Postcards From… Collection. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
with this show of love and devotion had made her begin to wish it wasn’t all an act.
But she knew from experience that hope was a dangerous emotion.
* * *
The next morning Nicole stood in front of the full-length mirror with a sense of overwhelming awe. Her wedding gown truly was a work of art, with the fitted bodice hugging her curves like a second skin before flowing out in an elaborate skirt from just above her knee.
It was everything she had never dared to imagine for herself. She turned to the side, taking in the intricate lace beading down her back and the long train of silk and tulle that flowed out behind her. Women should be able to wear gowns like this every day, she thought, smiling to herself. She felt like royalty.
Rigo’s mother stepped closer to her side. ‘My mother stood with me like this on the morning of my wedding, you know.’ Her deep blue eyes were filled with warmth. ‘She and her sisters had spent weeks making my dress, but this veil was her own personal project.’
She held out a length of delicately embroidered vintage lace.
‘She poured her heart and soul into it, and told me it would bring me and my new husband strong love and strong sons...daughters in your case.’ She smiled, brushing away an errant tear. ‘I didn’t have any daughters of my own, so I’m passing down this gift to you. Don’t worry—the stylists know not to cross me.’
‘Oh, Renata, that’s such a beautiful gesture.’ Nicole’s hands traced the delicate pattern of hand-sewn embellishments.
‘It’s my pleasure. And I hope one day you will have the gift of placing this on your own daughter’s head when she marries the one she loves.’
Nicole dipped down as her future mother-in-law pinned the delicate veil in place and the stylists began to tease out the loose waves of her hair underneath. The overall effect was so classically stunning she was speechless.
‘Love him with all your heart, Nicole. And I’ll never have to worry about him again.’
Renata kissed her lightly on each cheek before disappearing out the door.
Nicole frowned at the woman’s words, feeling them settle in her chest. His mother believed them to be deeply in love. She was happy for them. If she knew the truth it would probably break her heart.
Nicole took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves as she was left alone for a few moments in the bridal suite. This was just another day—nothing special, she told herself.
As she made her way down the staircase to meet the events team she became conscious of the fact that she had no bridesmaids and no flower girls to stand with. Only the kind-faced event co-ordinator, who now stood on the steps to escort her outside to the grounds of the chateau, where a beautiful chapel nestled halfway into the forest.
The co-ordinator and her staff hurriedly adjusted her train before the door to the chapel was thrown open. Nicole stood still at the entryway, having chosen not to have anyone walk her down the aisle. She was making her own choices now, so it seemed fitting to give herself away.
As the doors opened and she began to walk slowly down the aisle she was aware of the guests’ hushed breaths and sighs of approval.
She held her breath as Rigo turned to face her. The look of silent awe in his eyes almost brought her to a grinding halt. She reminded herself to keep moving towards him, to focus on his face and forget about everything else.
He wore a sleekly cut designer tuxedo, and his brother stood by his side in the same. She was completely on show and yet she didn’t feel exposed. She felt confident with his eyes on hers. She felt a sense of anticipation as she got closer and closer to him. But as she came to a stop by his side and looked up at him the enormity of what they were about to commit to was overwhelming.
Rigo’s hand enveloped hers as the priest began the ceremony and she fought to focus on the various prayers, then automatically repeated the phrases.
When the moment finally came for her to slide a thick gold band onto Rigo’s third finger as a symbol of their eternal devotion, to her embarrassment she felt her fingers shake uncontrollably. His tanned, muscular fingers covered hers and she saw the spark of possession in his eyes as he placed an identical gold band onto her finger.
The priest pronounced them husband and wife.
Nicole felt her breath catch in her throat at the look of dark possession in Rigo’s gaze. He took no time in pressing his lips to hers, moving his hand to her waist as he pulled her close. The kiss was a part of the ceremony, she told herself. But as he released his breath slowly she felt his fingers tremble against her waist. That one sign of weakness made her wonder if perhaps she wasn’t the only one struggling not to be affected.
He broke the kiss after a respectable amount of time—they were in a church after all—but the heat in his gaze was just for her. She knew with sudden clarity that this moment would be scorched on her memory forever, no matter what came after.
* * *
The wedding reception passed in a blur of wine and dancing. By the time Rigo’s father swept her up on the dance floor for the third time her feet were aching to escape from their designer shoe prisons.
‘May I cut in?’
Rigo’s voice came from somewhere behind her left ear as the music slowed down to a steady beat. They had shared a first dance already, earlier in the evening. The memory of it still clung to her skin, where he had pressed his face against her neck.
The photographers had been present then, trying their best to melt into the background but not really succeeding. All day he had touched her and kissed her, their charade successfully convincing the world of their marital bliss. But her traitorous body didn’t seem to realise that this wasn’t real. That he was playing a part.
Rigo’s hands rested low on her waist, his fingertips pressing just above her hips. As he pulled her close she thought she heard him release his breath on a deep sigh. But when she looked up he was looking away from her. She laid her head against his chest, her hands gripping on to the back of his jacket as she breathed in the scent of him.
All too soon the guests had formed a line to wish them well as they made the traditional exit through the arched arms of Rigo’s family and friends.
They made their way in silence up the stone steps to the master suite at the top of the chateau. Nicole stopped for a moment in the middle of the corridor to slip her shoes off her feet. She moaned with relief as her aching toes lay flat on the carpeted floor.
‘Better?’ Rigo said huskily.
She nodded. ‘It’s a long walk up here. Especially in heels.’
He took a step towards her, cupping her face in one hand. ‘I can carry you if you like?’
When she didn’t immediately respond he stepped closer again, his mouth lowering to lay another kiss on her neck. ‘I haven’t been able to stop inhaling this delicious scent all day.’
‘The photographers are gone, Rigo,’ she breathed, trying to ignore the immediate frisson of arousal that coursed through her body.
‘Let’s pretend they’re not.’
Those words seemed to unlock a tension inside her that she hadn’t known was there. This kiss was different from the others—more urgent. His hands cupped her jaw, holding her in place as his tongue moved against hers. Their breath mingled into one as the rest of the world fell away. There was no one watching them now, no one to perform for. This was just for them.
She stopped holding back and gave in to the arousal that threatened to burn her up, grabbing a fistful of his hair and groaning into his mouth as he pressed the evidence of his arousal against her. She wanted him. She wanted everything that she knew he couldn’t give her. And yet maybe just having tonight might make whatever came after easier to survive.
It suddenly seemed impossible to stop.
She