Page 101 of The Billionaire's Demand

His eyes skimmed her face. ‘You’ll feel better when it’s over.’

She grimaced. ‘Like having a tooth pulled?’

His lips flicked in an unexpected smile. ‘Exactly.’

‘But no lidocaine.’

‘It’ll be mostly harmless. Over within minutes.’

She nodded, wishing the knots in her tummy would straighten out. Wishing that he understood the lack of fanfare was all part of the broader problem. She pressed a hand to her belly, not to feel the little life there but in the hope of straightening out her anxiety, and instead felt worse.

‘Okay,’ she said a little unevenly. ‘Let’s do this.’

The whole thing was surreal. She felt as though she were living in a sort of dream as they descended in the lift to the street level, where a limousine was waiting. They rode side by side and in silence to the hall. Confetti and rose petals were strewn on the steps, remnants of other marriages, presumably happier, more genuine matches.

Libby ignored the sight of it, ignored the pulling in her belly, ignored, most of all, the feeling that this was all so very, very wrong. It was for the baby, she kept reminding herself as she walked up the steps at Raul’s side, into the beautiful old building with marble floors and wood panelling.

A simple sign pointed towards the Register Office for Civil Unions.

‘I guess that’s us,’ she said, blinking up at Raul, wondering if she was waiting for him to change his mind, to say this wasn’t their best idea, that they could wait.

But he didn’t. He nodded once, his lips a grim line in his face, and she knew he was feeling as ambivalent about this as she was, even though he wouldn’t admit it.

He put a hand against the base of her spine and, despite her anxiety, Libby trembled, her body surging in response and awareness, which she bitterly resented. How could she feel such contradictory emotions?

The hall was long and brightly lit, by windows on one side and electric bulbs overhead. Libby walked beside Raul, one foot in front of the other, until they reached a wooden door. Their names were on a printed piece of paper stuck to a noticeboard out front.

Two p.m. Ortega & Langham.

Libby’s pulse was thready. She sucked in a deep breath, found it impossible to look at Raul, so stared at the wood grain of the door until she had practically memorised the pattern. Finally, a moment after two p.m., the doors opened and a young couple stepped out, a woman with bright red hair and a man wearing a kilt. They were too busy embracing, laughing, to notice Raul and Libby, and she was glad. She didn’t want anyone to see her in that moment, the pallor of her skin, the slight trembling of her body—she was sure she must look like the most unexcited bride there’d ever been.

Only, even in that state of mind, Libby found herself trying to focus on the positives. To ignore her nerves and see the beauty of the room they were shepherded into, and the gift she was giving her child by marrying Raul. She wasn’t old-fashioned enough to believe this was the only way to raise a little person; of course she didn’t. But for Libby, having grown up with such insecurity in her life, she knew that for her it was the right choice. She wanted to give this child the world, and Raul could make that happen. Not just because he was wealthy beyond belief, but because in this one vital area they were in complete agreement. Nothing mattered more than their baby’s future, their baby’s security, their baby’s happiness.

The ceremony was swift. Raul and Libby took turns repeating their vows, then exchanged rings. Libby was surprised Raul had one for himself. She hadn’t even thought he would want to wear a ring, and yet when the time came he produced a simple band from his pocket, placed it in her palm, then waited, hand outstretched, for her to slide it onto his finger. Her own fingers trembled as she did so, and it took her a few turns, but Raul waited with no expression on his face as she performed the act, binding them, in the eyes of the law, ‘till death do us part’.

It was an indication of Libby’s mindset that she hadn’t even thought of the conclusion of the ceremony until the moment was upon them. As the celebrant said, ‘Congratulations, you may now kiss the bride,’ Libby’s heart jolted and she turned to Raul, wide-eyed, blinking up at him with consternation.

She wasn’t prepared for this.

She felt too vulnerable, as though she didn’t have her armour in place; she felt that she needed time to adjust to being married before having to kiss him, and yet it was a formality, part and parcel of the ruse they’d just completed. She stood there, too aware of every breath in her body, every throb of her heart, every pulse of her blood, every organ, every thought, every memory; it was all there, evoked inside Libby, swirling like a tornado, obliterating consciousness and time.

Raul moved slowly, his hand coming around her back, drawing her to him, as if giving her time to demur, to tell him to stop.

She didn’t. She was very still, totally passive, waiting, heart on edge.

His other hand came to her face, tilted her chin towards him, and then his head bent slowly, cautiously, his eyes closing so his lashes formed two thick, dark fans against his cheeks right before his mouth claimed hers and she moaned softly as a rush of feelings overcame her.

Anxiety was gone. Nervousness and uncertainty disappeared.

Every little piece of her that had been shaky and on edge locked hard into place, so she was Libby again, but not as she’d ever been before. She was like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, no longer Libby Langham but Libby Ortega—different, beautiful, strong, married and a mother-to-be. These thoughts were blades cutting through the back of her mind without her awareness. All Libby could feel was the rightness of this kiss, the warmth of his hand on her back, the pleasure of his touch at her cheek, the flicking of his tongue against hers, a delicious, tempting, sinful dance that was laced with promise and anticipation.

She was lost, utterly, and she knew she should fight that, that she should do whatever she could to hold onto herself in all this madness, but being lost to Raul was one of the best things she’d ever felt, and on her wedding day, of all days, shouldn’t Libby allow herself that one little indulgence?

CHAPTER NINE

RAUL PULLED AWAY for a moment, staring down at Libby as though he’d never seen her before, as though he’d never seen a flesh and blood woman in his life, his eyes sweeping across her face, trying to make sense of it, but even then there was a magnetic pull towards her that dominated all else, and suddenly he was kissing her again, his mouth on hers more demanding, more urgent, reminding him of the first cataclysmic time they’d touched. He’d put it down to adrenalin then, and maybe the same excuse applied now—their wedding day was not a moment without emotion for either of them, despite the nature of their union. Whatever the reason, he wanted to kiss her. He didn’t question that want, he simply drew her into his arms and took what she was offering, with no thought of where they were nor how out of step this was with their marriage.

It didn’t feel out of step.

---