CHAPTER THIRTEEN – HAYLEY
When the day finally arrived, I was feeling apprehensive. Really, really scared, in fact. I rolled over in bed that morning, my stomach heaving as if I were going to be sick.
I can’t believe I’ about to do this.
I don’t think I would have been nearly that scared if Beckett hadn’t been being really odd lately. Ever since that day in the lounge, when I was talking to his daughter, he had become more and more quiet and aloof.
Probably his wife getting mad at him.
That was a totally understandable reaction. I found myself feeling mad at Beckett myself. Fancy doing this to me. Putting me in a high-profile position where even his wife hates me. I can’t face this.
The thought of actually walking out of this door and facing cameras and flashbulbs and all the media fervor that would follow a wedding of such celebrity made me feel frightened.
As I slipped into the shower, I had a consoling thought. Beckett will be there.
Strange that it should have consoled me, but it did. I felt instantly calmer. With him there, it seemed everything would turn out okay.
I showered and then blow-dried my hair and was surprised by a knock at the door. I suddenly remembered who it was.
The esthetician. And then the dressmaker, coming for a final fitting. And the hairdresser…oh heck!
I shrugged on the lacy nightgown that had been left out for me and slipped the waistband tight, then opened the door.
A bright-faced woman with blonde hair was waiting for me.
“I’m Harriet,” she said with a British accent. “I’m your stylist for today. Behind me is Rita, and we also have Maisie.”
I smiled at her and let her in and, two hours of conscious co-operation later, I was ready for the dress. I looked at myself in the mirror.
Is that me?
My face was a mask, beautiful and empty as a magazine-cover. My cheeks were emphasized, my eyes brought out with just the right color of eyeshadow. The makeup was subtle and perfect—the right balance between natural and groomed. Anyone who didn’t know me would not have guessed I wore any at first. Anyone who did know me probably wouldn’t, with all the work they’d done.
I sighed.
My hair was perfectly styled in a deconstructed chignon, my nails manicured in a way I would never have imagined possible: my hands were graceful model-hands, not my own.
This is amazing, but at the same time a bit depressing. This was a fairytale wedding, by all accounts, with a perfect groom, a perfect makeover, and, in a few minutes’ time, a perfect dress. But it wasn’t a real wedding. It wasn’t my wedding. And, really, it wasn’t a wedding.
It was a ruse. A deception. A play.
This is so not what I thought my wedding would be like.
I laughed. I had been on stage more than a hundred times. I knew all about shows and plays. But this felt real. I couldn’t stop myself thinking that it was my wedding day, that it should be real.
It’s because I have feelings for him.
I shook my head impatiently. I shouldn’t feel anything for Beckett. He was my counterpart in an act. That was all. But I couldn’t help the fact that I did.
Somehow, Beckett has taken up residence in my heart.
It felt like that. As if he had moved in one day and, before I knew it, taken the place over. I felt different. I thought differently. I saw myself differently. But it was all based on a lie.
I sighed. There’s no point being so existential about this. It’s happening. You just have to face it.
A knock at my door announced the arrival of the dress. I stood to open it. Mrs. Carrington was standing just outside.
“Hello, Hayley!” she said, enthusiastically, all red hair and vermillion lipstick and long matching-vermillion nails. “Here’s the dress. So exciting, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said queasily. “So exciting.”
Half an hour later, my waist tightly-encircled with a corset, a blue garter encircling costly silk stockings, my body encased in white satin, we were ready to set off.
I walked downstairs to the vast, checkerboard-floored entrance hall where Cameron Hall, my husband-to-be’s best friend, waited.
“He’s through there,” he said quietly. “You look stunning.”
“Thanks,” I whispered. My voice was quiet in the empty silence of the hallway and, weirdly, it felt expectant, blessed somehow, as if I was standing there to make a vow.
I swallowed hard and went left, to where Cameron had indicated, crossing the threshold into the chapel room.
My eyes accustomed to the gloom of the entrance-way and then I walked through the main doors into a space filled with light.
It was a small space, but Gothic in design, with high, arched windows and a vast round one above a beautifully-carved altar. There was a short aisle and then the nave. Where he stood.
I looked at Beckett. He was standing at the altar in a black suit that fit him so well he could have been born wearing it. He was tall, black hair glossily brushed though still wavy, his lean face tight with tension. When he saw me, the tension melted a moment and he looked at me as a man, drowning, might look at a lifeboat descending from the side of a cruiser.
I felt my heart melt as he smiled at me.
“Hayley,” he said.
We just stared at each other a long while. My eye ran from his face to his shoes, taking in the impeccable cut of the suit, his strong chest, his lithe posture.
He was studying me too, I realized a moment later, and I blushed as he took it all in. His gaze lingered at my neck a moment, where the low-cut bodice revealed a large swathe of cleavage, and then back up at my face. My heart thumped. The tension flowed through my body, threatening to break me.
“Hayley,” he said again softly. “Good to see you.”
I blinked as he walked down from the altar, the spell suddenly broken. He sat down on the pew and looked into my eyes.
“Now we wait,” he said.
I stared. The room was, I noted, empty. The sun shone down through the high, round window making the place a sacred space. He was sitting side-on at the pew, one leg crossed over the other, content like a child waiting to be told a story. The spell—the enchantment when we had looked at each other across the space of the chapel—snapped. The resulting uncoiled energy burned me.
“Beckett!” I snapped.
“What?”
He frowned at me, as if I was being completely odd. I suppose I was. I knew this was a pretense. I had never had any illusions about that. But to see him, one leg drawn up to his chest, fingers laced around it loosely, grinning at me like we were kids hiding from mom, suddenly made me angry.
I was here, dressed as a bride. And he was playing silly games. I felt all the uncertainty and impatience of the last week break over me like a tempest.
“I have had enough of this,” I hissed. “I am here for Heaven alone knows what purpose, dressed in an expensive dress, playing some crazy hide-and-seek for some reason that only you know. I’m sick of this, Beckett! How can you do this to me? I can’t take much more!”
He stared at me. I saw his face loosen in shock, then tense again.
When he looked at me, his eyes were wintry, and I stepped back, feeling nervous. I didn’t know this man at all, and this was really the first time we were ever alone.
“Hayley Morris,” he snapped at me. “Please understand that if it were possible to enlighten you any more than I have done, I would. That is all I can tell you. It is all you need to know.”
“Beckett!” I snapped. His head jerked up as if I had slapped him and my energy surged suddenly. “You must also understand how hard this is for me. I try to trust you. But you never let me in, not even slightly. I know you have told me you need a wife for business purposes, to improve your appearance and your street cred. But I don’t buy that. You’re keeping secrets. And I need to know what they are. I have a right to know. I’m involved now.”
“How dare you talk about rights?” he snapped. He was standing now, facing me. “You have no right to anything to do with my past or my family? How dare you?”
His nostrils flared a little, pupils dark as he panted a little for the exertion. I was panting too, I realized, and felt my heart pulse slowly. The tension was rising in me, taking new form. I could smell his sweat and his cologne, could see perspiration on his face.
“I dare,” I said softly, “because I am part of your family now. If not for real. If only for administrative purposes.”
His eyes widened then narrowed. He blinked at me.
“Yes,” he said suddenly. “I suppose you are.”
At that, he reached forward. I flinched, but I was not fast enough and besides I had no idea what he was going to do next.
I was totally unprepared for it when his lips came down over mine and he kissed me.
My body flared and caught fire. I pressed myself against him, my arms squeezing him tight. I was kissing him before I even thought about it, my anger turning to what it always had been—an intense passion. I realized this dimly as his hands slid their way down my back. I pressed my body against his, feeling a hardness in his trousers. I wanted him.
“Hayley,” he whispered, drawing back. He looked down at me and I looked into his green eyes. He smiled.
“What?”
“I’m afraid I smudged your make-up.”
I laughed. Then we were both laughing, shakily. The relief soared through me, leaving me feeling drained. He looked down at me.
He kissed me again, more slowly this time. His hands caressed my hair under the veil, and I sighed as his tongue slid between my lips, hot and firm and probing the depths of my mouth.
He sighed, standing back.
“I shouldn’t,” he said. “I’ll spoil the photos.”
I laughed a little shakily. “I guess so.”
We looked at each other. He grinned.
“You are beautiful, Miss. Morris.” he grinned. “Especially when you’re angry.”
I laughed. “You’re scary when you’re angry,” I said.
He smiled, though his eyes were sad. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said quickly. “You were right in what you said, you know. I am sorry. I can’t do anything else, though. Can you deal with that?”
I nodded, my lip between my teeth. “I can,” I said. My voice was tight and I knew my face was full of longing.
I looked away. At that moment, someone came into the chapel and I blinked.
“Good morning,” a voice said. I looked up. Beckett was tense, his face at once alert and stiff. He looked at the man with a strange expression, almost shy.
“Good morning,” he said. “What’s up?”
“I’m here to tell you the wedding bit is finished. If you’d like to go outside now?”
I looked up into the friendly, earnest face of his friend, Cameron Hall.
“Thanks,” Beckett said, sighing. “Thanks, Cameron.”
His friend’s serious brown eyes looked from Beckett to me and back. If it was obvious what we had been up to before he came in to his chapel he didn’t react. His eyes rested on me and softened a moment and I thought I saw compassion there, if I chose to look for it.
“Come, Hayley,” he said kindly. “We have a moment or two to get ready in the hallway, if you like? They’re along the path.”
“Thanks,” I said in a small voice. I followed Beckett out into the hall.
I stood next to him, feeling scared now. We were about to face the press. I would be the focus of all that attention and it still scared me a lot. I looked up at Beckett. He stood firm beside me.
I felt him squeeze my fingers and I looked up at him.
“Come on. Let’s go face the music.”
I smiled. He had a tender look on his face, his green eyes kind. I felt his fingers grip my hand and then loosen it as Cameron walked ahead of us, opening the vast fake castle doors that would reveal us to the press.
I looked at Beckett and he looked at me. He smiled.
We kissed.
The kiss was not the passionate, intimate intensity of the one we’d shared recently, but it still made my soul soar and my insides melt a little.
The whoops and yells went up from the crowd outside the door. I could hear two voices I recognized—three, actually. Estella, Cameron and the housekeeper. I could have turned to see them, standing at the bottom of the steps, ready with handfuls of confetti and petals, smiling up at us joyously. But I didn’t.
All I had eyes for at that moment was him: Beckett Sand, my playacting bridegroom.