No. She wouldn’t care if she woke up tomorrow as ordinary Eva Penn instead of Lady Pennington. And she would come clean to Zaccheo, no matter what.
Except that was looking less likely to happen before the wedding. Zaccheo hadn’t returned to the penthouse last night. She hadn’t deluded herself that he was observing the quaint marriage custom. If anything, he was probably making another billion, or actively sowing his last wild oats. She jerked at the jagged pain that shot through her.
Sophie stood up. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. How’s Father?’
Sophie’s face clouded. ‘He insists he’s well enough to walk you down the aisle.’ Her sister’s eyes darted to the hairdresser who had finished and was walking out to get Margaret. ‘He’s desperate that everything goes according to plan today.’
Eva managed to stop her smile from slipping. ‘It will.’
Sophie met her gaze in the mirror. ‘Do you think I should talk to Zaccheo...explain?’
Eva thought about the conversation she’d had with Zaccheo yesterday, the merciless tone, the ruthless man on a mission who’d been released from prison a mere week ago. ‘Maybe not just yet.’
Sophie nodded, then flashed a smile that didn’t quite make it before she left Eva alone as Margaret entered.
Any hopes of talking to Zaccheo evaporated when she found herself at the doors of the chapel an hour later.
Catching sight of him for the first time since Monday, she felt her heart slam around her chest.
Romeo stood in the best-man position and Eva wondered again at the connection between the two men. Did Zaccheo have any friends? Or had he lost all of them when her family’s actions had altered his fate?
The thought flitted out of her head as her gaze returned almost magnetically to Zaccheo.
He’d eschewed a morning coat in favour of a bespoke three-piece suit in the softest dove-grey silk. Against the snowy white shirt and white tie completing the ensemble, his long hair was at once dangerously primitive and yet so utterly captivating, her mouth dried as her pulse danced with a dark, decadent delight. His beard had been trimmed considerably and a part of her mourned its loss. Perhaps it was that altered look that made his eyes so overwhelmingly electrifying, or it was the fact that his face was set in almost brutal lines, but the effect was like lightning to her system the moment her eyes connected with his.
The music in the great hall of the cathedral he’d astonishingly managed to secure on such short notice disappeared, along with the chatter of the goggle-eyed guests who did nothing to hide their avid curiosity.
All she could see was him, the man who would be her husband in less than fifteen minutes.
She stumbled, then stopped. A murmur rose in the crowd. Eva felt her father’s concerned stare, but she couldn’t look away from Zaccheo.
His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowing in warning as fear clutched her, freezing her feet.
‘Eva?’ Her father’s ragged whisper caught her consciousness.
‘Why did you insist on walking me down the aisle?’ she asked him, wanting in some way to know that she wasn’t doing all of this to save a man who had very little regard for her.
‘What? Because you’re my daughter,’ her father replied with a puzzled frown.
‘So you’re not doing it just to keep up appearances?’
His face creased with a trace of the vulnerability she’d glimpsed only once before, when her mother died, and her heart lurched. ‘Eva, I haven’t handled things well. I know that. I was brought up to put the family name above all else, and I took that responsibility a little too far. Despite our less than perfect marriage, your mother was the one who would pull me back to my senses when I went a little too far. Without her...’ His voice roughened and his hand gripped hers. ‘We might lose Penningtons, but I don’t want to lose you and Sophie.’
Eva’s throat clogged. ‘Maybe you should tell her that? She needs to know you’re proud of her, Father.’
Her father looked to where her sister stood, and he nodded. ‘I will. And I’m proud of you, too. You’re as beautiful as your mother was on our wedding day.’
Eva blinked back her tears as murmurs rose in the crowd.
She turned to find Zaccheo staring at her. Something dark, sinister, curled through his eyes and she swallowed as his mouth flattened.
I can’t marry him without him knowing! He deserves to know that I can’t give him the family he wants.
‘My dear, you need to move now. It’s time,’ her father pleaded.