He ground his teeth. “Enough of this. You won't see reason. Tá bom. It doesn't change your fate.”
Picking her up in his arms, he carried her into the church.
Five minutes later, the village priest was smiling down at her with kind but bleary eyes, drunkenly swaying on his feet as he spoke the words that would marry them.
At least, Ellie assumed that was what he was doing. It was all in Portuguese.
He turned to Diogo, asking a question.
“Sim,” Diogo said with a pleasant nod.
The priest turned to her with the same question.
“No,” she gasped out. “No! I won't!”
Looking bemused, the priest turned his red, rheumy eyes questioningly on Diogo. He shrugged with a smile, then turned with a tender expression to his bride. Smoothing his arrogant expression into a smile, Diogo replied to the man in the same language.
“Ah,” the priest said with a grin. And he started speaking the ceremonial words again.
“What did you tell him?” she bit out.
“I explained that you're reluctant to marry, due to an innocent bride's blushing modesty.”
“I'm standing here in a maternity dress!”
“Fortunately, it's sometimes difficult for a man to tell the difference between early pregnancy and being a bit fat in the waist.”
She stiffened. “I wish to God I never let you touch me!”
“Strange, I don't remember that. Oh my God, my God, don't stop, Diogo,” he said mockingly. “I love you, I love you, I do!”
Her cheeks went hot with shame and she wished she could either die—or murder him! “That was a long time ago. I will kill you if you ever touch me again!”
His gaze traced her body in the white lace dress. “A very intriguing proposition,” he mused. “Will having you in my bed be worth the risk of death?” His eyes caressed her lips, her breasts. “I think it will.”
Self-consciously, she pulled the neckline a little higher over her swelling breasts.
The elderly priest lifted his hand to give benediction on their marriage. Diogo slipped a plain gold band on her finger, and it was finished.
She was Diogo's wife.
Mrs. Serrador.
Married to the man who'd seduced her. Who'd married her without mercy. Who'd stolen her pride along with her heart. Who'd gotten her pregnant with twins.
Who'd made her shiver with desire—who'd once made her love him….
Ellie's teeth chattered as their driver took them from the tiny, remote village on a winding dirt road. She stared out at the mysterious dark jungle, and thought of the life she'd dreamed of having as a girl. Growing up with parents who hated each other and blamed their only child for their wretched lives, she'd been so determined that her life would be different.
But now she'd been forced into marriage, just as they had been. And Diogo would cheat on her, just as her father had done to her mother. He would cheat. Then he would leave….
Ellie covered her face with her hands.
His voice was almost gentle. “Is it really so bad as that?”
She shot her new husband a look full of hate.
“Why have you treated me like this?” she whispered. “What have I ever done to deserve this?”
“What have you done?” He clenched his jaw, looking out into the dark night. “When I was eight years old, my mother dropped me off on the doorstep of a mansion in Barra. She pinned a note to my shirt and told me that I was my father's problem now.” He gave her a flinty grin. “She didn't know that he'd died the week before. Or that his legitimate children would have no interest in sharing their home—or their inheritance—with his bastard, who was a living insult to their mother.”
Ellie stared at him with her jaw open. She couldn't imagine such a thing—a mother abandoning her child like that! She forgot her anger at Diogo in the onslaught of pity, imagining him as a boy. “They didn't want you to stay?”
“My half sisters had me sent to an orphanage like a prison. There was no food. No clothes. So I ran away.” He gave her a hard smile. “Maria Carneiro found me on the streets and brought me home. Her oldest son taught me how to fight. Mateus taught me everything, and I looked up to him as my idol. Until I realized I wanted a different life than any favela could provide.”
Looking at Diogo, Ellie couldn't stop herself imagining an eight-year-old boy with a note pinned to his shirt. Bewildered and abandoned. Left on a doorstep for a father he'd never even met, then mocked and unwanted by half siblings. Taught to fight for food in the slums. Without a family, he'd been…
Alone.
No wonder he'd been so determined to make sure his own children didn't suffer the same. In spite of herself, she couldn't help feeling desperately sorry for what he'd experienced as a little boy.