It’s real, that smile. It’s genuine, and it makes something tight and painful gather behind my breastbone. It feels almost like jealousy, that this stranger should earn a beautiful smile and a flower as a gift from her. Frommywife.
Her smiles are few, and I have earned a couple in bed, but only there. They should be mine, her smiles, all of them should be mine like that very first one was mine, and for this woman to earn one by simply signing a piece of paper infuriates me.
Why should you care who she smiles at?
I shouldn’t care and I know this. She’s mine now, I have the documents to prove it, and yet it feels…as if that’s not enough. Even her passion being mine is not enough, no matter how I tell myself I’ll have to be satisfied with it, and I don’t know why I feel this possessive when she was the one who suggested we marry in the first place.
I need to crush this jealousy and possessiveness. It’s purely a biological response and I need to ignore it. I already have her in the one place I wanted her, and that’s in my bed.
The woman takes the rose Beatrix offers her, and smiles back, giving her a prettymerci, while I stand here like a fool, being jealous of a stranger.
‘You look like a thundercloud,’ Beatrix observes as we make our exit from the room. ‘What’s wrong? Too late to change your mind about marrying me now.’
Her tone is light, the remains of her smile playing around her pretty mouth. She’s so stunningly lovely. She’smywife now, I have to remember that, and getting angry because I want more of her smiles is an irrational response. Still, I can’t help the urge to make this wedding different from her first, and so I’ve decided on something.
‘Nothing is wrong,’ I say, taking her hand as we walk down the town hall’s steps to where my driver waits with the car. ‘I’ve decided to make a quick stop on the way home, however.’
‘Oh?’ She glances at me as we get into the car. ‘Why?’
‘Because we’re missing something,’ I say.
She gives me a curious look. ‘Missing what?’
I’m very tempted not to tell her, to make it a surprise, but I can’t think of any logical reason to do that. So I say, ‘A ring.’ Then as my driver gets into the front seat, I instruct him to take us to one of Paris’s most exclusive and expensive jewellery showrooms.
Beatrix is frowning at me, no sign of her smile this time as the car pulls away from the kerb. ‘I don’t need a ring, Santiago.’
‘I disagree,’ I say coolly. ‘It’s a good reminder that you’re my wife.’
‘A reminder? I’m hardly likely to forget.’
Annoyed at myself for my ill-chosen words, I once again have to force myself to relax and not to snap. ‘A wedding present, then,’ I say, trying to match her earlier lightness. ‘And an apology for my appalling behaviour towards you.’
Her frown doesn’t lift though. ‘You don’t need to get me a wedding present and you’ve already apologised—’
‘Let me do this, Beatrix,’ I interrupt before my temper can cause any more issues. ‘Please. I would like to.’
She stares at me for a moment, and then her frown eases, her mouth softening. I’m not sure what she saw in my face, but there’s something in her eyes I don’t recognise and it makes my chest feel a little hollow. ‘Okay,’ she says simply. ‘That would be lovely.’
I’m disconcerted by her easy capitulation, especially when I’m used to fighting with her, and something in my face must have given me away, because she gives a soft laugh. ‘I’m not plotting your death, Santiago. I promise.’
‘Why would I think that?’ I ask, even more disconcerted that she managed to read me with such ease.
Her eyes are alight, sparkling like tiny blue stars. ‘Because you gave me an incredibly suspicious look.’
I want to tell her she’s wrong, but she’s not, so I give her the truth. ‘I was expecting some kind of protest, I have to admit,’ I say. ‘I’m not used to you just giving in.’
Her lashes lower, blue gleaming from beneath them. ‘Really? After the past few nights?’
A flash of heat grips me by the throat, and I want to pull her into my arms, sit her in my lap, lift her white skirts and sink myself into the luscious heat between her thighs. Make her give in to me here as she does in bed every night.
But I’ve decided on the ring now, and I will have it on her finger, and besides, there’s plenty of time for pleasure later. So all I do is lock gazes with her, letting her see the intention in my eyes, and I can’t resist the triumph that fills me when she blushes like a summer sunrise.
That’s genuine, that response. There’s nothing fake about her desire for me or about the pleasure she takes from my touch. Her orgasms are real, too, and that’s more than she ever got from my father.
The jeweller’s showroom is by appointment only, but they instantly make time for me when I give them my name. We’re shown into an elegant salon with white velvet couches and a white carpet. Glass cases show off the jewellery to perfect effect.
Beatrix’s eyes are wide as the sales assistant leads us to one of the couches and we sit down. I instruct the man to bring us a selection of wedding rings, including ones that have an engagement ring to match, since that’s important too.
