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Eyes locked on Annabelle, he repeated the words as instructed, and when the officiant asked for the rings, Dante took Annabelle’s hand in his. Her fingers slightly trembled as he slipped the ring on her finger. Did she feel it too? The oppressive weight of what they were doing? Could this mockery of a marriage become more?
An indescribable emotion clogged his throat. She was going to be his wife again.Hiswife. No one else’s.
They locked eyes as he repeated the words, “With this ring, I take you as my spouse and commit to being your partner in life. I promise to forsake all others, protect you, and care for you.”
The rest of the ceremony took place in a vacuum. Dante barely heard what the priest said or the words that Annabelle repeated. All he could think was how they were binding themselves to each other. In front of family, friends, and God.
“You may kiss the bride.”
They both knew this moment was coming, yet they looked at each other for a beat. Then the longing to experience the softness of her mouth again overtook him. Dante moved first, stepping closer and kissing Annabelle on the lips. The kiss should have been brief. There was absolutely no reason to prolong it, but her lips were soft and malleable, sending a burst of desire through him like the night of their engagement party.
A soft sigh escaped from her, and he groaned as he angled his head and kissed her deeper, plucking her lower between his teeth while one hand went to the back of her neck to apply pressure.
She was exquisite and tasted like perfection. Like perfectly ripe fruit—succulent and juicy and delicious. He could kiss her forever and almost did. The throb of desire unfurled in his loins, and only upon hearing the snickers of their guests did he remember they were the center of attention in a public place.
Finally, they withdrew from each other. Or rather, he released her—reluctantly. His breathing was labored, and a deep hunger filled him as he watched her bright eyes and flushed cheeks. No, more than hunger. Craving. Craving to bury himself inside her as deep as he could possibly go.
“May this union bring you joy, love, and fulfillment throughout your journey together,” the priest said.
Dante’s heart thudded in his chest at the chaotic thoughts swirling through his head. Years ago, she had slipped through his fingers, and he’d lost his friend, his lover, his future. They had been good together when they weren’t miserable.
Could they take this opportunity to fix the mistakes of the past?
15
It was over. Finally.
The wedding. The reception. Annabelle had forgotten how exhausting being a bride could be. Maybe because last time she’d been happy. This time, the smiling and pretending took more energy than she could have ever imagined. Beside her in the back of a limousine withJust Marriedframed by flowers and attached to the back, Dante sat with the top button on his shirt undone and his tie missing. No telling where that was. He’d gotten rid of the neckwear immediately after their first dance at the reception.
The kiss at the end of the ceremony took place in front of the church hours before, but her mouth continued to sing from the pressure of his. The kiss had been a stamp. A declaration of ownership. Every time her eyes found Dante’s at the reception, her pulse raced anew, as if in anticipation of the night ahead.
They had ridden from the venue in silence, leaving behind cheering guests who yelled best wishes at them as they embarked on their new life together. Hah. If only they knew the truth. This marriage was a farce. A means to an end for both of them.
The limousine cruised to a stop, and the driver opened the door and helped her from the car.
“Thank you,” Annabelle said.
She wore the same dress from the ceremony but had removed the detachable train for the reception.
She gazed up at the large, textured exterior of the two-story structure made of sand-colored stucco that would be her home for the next year. Much different from the home she and Dante moved into the first time they married. At the time, her father had gifted them an apartment in one of his buildings, which Dante had begrudgingly accepted.
This place, however, was located in River Oaks behind a gate, an exquisite example of Mediterranean architecture, enclosed by a high wood fence and with a boundary of trees for additional privacy. She looked forward to exploring the property, which she knew included a private tennis court, a four-car garage, an elevator, and an outdoor kitchen and living space overlooking the swimming pool.
Annabelle gathered her skirt and walked toward the door. Halfway there, her feet were swept out from under her, and she let out a soft gasp as Dante lifted her into his strong arms.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He looked at her with his trademark smirk. “This is tradition,” he explained.
“Put me down,” she whispered, so the driver who had hurried ahead of them to open the door to the house couldn’t hear.
“Once we have crossed the threshold,” Dante replied in a calm voice.
Reluctantly, she looped her arms around his neck, nestling her body against his and inhaling the inviting musk of his earthy cologne. He carried her into an elegant foyer designed in black and white. Her mouth fell open at the sight of the sparkling floors covered in ivory marble tile and the crystal chandelier hanging from the two-story ceiling.
Directly across from the double staircase with black handrails, an entry table stood in the middle with a midnight vase holding a gorgeous bouquet of flowers. To the left, three archways led the way into a small dining room and to the right, another three archways led to a sitting room with a television mounted above the fireplace.
This house was smaller than the one she’d grown up in but certainly grander and more spacious than the apartment they lived in before. The furnishings and architectural details demonstrated wealth while keeping the decor tasteful. The young man from Venezuela had come a long way.
