Wife By Force(27)

Bittersweet tears clogged her throat at his use of her old childhood   nickname. At the same time, her heart lurched into a furious clatter.

"You look lovely." Hugo Derrick walked to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Your mother would be so proud."

His eyes brimmed with tears. Happy tears if she wasn't mistaken.

I must do this. I must. My family is depending on me.

In less than one hour, she would be married again. To another man she despised.





Chapter 11





The organ was too loud.

His necktie was too tight.

This ceremony had to be stopped.

The music pounded into his brain. Thump, thump, thump. Idiot. Moron.   Fool. For a man in command of every area of his life, this mess was an   abomination. He'd let his temper push this catastrophe forward until …

Until here he was. Standing with his brother, Tomas, at the altar. Waiting for his lovely bride to appear.

"Idiota," he muttered under his breath.

Tomas chuckled at his side. "I can't believe it. My big brother is nervous."

"Shut up."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of his brother's grin.   "Come on, fratello. Let me have this one moment of fun watching you   squirm."

His conscience had not started rumbling until he walked into the church.   It had stayed silent for weeks, smothered in layers of wrath and fury.   Yet as soon as he'd strode into the sanctuary today it had roared. He   had every expectation of God throwing a lightning bolt to strike him   down for letting this farce continue.         

     



 

He had to stop this marriage.

It was impossible to believe he had gotten himself into this   predicament. He, Dante Casartelli. Renowned for his cool intellect under   fire. Reputed to be the calmest investor in times of turbulent  markets.  He, the owner of a worldwide financial empire. The man who  never got  flustered by anything, according to his PA and staff. He.  About to force  a woman to marry him because he'd lost his temper.

He had to stop this.

There'd been the hope-or the fear-that Lara would talk to her father and   find out the truth. Figure out he held no real power over her, that  the  rescue of her father and brother had nothing to do with the insane   contract she'd made him draw up. However, the other shoe had not   dropped. Day after day, he'd waited. Day after day, he'd hidden from his   conscience. And day after day, the wedding approached.

"Is that sweat I see on the side of your face?"

He gritted his teeth and ignored Tomas. There were more important things   to take care of than stopping his brother's teasing. Such as stopping   this ceremony with the minimum of fuss and embarrassment. He eyed the   elderly priest standing a step above him. Would it be possible to pull   the old man aside and tell him the marriage was off? Father Gibaldi had   known him his entire life, had heard his confessions for years. Would  he  understand?

The priest beamed at him.

No, he would not. He would think Dante Casartelli had suddenly turned into a complete moron. Which he was.

"Don't worry," his brother rumbled beside him. "She might be a bit late, but I'm sure she's on her way. She'll show."

He wished she wouldn't show.

"Sciocco." Oh, yes, he was an utter fool.

"Come on." Tomas leaned in. "You can't seriously be worried about her not showing."

"That's not the problem."

"Everything else is running like clockwork, Big D. Mamma's got everything in hand."

Dante glanced at his mother in the first pew, her lace handkerchief held   tightly in hand for the inevitable happy tears. Her smile was as full   and bright as he'd ever seen it. His sisters lined the rest of the   bench. All of them laughing, whispering, smiling at him. Their husbands   sat behind them, attending to assorted nieces and nephews who were   trying to sit politely, waiting for the promised cake and ice cream.

The church was packed. His business associates. Far-flung family   members. The neighbors that lived around them. All here to witness the   union   of one of the most eligible men in Europe to a beautiful,   graceful woman many had known since her childhood.

Madonna in cielo.

He hadn't felt this trapped and foolish since his father's death. Never   had he screwed something up so badly as this. His mother was going to  be  heartbroken. His sisters were going to hate him. His brother was  going  to laugh at him. The extended family was going to question his   character. The neighbors were going to gossip for months. His business   associates were going to wonder about his honor and integrity.

Yet if he stopped this now, perhaps Lara would someday forgive him.

He cleared his throat. "Tomas, I must-"

"Here she is." His brother peered down the long row of pews to the   entrance. "See? I told you there was nothing to worry about. After all,   what woman would walk away from your money?"

Dante winced as a shaft of pain sliced through him like a clean, swift kill.

"Hey!" Tomas grabbed his shoulder. "I'm kidding. She isn't that way. You know her."

"Si," he managed.

He finally looked at her. The sunlight shining through the massive   stained-glass windows highlighted her form, splintering a golden halo   around her. Her father stood next to her in the arched stone entryway.   Dani glided down the aisle, the only bridesmaid Lara wanted.

She moved towards him. Towards this marriage.

Dante sucked in a breath and held it. As she paced away from the   entrance, her face and form became clear. The veil muted her features:   the solemn turn of her wide mouth, the flash of honey eyes as she   glanced at her father, the clean edge of her jaw. All softened and   gilded with creamy lace. Her wedding gown was cut to show her figure,   all willowy beauty and lovely curves. Lace curled around the edges of   the dress and he saw the peep of her cream pumps as she slowly moved   towards him. Towards this marriage.

He couldn't do it.

He couldn't let her go.

He knew it was wrong. This was not the way to start a marriage. There   were too many misunderstandings, too many problems. Still, every one of   their issues faded, completely, as she walked toward him in total  beauty  and grace.         

     



 

He had to have her.

Hugo Derrick's brows rose as they arrived at his side. What did the man   want of him? He couldn't smile. What was there to smile about? He was   going to marry a woman who hated him because he had to. No control. No   calm decision. No, the feelings pumping through him were entirely   chaotic, entirely crazy. The craving, the wanting, the desire were in   complete dominance. He hated this feeling, had learned to repress this   madness for so long. But now, now, it was all there once more.

He must have her.

Dante managed a slight nod at Hugo and it seemed to satisfy the man. He   kissed his daughter's forehead and handed her over, stepping away to  sit  in the nearest pew, beside her brother.

She stared at him through the lace. Deep, dark golden pools of mystery.   Her mouth tightened. What was she thinking? Dio, he didn't want to  know.  Her thoughts would probably push him across the edge of his  control  into complete and utter insanity. He imagined himself throwing  her over  his shoulder, marching down the aisle as she screamed her hate  at him.

Not caring. Only wanting.

Her hand was cold in the warmth of his. Looking at her long, lovely   fingers, he silently begged her forgiveness for what he was going to   force her to do. There was no help for it; there was no way he could not   do this.

He must have her.

Father Gibaldi coughed and she turned toward the priest with a gentle smile.

And it began.

The words meant nothing. The cry of a baby, the hushed scolding of a   niece, nothing penetrated his world of chaos and craving and wanting. He   rode wave after wave of emotion, tossed from crest to crest without  any  direction or focus.

He had to have her as his wife.

This was wrong.

He must have her in his bed.

You are forcing her.

He would spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

Not good enough.

He was a man who could fix anything, make anything happen.

You cannot fix a marriage that should never have been.

The wild swells inside him drew him back to his boyhood, where his   emotions always ruled him. He'd reveled in the highs and lows, they were   part of him, part of his soul. His father had been right, however; the   wild, emotional boy he had been could never have ruled the financial   empire and the family successfully. He'd been forced to change and over   the years had begun to see himself as a composed, imperturbable man.  But  now, the façade washed away as he stood at the altar, marrying a  woman  who couldn't stand him because he couldn't stand the thought of  not  having her.