Page 112 of The Rogue and His Flower

Cupping my face, he draws me towards him, and I step into his embrace on trembling legs as he drops his face to mine. For a moment I’m caught up in the tangled web of our deceit. My stupid heart desperately holds onto the lie, whilst my head is screaming at it to protect itself.

“You’re mine now,wife,” he says, and though his words are a soft, gentle caress there’s no denying that they’re filled with possession, with longing, with the kind of searing passion that has no place in such a sacred building, or directed at me, a woman he doesn’t love, who he’s incapable of loving by his own admission.

I gasp as his lips press against mine, and for the moment I forget the lies we’ve told, the deception woven into our vows. All I can focus on is the eddying heat between us, the crackling electricity as he kisses me like a man who’s as desperate to belong to someone as I am.

I’m at the mercy of his kiss. It’s indecent, provocative, and toe-curlingly beautiful, and all I can do is melt into his hold, unable to fight the connection between us, weakened by it.

The guests begin to clap as the vicar clears his throat. Dalton steps back and my cheeks are flaming, my heart pounding. If it wasn’t for Dalton’s arm wrapped around my waist I’m certain that my knees would give way beneath me.

It takes me a moment, but I pull myself together enough to step forward, wanting to leave, to catch my breath before I have to face everyone for photos outside, but Dalton pulls me back, clearing his throat as he raises his hand.

“Can I have your attention, please?” he says, and the clapping stops, as people turn to look at each other, as confused as I am.

I glance over at Drix, Lia and Toby. Drix is frowning, Lia has tears in her eyes and Toby is waving at me frantically, completely unaware that this isn’t what usually happens at this stage of a marriage ceremony. We should be halfway down the aisle by now.

“My wife and I will be heading directly to our honeymoon. The reception party will still go ahead, and of course you must all attend to celebrate our marriage, but we won’t be in attendance.”

“Excuse me?” Carl says, standing from his seat in the front row, glowering at us both. “We have the press waiting, Dalton!”

The press?Oh please, no.

“This isn’t up for discussion. We’re leaving now,” Dalton replies firmly.

“The hell you are!” he seethes.

“Dalton, what are you doing?” I whisper, glancing at Carl, his face turning a deep, angry red.

“What I should’ve done the second my father ruined your idea of a perfect wedding,” he replies, dropping a kiss to my head before addressing his father directly. “Daisy’s happiness is my priority, and staying here for a second longer so the vastmajority of you can all pretend to be happy for us both whilst gossiping behind our backs is something that I will not tolerate. I will also not allow the press to invade our privacy. I don’t give a fuck about the deals you’ve made without our permission,father,” he snarls.

“Why you ungrateful–” Carl begins, but Dalton holds his hand up, cutting him off.

“Enjoy your evening everybody,” he says, before clasping my hand and guiding me back up the aisle as everyone breaks out into disgruntled conversation.

We rush out of the church, Dalton’s hand tight around mine. I stumble a little on my dress, almost falling down the steps outside, but he reaches for me, sliding his arm around my back and knees, picking me up with a determined set of his jaw as he cradles me in his arms.

“Dalton, I can walk,” I say, more heat flooding my cheeks as he carries me swiftly towards the waiting limousine.

“We need to leave before the press catches wind of what’s happened,” he bites out as I steal a glance at his profile, his jaw clenched in resolve, his eyes focused ahead.

“But where are we going?” I ask, as he gently places me back on my feet and opens the waiting car’s passenger door. “I don’t have anything packed.”

“Somewhere we can be alone,” he replies cryptically, as I slide onto the seat, making room for him beside me. “And I took care of your clothes. Don’t worry, you’ll have everything you need.”

“But your father… the guests, the reception party he’s organised,” I say, a little helplessly.

“Fuck my father. Fuck the guests. Fuck the reception party. The only person I give a shit about is you,” he replies, before turning his attention to the driver. “Take us to the airport, my private jet is waiting for us.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

DALTON

Twenty-four hours later, Daisy and I are walking along a stretch of a private, white sand beach on the island of Koh Phi-Phi Don, situated just off the coast of mainland Thailand. The beach is empty save a few people scattered in the distance, and the sun is setting on the horizon, painting the sky in a stunning sunset of startling burnt orange, crimson red and delicate gold-edged pinks. Beneath us, the waterlogged sand cups our feet as the turquoise sea laps against our bare ankles.

After arriving late last night, and settling into our bungalow on the exclusive resort which will be our home for the next ten days, Daisy has been, for the most part, quiet and thoughtful.

“So, what do you think?” I ask, glancing at her, marvelling at how the setting sun douses her in a warm halo. She’s wearing a pale yellow cotton dress that grazes her knees, her bare shoulders dusted with a slight pink, her freckles darkened by a few hours in the sun. I make a mental note to remind her to wear more sunscreen tomorrow.

“It’s beautiful here,” she whispers, her gaze drifting out to sea as her footsteps still.

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