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Torn by the need for Zaccheo to know the truth and the need to protect her father, she shook her head, her insides churning.
Churning turned into full-blown liquefying as Zaccheo stepped from the dais, his imposing body threatening to block out the light as he headed down the aisle.
She desperately sucked in a breath, the knowledge that Zaccheo would march her up the aisle himself if need be finally scraping her feet from the floor. He stopped halfway, his gaze unswerving, until she reached him.
He grasped her hand, his hold unbreakable as he turned and walked her to the altar.
Trembling at the hard, pitiless look in his eyes, she swallowed and tried to speak. ‘Zaccheo—’
‘No, Eva. No more excuses,’ he growled.
The priest glanced between them, his expression benign but enquiring.
Zaccheo nodded.
The organ swelled. And sealed her fate.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘GLARING AT IT won’t make it disappear, unless you have superhero laser vision.’
Eva jumped at the mocking voice and curled her fingers into her lap, hiding the exquisite diamond-studded platinum ring that had joined her engagement ring three hours ago.
‘I wasn’t willing it away.’ On the contrary, she’d been wondering how long it would stay on her finger once Zaccheo knew the truth.
The reception following the ceremony had been brief but intense. Six hundred people clamouring for attention and the chance to gawp at the intriguing couple could take a lot out of a girl. With Zaccheo’s fingers laced through hers the whole time, tightening commandingly each time she so much as moved an inch away from him, Eva had been near-blubbering-wreck status by the time their limo had left the hall.
Once she’d stopped reeling from the shock of being married to Zaccheo Giordano, she’d taken a moment to take in her surroundings. The Great Hall in the Guildhall was usually booked for years in advance. That Zaccheo had managed to secure it in a week and thrown together a stunning reception was again testament that she’d married a man with enough power and clout to smash through any resistance.
Zaccheo, despite his spell in prison, remained a formidable man, one, she suspected, who didn’t need her father’s intervention to restore his damaged reputation. So why was he pursuing it so relentlessly? Throughout the reception, she’d watched him charm their guests with the sheer force of his charisma. By the time her father had got round to giving the edifying toast welcoming Zaccheo to the Pennington family, the effort had seemed redundant.
She watched Zaccheo now as the car raced them to the airport, and wondered if it was a good time to broach the subject burning a hole in her chest.
‘Something on your mind?’ he queried without raising his gaze from his tablet.
Her heart leapt into her throat. She started to speak but noticed the partition between them and Romeo, who sat in the front passenger seat, was open. Although she was sure Romeo knew the ins and outs of the document he’d been asked to witness yesterday, Eva wasn’t prepared to discuss her devastating shortcomings in his presence.
So she opted for something else plaguing her. She smoothed her hands on her wedding dress. ‘Do I have your assurance that you’ll speak on my father’s behalf once you hand over the documents to the authorities?’
He speared her with incisive grey eyes. ‘You’re so eager to see him let off the hook, aren’t you?’
‘Wouldn’t you be, if it was your father?’ she asked.
Eva was unprepared for the strange look that crossed his face. The mixture of anger, sadness, and bitterness hollowed out her stomach.
‘My father wasn’t interested in being let off the hook for his sins. He was happy to keep himself indebted to his betters because he thought that was his destiny.’
Her breath caught. ‘What? That doesn’t make sense.’
‘Very little of my father’s actions made sense to me, not when I was a child, and not as an adult.’
The unexpected insight into his life made her probe deeper. ‘When did he die?’
‘When I was thirteen years old.’
‘I’m sorry.’ When he inclined his head and continued to stare at her, she pressed her luck. ‘How did he—?’
‘Zaccheo,’ Romeo’s deep voice interrupted them. ‘Perhaps this is not a subject for your wedding day?’
A look passed between the friends.
When Zaccheo looked at her again, that cool impassivity he’d worn since they’d left the reception to thunderous applause had returned.
