Caught in the gaze of her pretty blue eyes, he was floored by the significance of it. Especially after their conversation about making their marriage real for their time together.
The minister cleared his throat. Their hands joined, Dom and Ginny turned to the altar and the service began. As the solemn words and decrees were spoken by his country's highest-ranking religious official, Dominic reminded himself that this wedding wasn't real. Even when they said their vows and exchanged jewel-encrusted rings, he told himself they were words he meant, truly meant, for a limited time.
But when the minister said, "You may kiss the bride," and she turned those big blue eyes up at him, his heart stuttered. She wasn't just a woman in a white dress, helping him to perpetuate a charade that would give legitimacy to Xaviera's next heir. She was an innocent woman, a bride...
She was his now.
She whispered, "You don't want to kiss me?"
His heart thundered in his chest and he realized he'd been standing there staring at her. In awe. In confusion. She wasn't just an innocent. She was someone who'd been hurt. Someone who couldn't trust. If he agreed to make this marriage real, no matter how much she protested that it wasn't true, he would hurt her. He knew he would hurt her. Because as much as he hated the comparison, it seemed being royal had made him very much like her dad. He was his most charming when he needed to get his own way, and selfish, self-centered, the rest of the time.
Still, he held her gaze as his head lowered and his lips met hers. He watched her lids flutter shut in complete surrender. Total honesty. His heart of stone chipped a bit. The soft part of his soul, the place he rarely let himself acknowledge, shamed him for being so strict with her.
They broke apart slowly. She smiled up at him.
He told himself she was playing a part. The smile, the expression meant nothing. If she was smart enough to realize she didn't trust anyone, she was also smart enough to play her role well. Smart enough to see he was doing what needed to be done not just for the next heir to the throne, but for his child.
The child in her stomach.
They turned to the congregation and began their recessional down the aisle to the vestibule, where they were spirited away to a private room while their guests left the church. They endured an hour of pictures before they walked out of the church, beneath the canopy of swords of his military's honor guard.
Dressed in black suits and white silk shirts and ties, his bodyguards whisked them into the back of his limo, to a professional photo studio for more pictures.
And the whole time Ginny smiled at him radiantly. Anyone who looked at her would assume-believe-this wedding was real. Because he was beginning to get the feeling himself. She wasn't such a good actress that she was fooling him. What she'd said haunted him. She wanted this to be real. At least for a little while. Because this, this sham, was as close as she'd ever get to a real marriage.
Her mother rode in the limo with his dad. Her bridesmaids rode with his brother and a distant cousin who served as his best man and groomsman.
Alone in their limo, he turned to her. Struggling to forget the bargain she'd tried to strike and come up with normal conversation, he said, "You look amazing."
She smiled, reached over and straightened his tie. "You do, too."
He shifted away, afraid of her. Not because he worried she was going to hurt him or cheat him. But because he knew she wasn't.
"Dominic, the straightening-the-tie thing is important. A piece of intimacy everyone expects to see. You need to be still and let me do it."
Because of her suggestion that they make this marriage real, and his desperate need not to hurt her, he was now the one who might ruin their ruse. "I suppose."
She shrugged, her pretty yellow hair shifted and swayed around her. "No matter what you decide, I intend to be a good wife for these two years."
His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. What did that mean? That he'd find her in his bed that night?
He remembered that yellow hair floating around them their one and only night together, remembered the softness of her skin, and wondered just how a man was supposed to resist that honesty or the sexual tug that lured him into a spell so sweet, another man would have happily allowed himself to be drawn in.
But he wasn't just any man. He was a prince, someday a king. Someone held to a higher standard. He did not deliberately hurt people.
They arrived at the palace. Bodyguards ushered them into the main foyer. They stopped in his father's quarters to have a toast with her mother and his dad and their wedding party. Then they took an elevator to the third floor of his dad's wing of the palace and stood on the balcony, waving to well-wishers.
A young woman edged her way through the crowd to the space just in front of security. She waved and called, "Toss your bouquet!"
Dom said, "That's odd."
Ginny laughed. "She's American. We have a tradition that whoever catches the bride's bouquet will be the next person to be married." She gave him a smile, then winked, before she turned and tossed the spray of fifty roses with strength that would have done any weight lifter proud.
The flowers bowed into a graceful arc before beginning their descent. The crowd gasped at Ginny's whimsy. The people closest to the woman who'd called realized they could intercept the bouquet and they scrambled forward, but it landed in the young girl's arms. As the crowd pressed forward to grab flowers from the bouquet, security surrounded her.
Ginny faced him. "Have her brought up for an audience."
He laughed. "Seriously?"
"Yes." She bowed slightly. "My lord," she said, her eyes downcast, her tone serious.
Those crazy feelings of wanting her rippled through him again. He raised her chin. "You don't have to bow to me."
"The etiquette books say I do." She smiled. "And I'm asking for the wedding favor the book also says I get. I'd like to meet the woman who wants so desperately to be married that she'd risk arrest."
Dom faced his bodyguard. He made a few hand gestures. The crowd called, "Kiss the bride," and he did. But he did so now with curiosity that nudged his fear of hurting her aside. He liked being able to do something for her.
When they returned to the king's receiving room, the young woman awaited them.
Ginny walked over and hugged her. "I hope the whole bouquet thing works out for you."
Their guest laughed nervously. Her big brown eyes stayed on Ginny's face. "I never thought you'd do it."
"I waited years for my prince. I know what you're feeling." She squeezed her hand and said, "Good luck."
Dominic nodded, the security detail motioned her to the door and she left with a quick wave. But the way Ginny had said, "I know what you're feeling," struck him oddly. She didn't say, "I've known what you feel." She said, "I know what you're feeling." He heard the sorrow there, maybe even a loneliness that almost opened that soft place in his soul again. But he hung on. He could not let sentiment destroy his plan. He could not become his dad.
Ginny said, "You know crazy people are going to try to steal that bouquet from her. You're going to have to have someone escort her to her hotel and maybe even out of the country."
"Yes. Security will take care of it."
But he couldn't stop staring at her. He might have closed the soft place in his soul, but his brain was working overtime to figure her out. What she had done had been a tad reckless, but it was very Ginny. Very sweet. Very warm. She'd used the wish her groom was to grant her for someone else.
And that's why he knew he couldn't sleep with her. No matter what she said or did or how she phrased things, she was innocent. Too nice for him.
But she was also hurting. She really believed she'd always be alone.
He couldn't think about that. He had to be fair.
They received dignitaries for hours. Even Dom was tired by the time his father, brother, cousin and Ginny's entourage escorted them to the palace ballroom.
They entered amid a trumpet blast and after toasts and a short speech by his father welcoming Ginny into the family, they finally ate.
Still, in between dances, he managed to find time to speak to his detail and arrange for their luggage to be taken to the yacht that night, instead of the next morning.
There was no way in hell he was taking her back to his apartment, where they'd not only had privacy, they'd had friendly chats and a wonderful kiss.
Even he had his limits.
The staff on the Crown Jewel was too big to be in on the marriage ruse, but precautions were easier there. He and Ginny would be sleeping in the side-by-side bedrooms of the master suite, but the yacht was also so big that he could keep his distance. They'd sail so far out onto the ocean that even long lenses couldn't get pictures. And the staff would rotate so the same people wouldn't see them twice and wonder why they weren't kissing or holding hands.