The way it was the last two times our lips met.
I was hopingit would feel devastatingly real, even though I know this marriage is only on paper.
I have no right to be upset about that. But I am.
The restraint of it stings more than I expect.
When he pulls back, his expression is composed again. Professional. As if we’ve just completed a business transaction.
And not the moment that made us husband and wife.
Still holding my hand, he turns, and I turn with him to face our friends and family.
James
"Do I have to call you Uncle James?" Freya wrinkles up her nose.
I answer with a serious expression, "James is good.”
"Thanks." She takes a sip from the glass of sparkling apple juice I ordered for her.
She’s seated on one side and my wife on the other.
My wife. A thrill runs up my spine. My. Wife.
This gorgeous creature sitting next to me is my wife. When the registrardeclared us man and wife, a strange sensation gripped my chest. Happiness. Pride. And an overwhelming possessiveness.
She's mine. All mine.
It overwhelmed me. It threatened to break through the walls I put up to keep my emotions in check. It threatened to engulf me. I was pissed off at myself. And so, when the time had come to kiss her, I decided to settle for a brush of our lips. Even though I wanted to kiss her deeply. To claim her as mine in front of our friends and families. I deprived myself. I deprived her. I hurt her again.
And fuck, I hate myself for that.
We’re at a table in a private dining room in another Michelin-star restaurant owned by a good friend. It’s at the top of The Shard, the tallest building in London.
Next to me, Harper shifts in her seat. Of course, she's unnerved.
I had the perfect opportunity to feel her lips part against mine, for our tongues to entwine. To have her curves pressed against me. All the while hearing that soft sigh of hers and drawing her scent deeply into my lungs. Instead, I gave her a tepid peck on the lips.
The Ice Commander couldn’t take the heat.
When the serving staff top up her glass of champagne, she tosses it back without waiting for the wedding toasts. Yep, she’s definitely unsettled by the morning’s events.
Her glass is once again refilled. When she reaches for it, I swap it out for my glass.
She take a sip. Winces. "What’s that?"
"Nonalcoholic sparkling wine." I hand her champagne glass to the staff and ask for another of the non-alcoholic ones for me.
"Ugh, really?" She scowls.
"We have to get back to The Edge for dinner prep."
She frowns.
Yes, I’m putting the restaurant first, even on our wedding day.
She shouldn’t be surprised by it.
