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A quickie wedding, empty and meaningless, to a man she'd once loved with all her heart yet who hadn't loved her enough in return, when all she'd wanted to do when she'd come home was gather information to secure a promotion.
'Hey, it's going to be okay.' Nick squeezed her hand and she opened her eyes, captured by the kindness in his, kindness underlined by happiness she'd glimpsed earlier. 'Trust me.'
Trust him?
She'd trusted him with her heart.
She'd trusted him with her virginity.
She’d trusted him to be her forever person.
And he'd let her leave anyway.
So excuse her if she was a little light in the trust stakes these days.
Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile. 'Let's get this done.'
Shadows gathered in his eyes, obliterating his joy, and she mentally kicked herself for sounding so abrupt. He wasn't forcing her into this. She was a big girl, she'd made her own decision, and now the moment of truth had arrived she had to suck it up.
Nick gestured to the minister to start and the next ten minutes flew by in a blur of meaningless vows, empty promises, and pretend smiles.
Her heart ached so much she almost cried, twice, but one look into Nick's determined dark eyes gave her the strength to get through it.
Until the kiss.
'You may now kiss the bride.'
The minister beamed as if he'd bestowed the greatest gift but all Britt could think was how she'd hold it together when Nick's lips touched hers.
Her eyelids slammed shut against the threatening tears, against the determination on his face as his head descended, slowly, agonisingly slowly, when all she wanted was for this to be done with.
She wanted a quick, seal-the-deal kiss.
What she got was something else entirely, as his lips brushed hers, soft, gentle, tantalising, drawing her towards him like an invisible gossamer thread being gently tugged.
She couldn't break the spell as he bundled her in his arms and kissed her with every ounce of pent-up emotion bubbling between them.
The tears started falling then, swift, coursing, raining down her cheeks and splattering his lapels as he dabbed them away with his thumbs, his smile too warm, too tender, too understanding.
'Damn you, Mancini,' she muttered, her gaze firmly fixed on the second button of his dress shirt as she blinked rapidly.
'I feel this too, Red.' He tilted her chin up, giving her no option but to meet his scrutinising gaze. 'Don't fight it.'
She had as much chance of fighting this as receiving a welcome-home hug from her father. But she knew she mustn't give in to this attraction simmering between them, couldn't give into the insane dream to make this marriage real. She had a life in London, a promotion to nail.
Then why the renewed rush of tears at the thought of leaving Nick behind?
'Come on, we’re almost done, then we can relax.'
He held her hand the entire time through the signing of the certificates, through the forced pleasantries from the minister, the congratulations from the witnesses she didn't know, and the trip in the elevator to the fifth floor.
'Where are we going?'
Stupid question, because she knew, and every cell in her body snapped to high alert. They had to have a fake wedding night for people to believe this marriage was real. The part she was having trouble with was reminding herself of the fake part.
'Our suite.'
Two little words that sent a tremor of longing through her as she wished she was being whisked away to a fabulous room with her husband for real. But this wasn't real, none of it was, and she needed to keep telling herself that as he held onto her hand as if he'd never let go.
