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But when Ginny stepped inside, her hand wrapped in her mom’s, every piece of art, every piece of wood, every famous, distinguished and renowned person seated in the sea of guests, disappeared from Dom’s vision.
She looked amazing.
She’d let her hair down. The yellow strands billowed around her beneath a puffy tulle veil. The top of her dress was a dignified lace with a high collar and snug lace sleeves that ran the whole way from her shoulders, down her arms, across the back of her hand to her knuckles. The skirt started at her waist, then flowed to the floor. Made of a soft, airy-looking material, it was scattered with the same shimmering flowers that were embroidered into the lace top, but these flowers stood alone, peeking out of the folds of the fabric and then hiding again as the skirt moved with every step Ginny took.
She’d managed to look both young and beautiful, while pleasing his father with a very dignified gown that took Dom’s breath away.
His brother leaned forward and whispered, “I know you weren’t happy about this marriage, so if you’d like to trade, you can have your princess back and I’ll raise your love child.”
Any other time, Dom would have said, “Shut up, you twit.” Today, mesmerized by the woman who had already seduced him once, and if he’d read her correctly the night of the formal dinner with her bridesmaids, wanted to seduce him again, he very quietly said, “Not on your life.”
Ginny and her mom reached the altar. Rose kissed his bride’s cheek and then walked to her seat. Ginny held out her hand to Dom and he took it, staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. Because in a way he hadn’t. He’d seen her silly and happy and playful the night of their date. He’d seen her dressed in jeans and T-shirts and even beautifully, ornately, for the night with the ambassador. But today, in this dress that was as beautiful as it was bridal, she was a woman offering herself to a man, as a bride.
Caught in the gaze of her pretty blue eyes, he was floored by the significance of it. Especially after their conversation about making their marriage real for their time together.
The minister cleared his throat. Their hands joined, Dom and Ginny turned to the altar and the service began. As the solemn words and decrees were spoken by his country’s highest-ranking religious official, Dominic reminded himself that this wedding wasn’t real. Even when they said their vows and exchanged jewel-encrusted rings, he told himself they were words he meant, truly meant, for a limited time.
But when the minister said, “You may kiss the bride,” and she turned those big blue eyes up at him, his heart stuttered. She wasn’t just a woman in a white dress, helping him to perpetuate a charade that would give legitimacy to Xaviera’s next heir. She was an innocent woman, a bride...
She was his now.
She whispered, “You don’t want to kiss me?”
His heart thundered in his chest and he realized he’d been standing there staring at her. In awe. In confusion. She wasn’t just an innocent. She was someone who’d been hurt. Someone who couldn’t trust. If he agreed to make this marriage real, no matter how much she protested that it wasn’t true, he would hurt her. He knew he would hurt her. Because as much as he hated the comparison, it seemed being royal had made him very much like her dad. He was his most charming when he needed to get his own way, and selfish, self-centered, the rest of the time.
Still, he held her gaze as his head lowered and his lips met hers. He watched her lids flutter shut in complete surrender. Total honesty. His heart of stone chipped a bit. The soft part of his soul, the place he rarely let himself acknowledge, shamed him for being so strict with her.
They broke apart slowly. She smiled up at him.
He told himself she was playing a part. The smile, the expression meant nothing. If she was smart enough to realize she didn’t trust anyone, she was also smart enough to play her role well. Smart enough to see he was doing what needed to be done not just for the next heir to the throne, but for his child.
The child in her stomach.
They turned to the congregation and began their recessional down the aisle to the vestibule, where they were spirited away to a private room while their guests left the church. They endured an hour of pictures before they walked out of the church, beneath the canopy of swords of his military’s honor guard.
Dressed in black suits and white silk shirts and ties, his bodyguards whisked them into the back of his limo, to a professional photo studio for more pictures.
And the whole time Ginny smiled at him radiantly. Anyone who looked at her would assume—believe—this wedding was real. Because he was beginning to get the feeling himself. She wasn’t such a good actress that she was fooling him. What she’d said haunted him. She wanted this to be real. At least for a little while. Because this, this sham, was as close as she’d ever get to a real marriage.
