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Thee mou, if this was an act then she was a good actress!
Aware of our audience, and a burning need to find out, I held out my hand to her. ‘The traditional first dance is coming up, I believe.’ The earlier we could get this spectacle out of the way, the quicker I could resume my life.
Her gaze darted to the dance floor, her reluctance clear. ‘Is that...really necessary?’
Something about her reluctance and her whole demeanour grated. She was behaving as if I was contaminated!
‘Enough with this pretence. That wide-eyed innocent thing will only work for so long. Give it up, Calypso.’
She offered me her hand, but the eyes that met mine as she stood sparkled with renewed fire. ‘No one calls me Calypso. My name is Callie,’ she stated firmly.
I attempted to ignore the slim fingers in mine, the smooth softness of her palm and the way it kicked to life something inside me as I led her to the middle of the dance floor.
‘I’m your new husband—surely I don’t fall under the category of no one?’ I curled my arm around her waist, a singular need to press her close escalating inside me as the band struck up a waltz.
She stiffened. ‘Are you insinuating that you’re special?’
For some reason my lips quirked. ‘By your tone, I’m guessing I’m not. Not even special enough for you to grant me the simple gift of addressing you as I please?’
Her lips firmed again, drawing my attention to their plumpness. Reminding me of that all too fleeting taste of them.
‘And what am I to call you? Other than stranger or husband?’
For some reason the fiery huskiness of her voice drew another smile. A puzzle in itself, since humour was the last emotion I should have been experiencing. I was in this situation because of money and shameless greed.
‘Call me Axios. Or Ax, as most people do. I doubt we will reach the stage of coining terms of endearment.’
‘On that I think we’re agreed,’ she replied, her gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder.
Another scrabble of irritation threatened to rise, but I suppressed it when I noticed that once again, beneath the show of sharp claws, she was trembling, her wide eyes a little too bright. As if she was holding on to her composure by a thread.
‘Is something wrong?’ I asked. Again I questioned my need to know. Or care.
‘What could possibly be wrong?’
She didn’t bother to meet my gaze. If anything, she attempted to detach herself, which ought to have been impossible, considering how close we were dancing. But I was learning that my new wife had several...interesting facets.
‘It is polite to look at me when you address me.’
She maintained her stance for another few seconds, then her blue eyes rose to mine. The urge to stare into them, to commit every fleck and expression to memory, charged through me, this time bringing a wave of heat to my groin.
I inhaled slowly, forcing myself to ignore that unsettling sensation and address her as I would any acquaintance.
Even though she wasn’t.
Even though she’d taken my name and we were effectively bound together for twelve long months.
‘This thing will go smoother if we attempt to be civil with one another. Don’t you agree?’
‘I’m not a puppet. I cannot act a certain way on command.’
‘But you can dispense with that little-girl-lost look. And I find it curious that you would choose to refer to puppets. Perhaps you’re familiar with knowing exactly which strings to tug to get what you want?’
Unlike me, she didn’t attempt to disguise her frown. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘This whole scheme, orchestrated by you and your family, has gone off without a hitch. Feel free to stop acting now.’
She inhaled sharply, her eyes darting to the guests dancing around us. ‘Please keep your voice down.’
