Page 16 of Forbidden Access

It was almost time to get ready. Thorn stared at the wedding dress spread out on the bed and winced. It physically hurt to look at it.

This hadn’t been the case yesterday, when she’d initially chosen it for the photoshoot. Back then, it had just been another part of the mission, a piece of the disguise. But she hadn’t anticipated the flood of emotions it would unleash. The delicate fabric, the sparkling sequins—it was all too familiar, too personal. Her fingers had trembled as she touched it, the memories swirling back with a force she hadn’t expected.

Now, she didn’t want to touch it at all. Time had healed that wound—or so she’d thought. But this dress was like peeling off a bandage too soon, exposing a still-raw wound.

Idiot, she scolded herself. She had no alternative, so there was nothing for it. Here goes, she thought, as she picked up the dress and undid the side zipper. Tentatively, she stepped into it, trying not to well up as the fabric caressed her skin.

Jaden, why did you have to leave me?

She pushed the thought away, forcing herself to focus. She had a job to do. A mission. She couldn’t afford to let the past interfere with the present. Not when her focus needed to be sharp.

She heard Damian getting ready next door, his footsteps heavy, his movements agitated. He was probably as eager to get this over with as she was. Each of them wanted this charade to end as quickly as possible.

“He’s here. Hawk is walking him over,” came the voice in her ear. “Don’t forget to take out the earpiece.”

“Roger that.” Thorn removed the device and left it on the dresser. There was nowhere to keep it in this dress.

She descended the staircase, aware of Damian’s eyes on her the moment she stepped into view. His gaze lingered, and she could almost feel the tension radiating off him. He was wearing the same outfit as before—a black shirt, black suit, and a metallic gray tie that matched his eyes. Despite the obvious strain between them, she couldn’t help but notice how well the outfit suited him. He cut a striking figure, all sharp lines and restrained power.

The photographer, who introduced himself as Amelio, clapped his hands in joy when he saw them. He’d been told it had rained on their wedding day, so they wanted a few sunny pictures for the family album.

The sun knew its part in the script and cast the back garden in a beautiful, golden glow. They weren’t bothering with group photos, since they didn’t have a rent-a-crowd. Thorn was grateful for that—taking the deception further with fake guests would have been too much.

“Bellissimo,” Amelio crooned as Thorn took her place beside Damian. “Let’s go outside. I have found the perfect spot.”

Damian took her hand, and they walked stiffly across the lawn. Thorn could feel the tension in his grip, and she wondered if he was as affected by all this as she was.

“You are nervous?” Amelio asked, noticing how rigid they both were. “Don’t worry. This will be fun.”

Fun. That was one way to describe it. She had to relax, or they were going to blow this. Damian stretched his neck and took a calming breath, his fingers flexing slightly against hers.

Amelio had chosen a beautiful backdrop. At the far end of the property was a serene koi pond, surrounded by vibrant bougainvillea and shaded by a grand, ancient oak tree. Its sprawling branches created a canopy, with dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves.

“Here.” Amelio took them both by the hand and positioned them in front of the tree. “It will frame you perfectly.”

They stood next to each other. Damian put his arm around her waist. Reluctantly, she did the same, feeling the warmth of his body, the solid muscle beneath his suit. Her face ached from smiling, but she forced herself to keep it up, pretending she was in love. In front of them, the pond’s mirror-surface reflected the pale blue Californian sky. She longed to sink into it and put an end to this farce.

“Closer,” ordered the photographer, frowning.

Thorn resisted the urge to groan but complied, shuffling closer to Damian until she could feel the heat radiating off him.

“More,” Amelio cried, gesturing madly. “I want to feel the love.”

Damian muttered something under his breath but adjusted his stance, so she was nestled against him. Thorn inhaled sharply as his scent—clean, fresh, and undeniably masculine—filled her senses. It had been a while since she’d been this close to a man, and the unexpected rush of awareness caught her off guard.

Damian was smiling easily at the photographer, his arm holding her close, almost as if he really were her husband. With a superhuman effort, she mirrored his expression, though her heart was beating a little too fast, her skin tingling where his hand rested on her waist.

“Perfect!” exclaimed Amelio, clicking away. “Now face each other.”

Oh, God. Was this really necessary?

“Damian, take your beautiful bride’s hands.”

He did so, his grip surprisingly gentle. Thorn noticed the calluses on his palms, the rawness of his knuckles—signs of his recent boxing session. The physical evidence of his frustration made something twist in her chest.

“Look into each other’s eyes.”

For fuck’s sake.

---