“Steady,” her grandfather said, holding her arm as he smiled at her. “We’re almost there.”
And then Honora saw Nico, standing beside a minister and his best man, whom she didn’t know, beneath an arch of white and pink flowers. She felt the warm sea breeze and breathed in the scent of salt and green grass.
Her fiancé’s dark eyes met hers. Above his sleek tuxedo, Nico’s handsome face was shining, as if he’d never been happier. As if she were the most beautiful woman in the world. When she reached him, he took her hand.
Ten minutes later, he was kissing her as the minister presented them as husband and wife, to the guests’ approving murmurs and applause.
Nico’s kiss burned through her. And as Honora looked up into her husband’s eyes, all her doubts were caught by the wind and blew out to sea. There was only him. Them. Forever.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WOULD THIS DAMNED reception ever end?
Nico didn’t care about the wedding toasts—neither Emmie Swenson’s sweet, tender good wishes, nor Theo Katrakis’s surprisingly classy tribute.
“My assistant wrote it!” the Greek confided later, with a grin.
Nico wasn’t hungry for the elegant beachside luncheon of lobster and asparagus in hollandaise sauce. He didn’t want white wedding cake with raspberry filling. And the one thing that might have been palatable, the chilled champagne, he didn’t touch, since Honora couldn’t.
There was only one thing he actually wanted. And every minute he had to wait was agony.
Tables had been spread across the lawn with a view of the ocean. The July afternoon was bright, the sky a perfect blue. With only a hundred guests, the reception was intimate.
But not nearly intimate enough for him.
He looked down hungrily at Honora sitting beside him at the head table. Honora. Mrs. Ferraro. His wife.
She was leaning back against him in her wedding dress, her green eyes sparkling as she laughed at some joke Theo had made. The Greek was being his usual charming self, likely for the benefit of her maid of honor sitting on Honora’s other side. But even still. Nico didn’t like it, all that joy in her face, caused by another man.
He wanted his bride all to himself.
He’d never forget the moment he’d first seen her at the end of the aisle, in her strapless wedding dress, perfectly formfitting around her full breasts and baby bump, holding a small bouquet of pink roses. Her dark hair was falling free over her shoulders, and she had matching pink roses in her hair. Her green eyes had glowed as she walked toward him, holding her grandfather’s arm.
Nico’s knees had actually gone weak. He’d heard the thundering roar of the surf behind him as his blood rushed through his veins.
In that moment, everything else had fallen away. And he’d known she was the solution to that nameless emptiness, the anger, the restlessness he’d felt all his life. Once he possessed her, he would be whole.
Nico’s voice had been calm and confident as he’d spoken his vows. Honora’s had been quieter, seeming to hesitate, to tremble on the edges. But as the minister pronounced them husband and wife, and Nico took her in his arms and kissed her, he almost hated the applauding guests. He wished them a million miles away. He’d already waited weeks. Months. Years. In some ways, he’d waited his whole life. Now the hours of the obligatory wedding reception seemed unendurable.
The only good thing was that at least they didn’t have to worry about an all-night spree of dancing and drinking, which the wedding planner had suggested but which he’d flatly refused, both because he’d promised Honora he wouldn’t drink for the rest of her pregnancy, and because he thought he would explode if he had to wait to be alone with his bride until people toddled off drunk at two in the morning.
And they didn’t have to worry about wedding presents, either. Honora had suggested that in lieu of gifts, guests could donate to their favorite charity. He’d been relieved. Nico hated receiving gifts—having to pretend to be grateful and indebted and say thank you and on and on, usually for some trinket he didn’t value and had no use for. Charity was a fantastic idea.
Nico ground his teeth, trying his best to make it a smile as he looked around him at all the round tables filled with people who loved his wife. Why were they still here? It had been hours. The luncheon had been eaten, the cake served, the toasts given.
Too bad he didn’t have the old man’s hunting rifle. That would have encouraged their guests to leave right quick. His lips curved at the pleasant thought.
Then he sighed. As sensible a course as that seemed in his current state, he didn’t think his wife would approve. Honora seemed to place a lot of importance on family, friends and community. Far too much.
But he wanted her to be happy. His arm tightened a
round her shoulders as she sat beside him at the head table. And soon, she’d make him very happy, too.
Honora looked up at him and smiled. “Don’t you think?”
“He’ll never admit it,” Theo said.
He focused on them abruptly. “What?”