A Marriage Fit for a Sinner

‘Six hundred? You’ve invited six hundred people to the wedding?’ Her husky disbelief made his teeth grind.

‘You thought I intended to have a hole-in-the-wall ceremony?’ A fresh wave of bitterness rolled over him. ‘Or did you think my PA was spouting gibberish when she informed you of all this on Tuesday?’

‘Sorry, I must’ve tuned out because, contrary to what you think, I don’t like my life arranged for me,’ she retorted. ‘That doesn’t change anything. I can’t do this...’

Zaccheo frowned at the naked distress in her voice.

Eva was genuinely torn up about the prospect of giving herself to him, a common man only worthy of a few kisses but nothing as substantial as the permanent state of matrimony.

Something very much like pain gripped his chest. ‘Is that your final decision? Are you backing out of our agreement?’

She remained silent for so long, he thought the line was dead. ‘Unless you’re willing to change the last clause, yes.’

Zaccheo detested the sudden clenching of his stomach, as if the blow he’d convinced himself would never come had been landed. The voice taunting him for feeling more than a little stunned was ruthlessly smashed away.

He assured himself he had another way to claim the justice he sought. ‘Very well. Ciao.’

He ended the phone call. And fought the urge to hurl his phone out of the window.

* * *

Eva dropped the phone onto the coffee-shop table. She’d arrived at work only to discover she’d been taken off the roster due to her impending wedding. Since she had holiday due to her anyway, Eva hadn’t fought too hard at suddenly finding herself with free time.

Her session with Ziggy yesterday had gone well, despite her head being all over the place. If nothing else came of it, she could add that to her CV.

Curbing a hysterical snort, she stared at her phone.

She’d done the right thing and ended this farce before it went too far. Before the longings she’d harboured in the last three days got any more out of control.

Deep in her heart, she knew Zaccheo would react the same way to her secret as Scott and George had. He wouldn’t want to marry half a woman, especially when he’d stated his expectations in black and white in a formal agreement drafted by a team of lawyers, and then confounded her with his genuine desire to become a father.

So why hadn’t she just told him over the phone?

Because she was a glutton for punishment?

Because some part of her had hoped telling him face-to-face would help her gauge whether there was a chance he would accept her the way she was?

Fat chance.

It was better this way. Clean. Painless.

She jumped as her phone pinged. Heart lurching, she accessed the message, but it was only the manageress from Siren, wishing her a lovely wedding and sinfully blissful honeymoon.

Eva curled her hand around her fast-cooling mug. Once the news got out that she’d broken her third engagement in two years, her chances of marrying anyone, let alone a man who would accept her just as she was, would shrink from nil to no chance in hell.

Pain spiked again at the reminder of her condition. Exhaling, she wrenched her mind to more tangible things.

Like finding a place to live.

She weighed her options, despair clutching her insides when, two hours later, she faced the only avenue open to her. Going back home to Pennington Manor.

Reluctantly, she picked up her phone, then nearly dropped it when it blared to life. The name of the caller made her frown.

‘Sophie?’

‘Eva, what’s going on?’ The fear in her voice shredded Eva’s heart.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve just had to call the doctor because Father’s had another episode!’

Eva jerked to her feet, sending her coffee cup bouncing across the table. ‘What?’

‘We got a call from Zaccheo Giordano an hour ago to say the wedding was off. Father’s been frantic. He was about to call you when he collapsed. The doctor says if he’s subjected to any more stress he could have a heart attack or a stroke. Is it true? Did you call off the wedding?’ The strain in her sister’s voice was unmistakeable.

‘Yes,’ Eva replied. She grabbed her bag and hurried out of the coffee shop when she began to attract peculiar looks. Outside, she shrugged into her coat and pulled up her hoodie to avoid the light drizzle.

‘Oh, God. Why?’ her sister demanded.

‘Zaccheo wanted me to sign a prenuptial agreement.’

‘So? Everyone does that these days.’