His Very Convenient Bride. Sophie Pembroke
How had Isabella even managed to find a villa with a ballroom? The woman had to have ridiculous magical abilities or something.
Helena just hoped she’d use her powers for good.
‘You okay?’ Flynn asked as the band struck up the first notes of the first dance. It Had to Be You. Thea had picked it after glancing over the band’s set list, and Helena still wasn’t sure if she’d meant it as a joke. Except Thea wasn’t stuck dancing to it for the next three and a half minutes or whatever. Helena was.
‘I’m fine.’ She smiled up at her husband and hoped he wouldn’t notice she was lying. She was a long way from fine.
It was the kiss that had started it. The kiss that had left her knees weak and her brain foggy. Followed by all the sincere congratulations that no one had offered before Flynn’s speech and a roomful of strangers telling her how this must be the happiest day of her life.
Helena was pretty sure it would go down forever as the most bizarre and confusing. But happiest? That really wasn’t the right word for it.
Flynn led her around the dance floor without her even having to think about where her feet went next, as if he had a diagram in his head that he just had to follow and everything would be graceful and perfect. Which, actually, knowing Flynn, he probably did.
‘So,’ he said as the singer launched into the second verse, ‘I think we made it through the day without disaster.’
‘I guess we did.’ After the dancing, all that was left was the sending off. Except she and Flynn weren’t going anywhere except upstairs to bed.
Bed.
Oh.
Where were they going to sleep? The bridal suite Thea had been using, which would have been set up for a romantic wedding night while they were all down at the chapel? Or the smaller room Helena had taken as her own? Or even Flynn’s room at the far end of the villa?
And, more importantly, was Flynn expecting that they’d be going to bed together?
‘About that,’ she said, stumbling a little as her shoe got stuck in the too-long hem of her dress. Flynn caught her, strong hands keeping her upright and even still dancing as she found her balance. ‘I mean, about making it through the day. And to the night. Um...’
Flynn gave a low chuckle that somehow sounded dirtier than she’d ever imagined he was capable of. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t think anyone is going to be sober enough to notice where either of us sleep tonight. Why don’t you take the bridal suite, just in case anyone checks, and I’ll stick with my room? I’ll have work to do in the morning anyway, and my laptop and files are all set up in there.’
Of course. Work.
Just when she was starting to think that Flynn was a little more enthusiastic about this wedding than she’d expected. But no, it was all just the show, the spectacle, still.
Except that kiss hadn’t felt like a show. It had definitely been a spectacle, but it had felt...real. Tingly.
But she wasn’t supposed to be getting tingly feelings about this man. Her husband. Stupid as it seemed. She needed to keep this business-like and official until they could sit down and agree a way to get out of it. As she’d told him that morning, this didn’t have to be forever.
Couldn’t be forever.
If she didn’t end this early enough, she’d have to tell him everything, sooner or later. Explain why she couldn’t give him all the things he wanted. Had Isabella already realised? Was that why she’d looked so frustrated all day, whenever no one important had been looking?
The band launched into a repeat of the last verse, and Flynn spun her round with a little more enthusiasm. Not enough to be called abandon, of course. And probably planned ahead of time. But the crowd cheered anyway, and Helena tried to improve her mood with the knowledge that this was nearly all over. Another hour or so and they’d serve the cake and light supper buffet, even though no one could possibly be hungry again after the dinner they’d just eaten—except her. And she still couldn’t eat because of the ridiculous corset.
Maybe she could smuggle a doggy bag upstairs under her skirts...
The band came to a triumphant finish and Flynn dipped her low over his arm. Helena’s heel slid against the wooden floor for a second, then held. Heart racing, she looked up into her husband’s eyes and realised her heart wasn’t going to slow down any time soon.
Polite applause echoed in her ears as Flynn’s smile—a slow private one she wasn’t used to—spread across his face and she realised that she was still half upside down with her hair threatening to break free from its pins.
Deliberately, he raised her up to standing again, but his arm tight around her waist kept her upright. Her mind spun—from the dance, from the dip, but mostly from the realisation that she’d thought Flynn was about to kiss her again. Had expected it, almost as her due.
Had wanted it.
And that was dangerous.
With a tight smile, she shuffled back out of his arms. Flynn let her go easily and she tried to stamp down the small swell of disappointment she felt at that.
‘I think my father has the next dance,’ she said as the band struck up the next tune.
‘Of course,’ Flynn replied, still smiling. ‘And who are we to mess with tradition?’
‘Who, indeed?’ Helena twirled away, hitching her dress up a little to avoid tripping, and went to find her father. He might not always be her favourite person but he was a great deal safer to be around than her husband right now.
* * *
Several hours and considerably more dances later, the evening finally approached its end. Helena had thought about staging a grand departure earlier, but realised that would leave her alone in the bridal suite with her husband and two hundred people downstairs listening for signs of the marriage being consummated.
So not happening.
But at midnight the coaches and cars arrived like carriages on the driveway and the staff efficiently and discreetly persuaded everyone out of the door. Most were staying at hotels down in the town where there would be bars they could abuse all they wanted. But not here.
A few close family and friends of Isabella’s were staying at the villa, but Helena was optimistic they could avoid them tonight. The bridal suite was at one far end of a wing, with her own bedroom, her father’s and Isabella and Ezekiel’s suite between it and the rest of the villa. Zeke and Flynn had been roomed at the other end of the building but maybe she could persuade Flynn to take her old room. She could get someone to move his work stuff over now, while no one was looking. It would be much easier to keep up the illusion that they were actually sharing the bridal suite that way.
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