Behind Her Smile (11 page)

“I do,” I murmur the sacred words, a thrill shooting through me.

“And, David, do you choose Karolina to be your partner, to whom you give your deepest love and devotion? Do you pledge to communicate and listen, to give and receive, and to be considerate of her wishes and desires?”

David clenches my hand tighter. “I do,” he intones without a waver of uncertainty. My David—strong and steady as always.

“Very good,” the judge says with approval. “May I have the rings?”

Alec reveals a black velvet box from his pants pocket and hands it over. The box yawns open, revealing two plain platinum bands. We’ll wear them when we aren’t in public. After our “public” wedding we’ll be free to wear our bands proudly. Judge Beck selects the thicker ring and hands it to me. “Place this ring on David’s fourth finger.”

I don’t watch David’s hand as I push the wedding band on his finger. Instead, our eyes meet. What I find in his gaze startles me. An unmasked hunger gleams. Glee shimmers in his irises. Victory shines back at me.

“Karolina, now repeat after me. With this ring,” Judge Beck prompts.

“With this ring,” I say softly, David’s hungry expression dredging up the niggling fears in the back of my mind.

“I thee wed and forever pledge my devotion,” the judge finishes.

“I thee wed and forever pledge my devotion.” I whisper the last words and don’t dare look at Alec. Something tells me he’s silently laughing at me for reasons I still don’t understand.

“Now, David, place this ring on Karolina’s finger.”

When the metal band touches my skin, I relax marginally. David repeats the vows stoically. These battling nerves are a sign of anxiety. What woman isn’t nervous on her wedding day? David’s thrilled to make me his wife; I see the triumph. Screw Alec Christos if he mocks our love. What does he know?

“Join hands again,” Judge Beck instructs. "By the act of holding hands, you become man and wife and solemnly promise to love, honor, comfort, and cherish each other for as long as you both shall live. Therefore, in accordance with the law of Florida and by virtue of the authority vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride, David.”

Instantly, David releases my hands. His hands rise to cup my skull, thumbs stroking my hair. I sway with the loss of balance when he tugs me closer. I move my hands to the middle of his back and grab on to the suit jacket material. David dips down to slam his lips against mine in a powerful, consuming kiss. He
devours
me. “Mine,” he mouths until my lips part and allow his tongue to plunder forward. David’s hands fall from where they cup my head to my waist. One hand splays along my naked spine, the other bands around my waist as he dips me backward. Try as I might, I can’t hold back a tiny flinch at the pressure around my torso. He overwhelms all of my senses until I can think of nothing but clinging to David.

“Are you almost done marking your woman, David? I have things to do.” Alec’s interruption incites a rumble in the back of David’s throat.

I’m not if sure if I’m lightheaded because of the intensity of the moment or because David pulls me upright quickly. I stumble a step until my
husband
anchors me to his side. Judge Beck beams toward us, not bothered by the display of emotion. With hands shoved into his pockets, Alec appears bored and unaffected. It’s only when I peek at his face that I find a flash of irritation. Why is he here if he can’t stand to be around David?

“There’s a bit of paperwork, and we’ll be all finished.”

The three of us follow the judge over to a credenza against the wall where his briefcase and a folder sit. A few signatures later, the marriage certificate is complete, and I am a married woman.

Alec places his hands on my shoulders and presses a brisk kiss on my forehead. “Good luck,” he says in a brusque way that hides whatever emotion lies underneath. With a tight farewell nod to David and Judge Beck, Alec stalks out of the great room. The front door echoes with a slam.

“That Christos is one moody son of a bitch,” Judge Beck comments wryly.

“I thought I was the only one who noticed that,” I say.

David threads an arm around my shoulder, molding me to his hard side. “Judge, I cannot thank you enough for that tremendous ceremony, and especially, on such short notice. If you don’t mind, though, I’ve arranged a little surprise for my new wife . . .”
Now, get out of here
is his unspoken command.

“Of course. Enjoy yourselves and congratulations.” With one more friendly good-bye, Judge Beck leaves the room as Alec did, though when he shuts the front door it’s with a gentler hand.

Unable to smother my delight, I gush, “We’re married!” I fling my arms around David’s neck. The smile dies when David reaches up to clasp my wrist and tug them down to my sides. He squeezes tightly with an angry scowl.

“What the hell was that, Karolina?”

“I—I don’t what you mean,” I stutter in confusion.

“Alec was in our bedroom, flirting with you before our wedding. Are you trying to make me look like some kind of idiot?”

“No!” I cry. “Of course, not. He said you sent him up to get me because I was running late. For all I knew, he was there on your behalf. I’m so sorry, David. Please, you have to believe me.”

My husband frowns darkly then with a heavy sigh, he releases his grip. “I’m sorry, Karolina. Alec gets the best of me sometimes, and he crossed a line barging in on you like that in the bathroom.”

“But I thought Alec was your friend.” Why else would he be the witness to our wedding?

“Friend, business associate, along those lines. He’s as tight-lipped as they come. I thought he would be a silent witness, not one harassing my bride.” A hint of a smile appears. “My wife now.”

“My husband.” The word alone makes me have the chills. David Morgan is all mine.

David dips down and presses a hungry kiss on me. He stands, straightens his spine, and readjusts his tie.

“Good. I’m glad that’s settled. Let’s have our wedding dinner, shall we?”

“Yes. Please.” David has been planning our wedding night festivities without my input, and I cannot wait to see what he has arranged.

“Come on, my jewel, this will be the perfect opportunity to give you a lesson in table etiquette.” Weaving our fingers together, we walk side-by-side into the dining room.

I don’t like to see beautiful things destroyed.

Alec’s warning drifts back, but I shove it away. Alec Christos knows nothing of my marriage.

T
he Mercedes Coupe purrs to life with the touch of a button. Navigating the luxury car with one hand, I use the other to activate the voice dial on the screen built into the center console.

Dora answers my call. “Please don’t tell me you’re canceling.”

I can’t blame her for the pinch of attitude in her tone. Since (secretly) marrying David, my relationship with Dora has suffered an extreme slowdown. Daily conversations and interactions have dwindled to bi-weekly telephone calls. Dora hasn’t kept her displeasure quiet with the shift in our friendship.

“No, I’m calling to tell you that I’ll be on time,” I say with a smile in my voice.

She sighs. “Good. See you soon.”

A few minutes later when I pull into the parking lot of Breeze, one of South Miami’s most elegant day spas, I’m still smiling. After all, David and I are having our ‘real’ wedding in just a few days.

Heavy air conditioning cools my skin as I enter the spa’s reception area. The soothing instrumental music plays through hidden speakers on the wall while a video screen displays tranquil images of nature. Dora stands at the desk, holding a bottle of pink champagne. “You know I drove here, right?” I say as we embrace.

“Carlo didn’t drive you?” It might be my imagination, but I think I hear a tinge of jealousy in Dora’s response.

“No, he stays with David during the day. David needs the time to work in the car. The extra time to work gives him more free time at home,” I explain.

“He must be incredibly busy,” Dora muses, not hiding the jealousy now.

“Okay, ladies. Are you ready?” A woman in a taupe uniform appears from behind a large wood door.

“Ready as we’ll ever be. This is our bride!” Dora gushes, snapping out of her darker mood.

“Congratulations,” the woman says with a muted smile.

“Thank you. It’s still weird to think of myself a bride,” I admit. We follow the woman through a maze of dimly lit hallways until we reach a small room with two pedicure chairs and manicurists’ stools set up.

“Well, the marriage thing did happen kind of fast,” Dora mutters under her breath.

A sharp retort hangs on the edge of my tongue, but I stifle the response. If our roles were reversed, Dora would have accepted a marriage proposal from David Morgan in an instant.

“Thank you for supporting my decision,” I say when the young woman departs the room to get flutes for the champagne.

“Sometimes I worry you’re losing yourself to David. Don’t hate me for saying that,” she hurries to say. “Before he came along, you were one hundred percent dedicated to school, and now, you’ve stopped going to classes. Graduation’s in two weeks, and I’m sad that you aren’t walking with me. You know, we started school together, and I thought we would it end it that way.”

“Dora.” I lean over from my chair to nudge her shoulder with mine. “You’re a loyal friend,” I say, “and I appreciate your concern. I really do. Let me explain. I decided to take time off from school after the plane crash because David needed me. Out of a horrible accident, something beautiful came to be. It rushed our relationship at warp speed. I couldn’t put my heart and soul into my senior year while supporting David. After things settle down, I’m going to get myself back in school for the fall.” That last part is a tiny embellishment. David and I haven’t discussed this, but I’m sure he’ll agree to it. When we first started dating, he loved that I was a designer. He would flip through my portfolio and ask a ton of questions about my fashion.

“Okay. It is your life and I’m not trying to boss you around. But you have so much talent. I don’t want you to throw it away,” Dora relents.

“I won’t,” I promise.

Two nail technicians enter the room and immediately begin fluttering around the room. “What color would you like today?” one asks me.

“A pale pink on my toenails and red for my fingernails,” I answer instantly.

“Wow. Red for a high society wedding? Daring,” Dora teases with her lips quirked.

“David will love it,” I say confidently.

“What is that on your hands?”

Looking up from where I’m taking a final review of the wedding timeline, I glance at David’s annoyed expression in confusion. “Papers from the wedding planner. She emailed them to both of us.”

“The color on your nails,” he clarifies slowly. “Red? Come on, Karolina, that’s not an appropriate color for a bride. It’s like wearing ten scarlet letters. Jesus, what am I going to do with you?”

With a frown, I glance down at my nails. “I thought it would be a little different to have red nails. They are timeless. And since I studied fashion, I kind of know.” When I tip my head up, my playful grin dies on my lips. David shifts his eyes heavenward with a sigh. Then he tugs his phone from his pocket and dials a number.

“Find a manicurist to come to my home first thing tomorrow. My bride-to-be needs an emergency manicure.” David’s tone switches from ticked off at me to a false exasperation with whomever he’s talking. “Thank you, Beth.” Oh. It must be his assistant. David drops his phone back into this pocket and his displeasure shows. “Tomorrow, pick a color that matches the one on your toes.”

“Is this really necessary, David?” I ask tentatively.

Instantly, he stalks toward me and places one hand on either side of me at the back of my chair. Our faces are so close that I can feel each one of his exhalations. I clamp my mouth shut. “Do not question me. Ever.”

Then he shoves off the chair so hard that the legs wobble back and forth on the floor. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, even though I don’t know why I’m apologizing.

David’s rigid shoulders go slack, and he shakes his head. “No,” he grunts. “I’m the sorry one. I’ve been under a tremendous amount of pressure at work, and I’m taking it out on you.” He pulls the adjacent kitchen chair out from under the table and then reaches for me. A moment later, I’m in his lap and David’s tenderly stroking my hair.

“It’s okay. You didn’t mean it.”

“No, of course, I didn’t, my jewel.” I cling to David’s dress shirt and burrow into his embrace. Whenever he gets mad, and it isn’t all that frequent, David immediately apologizes. There’s so much on his shoulders—of course, he stresses. If we can’t take our stress out on the ones we love most, how do we decompress?

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” I say when David’s heavy breathing slows.

“What’s that?” His voice has mellowed considerably.

“I was thinking of going back to the school in the fall. You know, once we’re married and get back from the honeymoon and you go back to work. I want to finish my degree. What do you think?”

David stiffens. His hand pauses midway through the strands of my hair. “Karolina, when will you have the time to finish your studies? You’ll be busy redecorating the house and planning the charity benefit. And those are just the beginning of your duties as my wife. There will be client dinners and events that you must attend. You’ll need to join various charity boards and make connections with women at the club. School’s not in the cards now, my jewel.” His tone doesn’t leave room for argument.