“What’s going on?” The high pitch of her voice gave away how close she was to hysteria. “Why the hell are we here?”
Squeezing her hand, he gave her as much reassurance as he could. “You know why.”
Her eyes grew even larger. “You bastard. You planned this right from the start, from the moment you found me.”
“I made arrangements in Johannesburg when I booked our flights,” he said. “Not before.”
The black pools of her eyes glittered with tears. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? It’s been your plan all along. Admit it.”
There was no point in confirming what she already knew.
Yanking her hand from his, she took a step back. “You can’t force me.”
Tension rippled up his spine at the small distance she created between them. He narrowed his eyes, remaining within grabbing reach. “Think again.”
A wounded look invaded her eyes. “Why go to all this trouble for something that’s forced?” Her next words were bitter. “A certificate from the marriage office would’ve served your purpose.”
“The marriage office is closed.” Plus, he wanted to uphold the symbolic tradition of his ancestors. In a warped way, he also wanted to make it beautiful. Forced or not, she deserved at the very least a memory of a white dress when she thought back to this day.
The priest cleared his throat, but Joss didn’t look away from her face. Gripping her shoulders, he steered her toward the side room that had served as nursery back in the day. “I thought you’d want to look like a bride.”
She dug in her heels on the threshold as her gaze lifted to the white dress hanging on a silk-covered hanger from a hook on the wall. It was a thick but intricate Breton pattern, handknitted from cashmere wool. The creation was both eccentric and unique. He’d chosen it with the weather in mind, but the fitted shape would hug her slim figure and make her look feminine. The simple dress would enhance her natural beauty. Clelia wasn’t one for frills and lace.
“How considerate,” she bit out, her slender frame shaking in his hold.
He couldn’t tell if the tremors were from anger or disgust, but neither sentiment was going to make a difference. “Need help changing?”
She spun around to face him, her cheeks red and her nostrils flaring. “Are you for real?”
He brought his face close to hers. “You better believe it, little witch.” Nothing would ever be more real. “You have five minutes. Don’t make me come fetch you.”
It was hardly a love declaration, definitely not words one would expect from a groom and most definitely not fit for a bride, but it was what it was. They were who they were. Maybe they weren’t fated soulmates or anything romantic like that, but circumstances had brought them here and there was no going back.
Closing the door on her gorgeous face, a face filled with a stunning display of emotions that covered every dark one in the spectrum from loathing and injustice to disbelief and hate, he gave her privacy. If she was wise, she’d value that time. It was the last privacy she’d have.
Chapter 30
There was no denying the dress was beautiful, but Clelia hated it. She hated everything it represented. As she stared at the intricate knit, shaking with indignation, it was hard to believe there had ever been a time she’d love the man on the other side of the thick, wooden door. How could she have been so stupid? She’d been naïve, in love with an idea, not a man.
Tears pooled in her eyes as she stared at the symbol of many a young girl’s dreams. She’d had dreams, all right. A white dress, roses, and candlelight had featured in those dreams, as had Joss. Just not like this.
She looked around the small room. A lantern standing on the floor provided light, casting long shadows. Other than a chair and full-length mirror that had been considerately leaned against a wall, there was nothing. No window to escape through. No candlesticks to use as weapons.
Battling to come to terms with what was happening, she stood motionless in the center of the space. The earlier heat had evaporated, leaving her cold. The iciness inside this horrific prison emphasized how frozen she suddenly felt. Trapped.
There was no way out of this. She couldn’t escape the fate waiting outside the door. In less than five minutes, Joss was going to open that door and drag her to the altar. He’d dress her himself if he had to.
Furious, helpless tears slipped free as she shrugged off the coat and let it drop to the floor. More tears ran over her cheeks and plopped on the front of her dress, the wetness bleeding into the silk, but she let them. They were appropriate. Joss might be dressing her up in white and pretty, but she’d wear her tears. They’d be her truth, the reflection of her wedding day.
Her wedding day.
Her heart shriveled. Her knees buckled, but she pulled down the zipper at the back of her dress and let if fall on the discarded fabric of her coat. She abandoned the clothes in a sad heap on the floor as she stripped the dress roughly from the hanger, careless of the stitching or pearl buttons at the back. Indeed, a tearing noise sounded, but she didn’t pause to examine the damage. She stepped into the silk-lined wool, hating how the softness caressed her skin and how warmth bled into her body as the long sleeves covered her arms.
A knock sounded on the door. Joss’s voice carried through the wood. “Ready?”
Only then did she dry her eyes on the back of her hands and swallow back the rest of her tears. They were for her, not for him.
When she didn’t answer, he pushed open the door. The silver of his eyes lit with appreciation as he ran his gaze over her. “The priest is waiting.” He turned toward the altar.
“Why
