Wife By Force(26)

Not one drop.

He could have helped without forcing her into this. If he'd been   honorable. He was a close family friend. He could have pulled strings   without demanding this farce of a union  . It was a lot to ask;  still,  he could have helped in another way if he owned an ounce of  integrity  and character.

As the shock of the situation had worn off, though, she'd come to a clear realization.

Dante Casartelli had no real interest in her. In his typical   cold-blooded way, he'd decided it was time to have children, glanced   around, spotted her, and made his decision. When she hadn't fallen at   his feet in fits of ecstasy, he'd maneuvered circumstances until she   fell in line. It didn't matter to him what she thought or wanted. Like   some ancient king of the past, he acted as if everything he surveyed was   his.

He wanted, he took.

Simple. Brutal. Decisive.

She hated him, but she still had to marry the bastard.

In one hour.

This last month had been a long torture of spending day and night with   him. Endless parties, endless family gatherings, endless fake smiles.   Thank God she'd had the school opening to focus on and sometimes use as a   convenient excuse to get away from him.         

     



 

They hadn't shared any kind of real conversation all month.

Nor had they spent a moment alone at any time.

Not once had he tried to kiss her.

She hadn't detected a smidgen of any emotion from him in the slightest.   No rage in his eyes. No anger in his voice. Certainly not love or  desire  or even liking. He'd retreated into the horrible, empty reserve  she'd  noticed the first night she'd seen him after twelve years.

Which was perfectly fine with her. The less contact she had with her chilly fiancé the better.

Except … except … tonight she would have to go to bed with him.   Embarrassingly, that had been listed in the disgusting document. In dry   legal terms, yet nevertheless, explicit.

Clause #3. Lara Derrick Casartelli will willingly engage in marital relations with her husband on a daily basis.

Daily basis? The man who barely talked to her wanted to have sex with her daily?

Every time she thought about that clause during the last month, she'd   glance over at the cold man by her side, absolutely unable to imagine   he'd want anything of the kind. Something far worse lingered on the   edges of her thinking, however. Something she'd managed to ignore for a   month. Because the reality of it was too awful to contemplate without   her running madly into the streets. And that wasn't an option, was it?

So. She hadn't thought about it. Until now.

Her hands shook as she smoothed down the silk of her dress.

Tonight, he would find out her secret.

He might laugh at her or be disgusted. Perhaps he'd even renege on the   deal because she didn't know what the hell to do in bed with a man.

No, wait. He couldn't. He'd signed the bloody contract even before she   had. If she let him do what he wanted to her body, then he was stuck.   Stuck with her and her ineptitude. That should make her feel good,   right? That would be part of her revenge.

Gulping in a deep breath, she tried to push every boomeranging thought   from her head. Yet the emotions couldn't be stopped. Embarrassment.   Fear. The always present anger.

Nausea welled inside her stomach.

"I'm so happy for you and Dante." Daniella moved to her side and smiled.   "I feel like you've been my sister forever and now it will be   official."

"There is that." She closed her eyes for a moment before pasting on smile.

"Uh, oh." Her friend gave her a look. "Do I detect bridal nerves?"

More like a bridal panic attack. "No," she succeeded in saying. "I'm fine."

"Good." Her friend patted her hand. "My brother would never let anything   go wrong with his wedding. Even when there was trouble at Viola's   wedding, Dante took care of it."

"Trouble at Viola's?"

Dani waved her question away. "A minor argument at the service. My brother fixed it fast."

"I'm sure."

"And Mamma is at her best with weddings. She's sure had enough experience lately."

"She's been magnificent."

Dani grinned. "She is happy for Dante. She says you are the perfect girl for him."

"Really?" Lara managed to swallow the nausea welling inside her throat. "I had no idea."

"I think she's right. He needs someone who's strong and sure of herself. I hated some of his girlfriends."

If only one of those girlfriends had snagged him long ago. "Mmm."

"No, honestly." Daniella shook her head. "They hung on his every word and did whatever he wanted. They were disgusting."

"I would think a man would enjoy that."

"Maybe. But not my brother."

She managed to swallow her hoot of disbelief along with another bout of nausea.

"He respects you." Her friend leaned closer, her eyes shining with   sincere belief. "He has always had the good sense to know what's right   for him."

"I can't think of a thing to say." Lara gave her an ironic look, all the   time knowing this might be the very first thing she'd said during the   entire month that was the God's honest truth.

"You'll see," Dani said. "As soon as you both settle into the marriage, you'll see Mamma is right. You are his perfect match."

"Are you girls talking about me?" Dante's mother bustled up, her black   eyes sparkling and the feather in her hat bobbing. "Dani, go help   Carlotta with the flowers. I want to talk to Lara."

"Okay." Obediently, her daughter gave a quick pat to Lara's arm and bounded away.

"Lara." Giana Casartelli clapped her hands together in pleasure. "You look beautiful."         

     



 

"You're the one who chose the dress."

"No, no, bambina." The older woman touched the lace on her shoulder with   tender care. "I meant the girl who's wearing the dress. Since you were  a  child, I have noticed how loving and caring you are. It does my  heart  good to see my eldest son finally find happiness with such a  lovely  woman."

"Is he happy?" Maybe she could get his mother's attention. Maybe if this woman truly saw what was going on, she would stop this.

"Yes." Signora Casartelli nodded. "I know my son is not demonstrative, but a mother can tell."

Not demonstrative. Quite the understatement. "He is contained."

Giana threw her a shrewd look. "True. He learned the hard way to control   his emotions. He had to in order to ensure the family survived. Yet  you  must remember when he was younger. How charming he was."

"I don't remember that at all."

"You were young. Nevertheless, he was an energetic child, full of life and fun."

"I find that impossible to picture."

"You must remember him as a teenager, bambina." The woman winked. "I have a distinct memory of your large crush on my son."

A flare of embarrassment rushed up her face. "Not really."

The older woman chuckled. "What? Do you not remember following him   wherever he went? You were only six, perhaps seven, when you started,   but surely you have some memory of this."

"I seem to have forgotten that entirely."

"Does a girl ever actually forget her first crush?" Giana winked again.   "Never mind. It's turned out right in the end. I am hopeful this   marriage will give him some of the joy and verve he lost with the death   of my husband."

The sudden pain on Giana's face told the story-the loss was still keen   even eleven years later. Lara placed her hand over the older woman's.   "I'm sorry I wasn't here when that happened."

"Si, you missed all of it. You were visiting your English relatives and   then away at school, weren't you?" The woman sighed. "That was not a   pleasant time for anyone, especially for my oldest son."

"I'm sure." She continued to pat the plump hand in hers.

"Dante had to fight off quite a few vultures to keep the family company   intact. Not many of them thought a young twenty-five-year-old would be   able to handle the business." The proud mother smiled. "But he more  than  handled it. He triumphed."

"I'm sure I would have had no doubts," she said, a dry note in her voice.

"You're a good girl. You are loyal and honest. He needs that." Turning,   Giana became the proficient wedding organizer again. "Girls, girls. We   must leave for the church now."

Dresses rustled and the chatter rose to a crescendo as the Casartelli   women gathered their purses, flowers, shoes. With loud kisses and teary   eyes, one by one they left her alone in her bedroom.

Less than one hour.

"Muffin." Her father's voice echoed softly from the door. "Time to go to the church."