Beauty and the Wolf / Their Miracle Twins (32 page)

He pulled her up harder against him. Hips to hips. Hard to soft. She clung to him hopelessly as the bowels of the earth spun madly around them.

Behind them, someone cleared their throat tactfully and Bel came screaming back to reality. She tore her lips from Flynn’s and fought to focus her cloudy gaze on the politely averted eyes of his family.

Drew’s family.
He should have been here, too.

Flynn stiffened up immediately. He didn’t release her far, but he tucked his lips down to her ear and whispered thickly, darkly, ‘Wrong brother, Princess.’

As he pulled back, Bel stumbled at the glacial ore burning into her where, moments ago, such heat had been.

Oh, God, had she said that aloud? She glanced at the sharp line of Flynn’s jaw and knew she must have. She blushed furiously at her error and Alice clapped her hands with delight, misreading the colour flooding her cheeks. The whole family joined in, celebrating the newlyweds. Bel took advantage of Flynn’s firm hold and leaned into him since her knees weren’t quite up to the task yet. He at least had the good grace not to drop her on her face.

Still, no one else had heard. She fumbled to make good. ‘Flynn—’

The look he shot her would have stilled an earthquake but he disguised it by escorting her to the signing table and waiting while she tremulously signed. He added his own distinctive mark to the document, taking care to position one hand carefully so that neither of his parents saw Bel’s true surname as they signed their witness. They were too excited and emotional to notice.

She was still not quite steady from his kiss. She tried again. ‘Flynn—’

‘Forget it,’ he gritted, not quite meeting her eyes and pulling her closer to him as Arthur took a few photographs on his ancient camera. He released her the moment it was done. ‘I’m sure you weren’t the only one wishing my brother was here.’

‘I wasn’t …’ How could she tell him he’d blown all thoughts of anyone else from her mind with that kiss? Until she’d turned and seen the Bradleys surging towards her and remembered exactly why they were here … Why she had a ring on her finger. Gwen and Drew. She couldn’t. Not without sounding ridiculous. And he really didn’t need any more ammunition in that regard. Besides, this was all just a ruse to him. What did it matter what she’d blurted?

She stared, her feet only now returning to steadiness. ‘So, now what?’

He glanced at his family, who were moving towards them. ‘Now you put that smile back on your face and pretend this isn’t the worst moment of your life.’

She wiped her palms down her dress, eyes flickering at the unfamiliar feeling of a ring where one hadn’t been. ‘Flynn—’

Bill and Denise swept up to them, aglow with congratulations. Arthur and Alice weren’t far behind.

Later
, Flynn mouthed and turned with a big, fat, fake smile into the open arms of his family.

L
ATER
turned out to be much later. The celebratory dinner went on for hours and hours and Bel saw the Bradley clan in full raucous flight. Flynn winced every time a champagne cork hit the ceiling or Denise and Bill danced noisily in the kitchen or Arthur grabbed a pregnant Bel and twirled her across the room. It was all so … country.

His wife laughed and clapped and appeared to genuinely enjoy being the centre of the universe tonight, although always with the hint of shadow that perpetually clung to her.

His wife.

Freaky.

He’d felt very connected to her standing in that cave listening to the celebrant’s words. He’d certainly felt
for
her and done his best to still her trembling. This whole thing had been a whirlwind for both of them but at least he was at home, in his element, surrounded by people who loved him.

Bel had no one.

But then she’d murmured his brother’s name, almost under her breath. He’d swear she didn’t even know she’d done it. And in truth he had no right to expect any different, given Drew was the reason they were all here, but it really wasn’t the first word he’d hoped to hear from her after
you may kiss the bride.

And what a kiss it had been.

She spun past in Pop’s embrace, her gauzy dress floating in a cloud around her and wafting upwards to reveal even more
of those endless porcelain legs. Long enough to wrap around him twice. As she came to a stop, the dress clung to her curves in a way that accentuated rather than disguised the body beneath it. His eyes raked over her. She claimed her midsection was thickening with the babies but he couldn’t really see much evidence of it anywhere else on her body.

‘Dance with your wife, Flynn,’ his nan called from her seat across the room, a knowing smile on her face. ‘Don’t just stare at her.’

He held his drink up in salute and she matched it and then turned her eyes happily back to the celebrating family. Flynn’s followed.

She moved like a dancer, not like a pregnant woman. Bending, flowing, twisting …

His whole body tightened and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Before long, the music slowed and Arthur released Bel and turned to search out someone a few decades closer to his own age to slow dance with.

Without even meaning to, Flynn pushed to his feet and crossed to stand before her.

She lifted wide eyes to him. ‘Is it time to go?’

She hoped not—it was written all over her face. Was that the cause of the shadows under her eyes? Was she anxious about moving back to his house with him? There was no real reason—it wasn’t as if it was a real wedding night. Doubly so with the spectre of his dead brother hovering all of a sudden.

He held out a single hand.

The wide eyes creased with confusion. ‘Really?’

‘I believe it’s customary for the bride and groom to dance at some point.’ Though not usually under sufferance. ‘I won’t bite.’

She stood and joined him in the heart of the living room where all the furniture had been pushed back against the walls, and let him draw her into his hold. The music was quiet enough to talk over, but loud enough that they could do so unheard by
the others. His parents had moved into their own slow dance in the country kitchen and his grandparents spread out on the sofa.

Bel stood stiff and awkward in his arms and kept her eyes low.

He leaned closer, lower, and whispered, ‘Relax. You look like I’m walking you to the guillotine.’

She was like a furnace in his arms and heat leached into him wherever they touched. She straightened her spine and pressed herself closer to him, lifting her eyes to his.

‘About earlier—’

No. They were not going to talk about that now. Here. He shook her a warning look. ‘How are you feeling?’

Her answer was immediate. ‘Overwhelmed.’

‘It’s done now. You can relax’

‘No. I won’t be able to relax until this is all truly over.’

His lips tightened. ‘When you’re back in London?’

‘When I’m back in the real world.’

‘This is the real world.’

‘Yours, maybe. For me, this is like living someone else’s life. A fantasy life. Like I just warped in here one night and no one has noticed yet that I don’t belong.’

He’d worried for the first few weeks that she wore her heart too clearly on her sleeve, that she wasn’t as proficient in pretence as her socially skilled sister. But as time wore on he’d convinced himself she was coping. Carving a niche for herself. Perhaps she was a better performer than he thought if she was still actually feeling so disconnected. You wouldn’t know it to look at her. She looked as if she’d been living here her whole life, surrounded by his family and connecting with their land.

The idea immediately resonated in its rightness. He frowned and pushed the thought away. ‘You’re doing fine.’

‘Fine.’ She sighed, exhaustion manifesting as dampness in her blue eyes. ‘Such a beige word. I had hoped you’d recognise how hard I’m working. At least give me that much credit.’

He slowed to almost a standstill. It wasn’t her fault he’d crossed a line at the ceremony today. Forgotten why they were really there. The swell of her abdomen low against his was the reminder he needed. He tucked her closer into him and murmured, ‘I know.’

‘I’m performing from sunrise until sunset. The only time I can be me is when I’m alone.’ The moisture threatened to spill over.

His hands tightened on hers. ‘Or with me.’

She looked at him strangely then. ‘Not even then. Not with how you feel about my family.’

He glanced around to make sure their conversation was still private. ‘Okay, look. I’m willing to accept that you aren’t cut from the same cloth as your sister—’

‘Gwen,’ Bel spat, managing somehow to keep her face fairly neutral. But her eyes blazed. ‘Her name was Gwen and though you didn’t like her I loved her with everything I had. She deserves to be remembered by her name.’

Flynn studied her pale face and finally saw what he suspected he’d been missing all this time. It hurt her when he bagged her sister. And he did that a lot.

He picked his path carefully, still hurting from her slip-up earlier today. ‘You’re different to Gwen. I can see that.’

The music changed and the next song was fast and loud, giving them more cover to have this long overdue conversation. The older Bradleys all retreated to the comfort of the kitchen for a drink.

‘Your family likes Belinda Cluney from London. Why wouldn’t they like Belinda Rochester? Just because of her surname? Are they truly incapable of drawing a distinction?’

He frowned. ‘No, they’re not. But I don’t think they would have given you a chance if they’d known upfront who you were.’

‘Like they didn’t give Gwen a chance?’

He stared at her. A feeling that wasn’t quite guilt and wasn’t
quite shame nipped at his conscience. Could they have come to like Gwendoline Rochester if they’d met her under different circumstances? Difficult to imagine.

He tried again. ‘Your world and mine are very different …’

‘The difference is I don’t judge you for yours.’

That uncomfortable nip again. Her eyes flicked around the room, looking for anything other than him to settle on. Suddenly he was overcome with a burning need to get her alone.

To have a long overdue discussion.

He spun her back towards him and brought them both to a halt in the centre of the room, reaching around her from behind and folding her into the care of his arms. ‘I think it’s time we got going,’ he announced over the music. Firmly. His family wanted to protest but they saw his expression and relented.

Bel stumbled behind him through a round of goodnights and then towards the back door of the house. The air outside was frigid and she was still wearing nothing but the light dress she’d worn to the ceremony that afternoon.

He stripped off his coat and helped her into it. It hung loose and ridiculous on her slim frame but it didn’t make her any less beautiful. So much of her flaming hair had come down with all the dancing she looked flushed and in disarray—as if she’d been thoroughly tumbled in a barn somewhere. The image hit him straight in the groin.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, tucking the coat firmly around her. ‘My bags …’

‘Dad took your luggage down earlier today. It’s in your room.’

She looked so intensely relieved he had to wonder what was amongst her belongings that she valued so much. Or was it because he’d said
your
room …? Did she think he was going to force her in with him?

‘Listen, about the arrangements …’

She lifted her eyes to his; how was it possible that she looked so suspicious and so trusting at the same time?

‘Even though we have separate rooms, we’re going to be spending a fair bit of time together,’ he said. ‘We’ll be like … roommates. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.’

‘It’s not a big house; that could be tricky.’

‘In spirit, then, if not in person.’ He took a deep breath. ‘You won’t even know I’m there.’

Bel frowned. ‘I don’t think I want that. I don’t want you to stay out of my way.’

Surprise stilled his feet. He turned her to look at him in the darkness halfway between the houses.

‘I lived like that for most of my childhood,’ she went on. ‘Like a ghost in my family. I’m not in a hurry to be invisible again.’

Empathy washed through him. He knew something about feeling invisible. Although it was impossible to imagine how she could have been in a room and not been at the centre of it. ‘That’s how you felt?’

‘Always. Except for Gwen. She saw me.’ Her eyes softened. ‘And then Drew.’

And they were back to his brother.
Saint Freaking Andrew.
Wasn’t it enough that he’d played second fiddle to his brother his whole life? Did he have to do it on his wedding night, albeit a fake one? It was starting to be impossible to ignore the obvious. ‘You really cared for him, didn’t you?’

Her eyes rounded up to him. ‘Your brother was the best man I ever knew. Despite what you thought of him.’

Ever. Present tense included.

Right.

The unspoken criticism rankled. ‘Drew was no prince, Bel. He had a sour streak and could hold a grudge for eternity.’ Literally, as it turned out. ‘Not sure he deserved such a lofty position in your estimation.’

‘You weren’t there. He saved me when I was seventeen and going off the rails. He grounded me.’

He did? Then he’d made an exception because that sure wasn’t his own experience when he’d been in need. ‘How?’

‘By being constant and welcoming me and letting me into his love for Gwen. He could so easily have sidelined me like my parents did, kept her to himself.’

‘The Drew I knew would have.’ His brother had made an art of self-absorption. Second only to his competitive streak. Probably what made him so successful in his field. ‘Maybe he just liked having a leggy young sycophant feeding his ego?’

Maybe he missed the unconditional adoration of a younger sibling.

Bel squeezed and released her fists. ‘Or maybe he grew in his years away from you. Changed.’

Unexplainable hurt ravaged him. That Drew had needed to leave the family to turn into a good man, that once again little brother failed to measure up.