Claiming My Bride of Convenience

I stared grimly at my reflection. Sweat beaded my brow and the aftershocks of that wretched nightmare were still rippling through me. The suffocating darkness, the tiny space, the snick of the key in the lock—and then the hours. Oh, the hours. It had been endless...

Still, I had survived, and I’d certainly moved on. I hadn’t had that stupid dream since I was a child. Why on earth had I had it now, the first night I’d shared my bed with Daisy?

Turning on the water, I splashed my face, furious with myself for being so weak. I thought of the gentle pity in Daisy’s voice and everything in me cringed. This was not how our marriage was meant to work.

Taking a deep breath, I stared hard at myself in the mirror. I needed to get control of the situation immediately, because I could not countenance another episode such as the one I’d just experienced. Daisy could not create a weakness or a need in me; her artless ways could not crack open anything—and certainly not memories of the needy child I’d once been, begging for love when there was absolutely none to be had.

Love was an illusion. I’d had to inform Daisy of that fact. But it seemed I needed reminding as well—which was aggravating in the extreme. All along I’d been confident of managing Daisy, without realising that I needed to manage myself as well.

I turned from the mirror, and the hard blankness in my eyes, and went back into the bedroom. Daisy was curled up on her side, knees tucked up, hair spread across the pillow. She was silent, but I could tell from her wary stillness that she was awake.

For a second, no more, I thought about saying something. Touching her, even. Her curled-up position made me think of something wounded, bracing itself for more pain. And yet I was the one who’d had the wretched nightmare.

She didn’t move as I got into bed, her back still to me. I rolled onto my side away from her, everything in me tense and aching. Neither of us spoke, and I told myself that was good thing. It had to be.

Still, sleep eluded me, and the moon slanted silver shadows across the floor as I lay there, tense and angry, memories lapping at my senses in a way I hated.

Not just the old nightmare of the locked cupboard, which had been a staple of my sleep for several years of my childhood, but of other things. My grandfather’s complete and utter ignoring of me, stepping around me as if I were genuinely invisible, no matter how much I tried not to be...until he needed me. And Eleni...the spectre of my childhood...with her screwed-up face, her voice hissing at me like a snake.

You’re worthless...

She hadn’t been telling me anything I didn’t already know by heart.

I forced the memories away by a sheer, gritty act of will and tried to think of something else instead. Something positive. Andreas, smiling at me with his grin of pure joy. Daisy, looking at me from under her lashes this afternoon, her lips curving so sweetly...

But those memories disturbed me as well, because I wasn’t used to needing people to make me happy. Needing anyone for anything. I’d trained myself not to, and yet here I was, thinking about people, about Daisy, in a way I’d never meant to.

Restless now, I rolled onto my back. Daisy was asleep, her chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths, her face softened in sleep. She was a brown-haired angel, and everything about her was so very lovely. With every fibre of my being I hated the fact that she’d seen me so weak, and worse—far worse—that she’d felt sorry for me.

Finally, sometime towards the pink-fingered dawn, sleep descended like a mist, and to

my great relief the nightmare did not return.

Sunlight streaming from the floor-to-ceiling windows woke me slowly, bathing me in warmth. In the fog of sleep I was conscious of a warm body next to me, of a sleepy, feminine scent enveloping my senses. Still not even half awake, I reached for her and she came, melting into me with warm pliancy. My lips found hers as her arms wrapped around me, drawing me even closer.

I lost myself in her warmth, in the easy and open acceptance of her embrace, one knee sliding between her legs as I deepened the kiss, felt her yield beneath me. It was all so sleepily delicious, so wonderfully potent...the way her arms wound around me and her body arched against my questing hands. So easy...

Then consciousness sparked and I opened my eyes. Stared straight into hers, which were full of jarring compassion as well as heady desire. Then Daisy gave me a tender smile, a smile full of generosity and understanding, and it killed my lust at its very root.

In one abrupt movement I rolled off her, my stomach roiling even as my heart thudded, my body still sizzled with awareness and need.

‘Matteo...’

Her voice was gentle—too gentle. I got out of bed, shrugging on a shirt and a pair of trousers, furious with both her and myself.

‘What’s wrong? Why did you...?’

‘Stop? Because I don’t need your pity, Daisy, especially in a moment like that one.’ I gestured to the bed and she stayed silent, not denying it, which made it all so much worse. ‘We leave for Paris within the hour,’ I told her brusquely, and I walked out of the room without looking back.

Half an hour later, while I was immersed in work on my laptop—or at least trying to be—Daisy walked out of the bedroom, her hair damp from a shower, her expression composed and dignified, although I noted the wounded look in her eyes. Heaven spare me from a woman who wanted to save me.

‘Are you ready?’ I asked, keeping my voice brisk and businesslike. ‘We should leave shortly.’

‘Yes.’

She paused, looked as if she wanted to say something more, but I forestalled her by closing my laptop and rising. I was not interested in conversation—not any longer.

Although what I was interested in, I couldn’t even say. Everything felt disordered and far more complicated than I’d ever expected or intended it to be. Making this marriage real was not nearly as simple as I’d hoped. In the depths of last night, when I’d lain awake, my mind seething over the possibilities and complications, I’d considered forgetting the whole thing. Just walking away. It would be infinitely easier. And yet...