Page 80 of The Unplanned Wedding

My muscles bunch. The seconds tick by, then she nods before saying softly, "I do."

These declarations feel more significant than the ones we made a few hours ago at our wedding ceremony. My heart begins to race. My pulserate spikes. A bead of sweat trickles down my spine, and I have to call on my reserves of strength to stay still and not give away my discomfort.How did my life turn upside down this way?The marriage was supposed to be a way to bind her to me, to ensure that I fulfill my grandfather’s condition that I be married in order to stay on as CEO within the Davenport Group, and more importantly, secure the house in Cumbria. But already, it feels as real to me as my past as a Royal Marine. It feels as important as the oath I took to protect my country. It feels like my life has changed in a way I can’t even begin to fathom.

I tighten my fingers around my wife’s and nod at my grandfather. "I apologize you weren’t invited to the wedding, but I’m sure, you’re more concerned with the results than how I got there."

His jaw hardens, then to my surprise, he barks out a laugh. "Touché, young man. I’m glad to see you grew a pair and went after what you wanted." He looks between me and my wife. "In fact, to show my approval, I have a wedding gift for the two of you."

33

June

When you said you love me, did you mean it?is what I want to ask him. But one look at my husband’s hard features, and I lose the resolve to do so. Knox’s scarred features have never felt menacing to me. And his indigo eyes might be cold, but I’ve glimpsed the tenderness that hides there. His expression now, though, has nothing soft about it. If I asked him the question... I’m not sure I’d like the answer. Chances are, he said it to convince his grandfather of the veracity of our wedding, and if that’s the case... I don’t want to know. So, I settle for glancing down at the white cliffs of Dover which, from this height, feel like I’m looking at a picture postcard brought to life.

We’re on our way to Paris in the Davenports’ private jet because that was Arthur’s gift to us. A trip to Paris for our honeymoon. I didn’t realize what the gift was until we arrived at the private airport located less than an hour’s drive from Arthur’s place.

My husband hasn’t spoken a word since we left his grandfather and brothers and drove there. I asked after my clothes, and he made a dismissive gesture and said he’d order everything we need. The look on his facewas grim so, while I’d have preferred to get my own pajamas, I kept quiet. And now, he's back to being his brooding self because he hasn’t said a word to me, not even when we boarded the plane.

I shoot him a sideways glance to find he’s absorbed on his phone. Which reminds me— I pull out my own phone, which I’ve ignored all day, and forward emails that need Knox's attention. The rest, I send to Mary, who messaged me earlier to congratulate me and say she'll be covering for me until I return.

"You don’t have to do that.” He scowls.

“What do you mean?” I look up from my device to find he’s staring at his. Apparently, he has eyes at the back of his head, and the sides, too.

“I already told you, you don’t need a job. You’re my wife," he explains in a patient voice that sets my teeth on edge.

"And I told you, I want to keep my job,” I say slowly.

He blows out a breath. "We can park this discussion until we get back."

His voice rings with authority, and that part of me that wants to please him wants to agree right away. But the stubborn side of me won’t let it go. "There is no discussion." I set my jaw. "I like my job and want to keep it."

I expect him to pull some line about being my boss, etc., but he simply nods. "Fine."

"Fine?" I stare. "You’re okay with it?"

"Sure, it’s your job for as long as you want it." His tone is sincere, but he hasn’t raised his glance from his phone. How annoying. At least he’s sitting next to me and didn’t choose one of the other seats on this flight far away from me.

"I have to admit, Arthur’s gift of this honeymoon trip caught me by surprise." I try, once more, to engage him in conversation.

He grunts in reply. Seems we went from being newly married to already being in a twenty-five-year-old relationship within hours.

I glance around the luxurious aircraft again, then frown at the approaching stewardess. She has a slim figure shown to advantage in her tight skirt. She ignores me and looks at my husband. "Can I get you anything else Mr. Davenport?" she simpers.

My husband doesn’t look up from his phone.

"Anything at all?"

I begin to roll my eyes at the insinuation.

My husband shakes his head. "I’m good."

Does she give up? Of course, not. "We have some caviar, which I know is your personal favorite."

Implied in her words is that she knows about his tastes and that he’s flown this jet with her on board. And the way she’s eating him up with her eyes, anger squeezes my guts. I slide my arm through his and place my head on his shoulder. "He doesn’t like caviar anymore."

"He doesn’t?" She frowns.

"I—" Knox looks up from his phone. Then, to his credit, he looks from her to me and, wrapping his arm about my waist, pulls me even closer. "I don’t. I have a special wedding night dinner planned for my wife, so I’d rather not spoil my appetite, thank you."

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