His Very Convenient Bride

Couldn’t be forever.

If she didn’t end this early enough, she’d have to tell him everything, sooner or later. Explain why she couldn’t give him all the things he wanted. Had Isabella already realised? Was that why she’d looked so frustrated all day, whenever no one important had been looking?

The band launched into a repeat of the last verse, and Flynn spun her round with a little more enthusiasm. Not enough to be called abandon, of course. And probably planned ahead of time. But the crowd cheered anyway, and Helena tried to improve her mood with the knowledge that this was nearly all over. Another hour or so and they’d serve the cake and light supper buffet, even though no one could possibly be hungry again after the dinner they’d just eaten—except her. And she still couldn’t eat because of the ridiculous corset.

Maybe she could smuggle a doggy bag upstairs under her skirts...

The band came to a triumphant finish and Flynn dipped her low over his arm. Helena’s heel slid against the wooden floor for a second, then held. Heart racing, she looked up into her husband’s eyes and realised her heart wasn’t going to slow down any time soon.

Polite applause echoed in her ears as Flynn’s smile—a slow private one she wasn’t used to—spread across his face and she realised that she was still half upside down with her hair threatening to break free from its pins.

Deliberately, he raised her up to standing again, but his arm tight around her waist kept her upright. Her mind spun—from the dance, from the dip, but mostly from the realisation that she’d thought Flynn was about to kiss her again. Had expected it, almost as her due.

Had wanted it.

And that was dangerous.

With a tight smile, she shuffled back out of his arms. Flynn let her go easily and she tried to stamp down the small swell of disappointment she felt at that.

‘I think my father has the next dance,’ she said as the band struck up the next tune.

‘Of course,’ Flynn replied, still smiling. ‘And who are we to mess with tradition?’

‘Who, indeed?’ Helena twirled away, hitching her dress up a little to avoid tripping, and went to find her father. He might not always be her favourite person but he was a great deal safer to be around than her husband right now.

* * *

Several hours and considerably more dances later, the evening finally approached its end. Helena had thought about staging a grand departure earlier, but realised that would leave her alone in the bridal suite with her husband and two hundred people downstairs listening for signs of the marriage being consummated.

So not happening.

But at midnight the coaches and cars arrived like carriages on the driveway and the staff efficiently and discreetly persuaded everyone out of the door. Most were staying at hotels down in the town where there would be bars they could abuse all they wanted. But not here.

A few close family and friends of Isabella’s were staying at the villa, but Helena was optimistic they could avoid them tonight. The bridal suite was at one far end of a wing, with her own bedroom, her father’s and Isabella and Ezekiel’s suite between it and the rest of the villa. Zeke and Flynn had been roomed at the other end of the building but maybe she could persuade Flynn to take her old room. She could get someone to move his work stuff over now, while no one was looking. It would be much easier to keep up the illusion that they were actually sharing the bridal suite that way.

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