
The moment he touches me in any form lights a burning trail through my body that extinguishes everything around me.
I fall into his world easily and unafraid as he guides me through unfamiliar territory.
I kiss him back because I want to and not because he is commanding me.
I shift closer, my fingers reaching into his hair, clutching him closer, drawing him in. I will not be controlled without putting up a fight, and as I kiss him back with passion, I couldn’t give a fuck who is watching.
The kiss is eternal, the woman’s sigh inconsequential, as we kiss like starved lovers with no regard for moral decency.
Joseph pulls me closer, his legs moving between mine, maintaining contact, pushing against me, leaving me in no doubt of what happens later.
His grip is tight, powerful, commanding. His kiss probing, claiming his right. I breathe in his musky scent; it fills me completely, and my mind spirals into the possibility that this may not be as bad after all.
“Um, excuse me.”
The woman’s sounds cross, but we disregard her tone.
Joseph is in no hurry to end this, and neither am I.
His hand snakes around my waist, pulling me in closer.
I do the same, running it under his jacket, searching for bare skin.
It’s hot and heavy, the atmosphere electric as he moves his mouth to my neck, my head thrown back, giving him clearer access.
“Sir, madam, please.”
Anger is evident in the woman’s voice as we carry on as if we are the only people in the room.
To us, we are.
His kiss is hungry; it matches mine, and sweat is sliding down my neck as my pussy explodes. I want him so badly. Here if I must, and when his hand inches toward my thigh, the woman yells, “Enough. Please. Show some decorum and remember this is an official building.”
We break apart, and Joseph’s cool glare could wither the sun as he fixes her with a ferocious gaze, causing her to stutter, “I have another wedding in one minute. Please, you must leave.”
Joseph grips my hand before turning and walking away without another word, an ominous tension trailing behind him along with his guards.
As we stumble out of the room, I notice a woman wearing a beautiful white wedding dress, clutching a huge bouquet.
Her smile ridiculously happy as she gazes adoringly at her groom.
They are accompanied by many friends and family, at least that’s who I believe they are, and as she catches my eye, I don’t miss the way she trails her gaze dismissively over my outfit.
Then she turns her attention to my groom and the heat that floods her smile gives me the last laugh because she will walk into that room already knowing she is marrying a man who will never match mine.
This time I smile dismissively at her groom, flicking her a sympathetic smile as if to offer my bad luck. Her smile falters, and a shadow passes across her face, and I don’t even care if I have ruined her wedding day because she deserved every cruel moment of that.
We head outside into the sunshine, and Joseph whispers, “She deserved that.”
“What?”
I’m surprised when he wraps his arm around my waist as one of his guards takes a photograph of us.
“Nobody pities my wife.”
A simple statement that curls around my heart like a warm hug.
More photos that are slightly ridiculous considering who is taking them. The rather stern looking guard who appears to show no trace of humanity, is marking the occasion, but for what?
Joseph turns at the top of the steps and pulls me close, revisiting the kiss with the cool air of London to douse the flames. We kiss again, not as intense but every second is captured for eternity as his guard plays wedding photographer.
Finally, we are done, and as we slide into the car where another guard holds the door open, Joseph says casually,
“Buckle up, princess.”
“Where are we going?”
“Home.”
“What, no celebratory meal, a surprise party perhaps. Surely the Ritz is around the corner. You are slipping, husband. What would your business associates think of you?”
I’m being deliberately snappy because so much for my wedding day. He could have at least tried.
“So, you want to celebrate now?”
“Why not? Have you ever been married? I thought it was worthy of a glass of champagne at least.”
“Champagne is overrated, but if that’s what you want, I have a cellar full at the house.”
“The last of the true romantics.”
“This isn’t romance, princess. This is business, and you are aware of that.”
“I don’t have to like it.”
I huff with frustration.
“So, what happens now?”
As soon as the words leave my lips, I regret them because he says almost as an aside.
“We fuck.”
“No!”
I glare at him.
“You must try a lot harder than that, Joseph. I may have married you, but I am still the mistress of me, and I will not fuck to order. I will not fuck at all if you persist with this attitude, and no matter what you say, I have rights, and so there will be no fucking today, or for the foreseeable future.”
My heart is thumping with a mixture of passion and anger, and yet the beast merely shrugs and turns his attention to his phone instead, leaving me fuming.
As I attempt to form a plan, it strikes me how disappointed I am because back there in that room, I would have agreed to strip naked on the spot and consummate the marriage in front of anyone who cared to watch.
Now the mere idea of it leaves me cold because I was right, I married a monster, and I have nobody to blame but myself.