Bride in a Gilded Cage (6 page)

She looked away with effort, and her hands shook as she did up her seat belt. ‘I can’t believe you’re making me do this.’

In a flash Rafael had surged out of his seat and was leaning over her, hands on the armrests either side of her body. Isobel shrank back into her seat, her heart nearly jumping out of her chest.

‘I’m
not making you do anything Isobel. We’re bound
together by a set of circumstances outside of our control.’ His mouth became a bitter line. ‘This marriage has been set in stone for years and it will happen, whether you like it or not. No fairytale endings here, Isobel.’

Panic at his proximity made her blurt out, ‘If I had a choice I wouldn’t marry someone like you in a million years.’

His eyes flicked up and down, and Isobel felt her skin grow hot. ‘So you keep saying. I’m going to think you’re protesting just a little too much if you keep this up.’

Rafael just looked at her for an intensely long moment, and then went back to sit down. With a few feet separating them again Isobel felt her heart slow down and her brain cleared. Was he suggesting that on some level she
wanted
this? That she would
choose
this if given a choice? Nausea rose. She couldn’t want this on any level. It went against everything she believed in and wanted for herself.

Isobel stayed silent as they taxied and then took off into the air. She watched as Paris fell away below them, gradually becoming smaller and smaller until it got obscured with clouds and disappeared completely. To her surprise, her dominant feeling as they left wasn’t of sadness or even anger, it was a kind of ambivalence. Had it really touched her so superficially?

Far too disturbed to investigate that line of thinking, Isobel got her book out of her bag and pretended to be engrossed. But all the while she was acutely aware of every movement Rafael made just feet away.

T
HEY
arrived in Buenos Aires on a cool August morning, with dawn breaking over the horizon, sending crimson ribbons across the sky. For some reason it felt like an omen to Isobel, and she wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. She could sense Rafael behind her, urging her on to go down the steps. She had to move forward. She took a deep breath and stepped out. When she came to the bottom of the steps and stood on Argentinian soil for the first time in three years she felt something intangible move within her and thought of her grandparents. To her utter disgust, emotional tears prickled ominously.

Blinking them back and feeling betrayed by her emotions, telling herself it had to be tiredness, jet-lag…anything but the fact that she’d actually missed Buenos Aires…she felt Rafael take her arm and lead her over to a waiting car.

Once they were in the back Isobel sent him a quick glance, disgusted to see that Rafael looked as if he’d just woken from a deep, restorative sleep—which, she had to remind herself, he had. He’d worked for a bit at the start of the flight, they’d eaten a meal, and then he’d reclined his chair and snored softly for the whole flight. Isobel knew because she’d been tense and wound up the whole time, casting him suspicious looks, hating him for sleeping so easily.

‘What happens now?’ she asked, trying to ignore his perfection.

He faced her. ‘What happens now is that I drop you at your house. I’ve been invited over this evening for dinner, and I’ll bring your engagement ring with me. It belonged to my grandmother.’

‘Engagement ring…’ Isobel repeated weakly, with visions of an enormously ostentatious ruby-red rock surrounded by diamonds.

Rafael frowned, unaware of the horror rising within Isobel at how fast things were moving. He took one of her hands and inspected it, making little fires of sensation race up Isobel’s arm. ‘Your fingers are slim. I’ll probably have to get the size adjusted, but that shouldn’t take long…’

Isobel pulled her hand free and choked back the urge to shout at the driver to turn right around and go back to the plane. They were entering the outskirts of BA, and Isobel found that she was experiencing that same welling of emotion she’d had on leaving the plane. Her hands clenched in her lap.
How
could her emotions be so fickle? When she was coming home to be all but marched up the aisle with a gun to her head?

Before long they turned into a familiar road, her road, and the gates of Isobel’s house opened smoothly. As they came up the drive Isobel could see that her parents were standing at the door, flanked by the staff on either side. All up and dressed, as if it wasn’t ungodly early.

Isobel felt a sense of resignation…and with a heavy heart she knew that she was doing the right thing. Losing everything would have destroyed her parents. As much as they might not be close, they were still her parents, and she loved them. The realisation made her feel very vulnerable as Rafael came around and opened her door.

The next few minutes were a blur, but a few things stood out: how possessive Rafael’s arm felt clasped around her waist and how it made a churning mix of emotions run through her; her father’s relieved and grateful expression; her mother’s insincere tears of joy at having her prodigal daughter returned.

And then Rafael was gone, his car disappearing back down the drive. Isobel actually felt bereft for a moment, as if some kind of anchor was being taken away—which was crazy. But then she was being hustled into the house and the door was shut firmly behind her. If she closed her eyes for a brief moment it was almost as if the last three years hadn’t happened…

The next couple of weeks passed in a whirlwind. Isobel felt like Dorothy in Oz, caught up in a tornado of escalating ferocity. As she stood looking out of her bedroom window something glinted in the reflection, catching her attention, and she looked down at the engagement ring on her finger.

That first night she’d come home Rafael had returned for dinner, as he’d promised, with a small box. In front of her parents he’d presented her with the ring, and to Isobel’s surprise it had been nothing like she’d expected. It was small and delicate, a rare pink diamond, almost deep purple in colour, surrounded by white diamonds in a circular art deco setting.

And again to her surprise, it had fitted like a glove, needing no adjustment. Rafael had all but smirked when it had fitted snugly on her finger, and his hand had remained on hers for an uncomfortably long time.

Since then she’d seen him only a handful of times, always surrounded by people, and in the past few days not at all—he’d had to fly to the States on business.

The papers had been full of their marriage, and Isobel pored
over the articles with a sick fascination. Her blood had run cold, though, when she’d read about the deal he was currently involved in; he’d gone to America to bail out a failing company whose employees were mainly illegal Argentinian immigrants. They had gone there as skilled workers who hadn’t been able to find work at home due to the economic downturn.

The papers were full of speculation that Rafael would be helping deport those immigrants and building up the company again with legitimate US employees. While Isobel couldn’t condone immigrants working illegally, she felt sick to her core that Rafael would just send people back to the place they’d struggled so hard to leave.

He’d phoned every day, though, and predictably Isobel’s thoughts were scrambled as soon as she heard his voice.
How
could she be so affected by someone so amoral and ruthless?

‘I’m looking forward to seeing you walk down the aisle to me, Isobel,’ he’d said once.

She’d gripped the phone tight, panic a familiar sensation. ‘You mean you’re looking forward to seeing your bride of convenience walking down the aisle.’

Before he could say anything Isobel had said, ‘You might find yourself begging to divorce me in six months’ time, and that’s not going to look good for your business, either.’

His voice had turned to steel. ‘We won’t be divorcing
ever.
There is no room for failure in this.’

‘Your
hair,
Isobel,’ her mother wailed shrilly on the day of the wedding. ‘How
could
you have cut it all off like that?’

Isobel didn’t answer, knowing her mother didn’t really expect her to. And anyway, she wasn’t sure if she could speak as she took in her reflection in the mirror. About three people hovered around her, making last-minute tweaks to the
wedding dress. Isobel felt slightly removed from it all, but hyper-aware at the same time.

The dress was exquisitely simple. It had been her grandmother’s. At first Isobel had protested, feeling far too much of a fraud because her grandmother had been so in love when she had got married. But of course her mother wouldn’t be swayed. After a few adjustments to update it, it was now strapless, and fell in a simple fitted silken sheath to the floor. Tiny diamonds sewn into a lace overlay sparkled and shone when she moved. And on the back of her head was an antique silver comb which held the long veil in place.

Isobel looked at her reflection in the mirror now and saw the colour surge into her cheeks. She was very much afraid that on some deep, secret level Rafael was affecting her in a way that had nothing to do with logic and common sense. How could it when her disgust at his business ethics was having no effect on her physical reaction to him?

She chastised herself for thinking like that. Her reaction was purely to do with the extreme circumstances of their situation, and the fact that Rafael’s sheer masculinity resonated with something in her. She’d never thought she’d react to such an alpha male, but that was all it could be.

She could never develop feelings for a man like him—not in a million years. Her main concern in this marriage would be to seek a way out of it as soon as possible.

Thirty minutes later, with that assertion sill ringing in her head, Isobel stood on her father’s arm just outside the open doors of the church.
This was it.
But instead of the barrel full of nerves that Isobel had expected, that she’d hoped would give her the impetus to tear off her veil and run, her reactions confounded her again. A weird calm acceptance was her dominant emotion. And then her father was moving, and she had to move, too.

They stepped into the back of the church and people turned to look. People Isobel recognised vaguely but didn’t know.
Society.
The ‘Wedding March’ was playing, and there at the very top of the aisle stood a tall, broad figure in steel-grey, with thick, wavy, black hair.

Why was it that in this moment of all moments she found herself curiously moved by the thought of the ritual ahead?

Her hand unconsciously tightened on her father’s arm, and she didn’t see him wince slightly. All she could focus on was Rafael’s broad back at the top of the church. With every beat of her heart as she drew closer she superstitiously begged him silently not to turn and look. Because that way she could hate him for being so coolly arrogant and vow to make their marriage as uncomfortable as possible for him. She repeated it like a mantra:
don’t turn around, don’t turn around.

But since when had her prayers or wishes been answered? When she was halfway down the long aisle Rafael turned—and not just his head. His whole body turned to face her. Isobel nearly stumbled, and her heart threatened to burst out of her chest. Her blood flowed heavy in her veins. And all she could see was
him,
and those dark eyes boring right through her veil…seeking all her answers. Seeking her soul.

And then her father was handing her over to Rafael, who took her hand to lead her up the steps beside him. He lifted the veil up and over her head, looking down into her eyes with an unmistakable glint of triumph and something very hot. In an instant Isobel was thrown back in time to the study that night, and how she’d felt when she’d looked up into Rafael’s eyes for the first time.

He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to it, and Isobel’s brain melted in a puddle of heat and sensation and shock
heaped on shock. Because right now the last thing she felt like doing was running away.

The ceremony passed in a blur. Somehow Isobel knew she must have said everything required of her, but she couldn’t recall. She was aware of the cool band of gold on her finger.

‘…you may now kiss the bride.’

Isobel looked up in shock. They were there already? Rafael had moved closer and brought a hand to the back of her neck. His head was descending, and Isobel could do nothing but let her eyelids flutter closed. Her heart had stopped beating. When the touch of his mouth came to hers she couldn’t help a violent tremble, and as if sensing her reaction Rafael put his other hand around her waist, pulling her even closer.

Isobel sensed dimly that Rafael had probably intended the kiss to be a socially suitable chaste touching of his lips to hers, but as soon as they made contact it was as if something bigger took control and they couldn’t move apart.

His mouth moved over hers hungrily, as if starved of contact, and to Isobel’s shame she felt the same. Her mouth clung with wanton eagerness, lips opening to invite him in, tongue seeking and searching.

It was a discreet cough from the priest that finally broke through the wave of heat that was consuming Rafael. Reluctantly he pulled back, and held in a groan when he saw Isobel’s upturned face, so lovely, with a bloom of pink in her cheeks, lips soft and pouting and moist. It took a long second for her to open her eyes, and he read the reactions in their dark chocolate depths: shock, confusion and something much more potent—anger. She hated that she’d reacted to him.

Triumph surged through his body. Isobel would make him a good wife. He knew it deep in his bones. She would match him, stand up to him, and he couldn’t wait for tonight when
he could get her into his bed. But before the conservative Buenos Aires congregation could read the carnal nature of his thoughts, Rafael turned to lead his wife back up the aisle.

Isobel seethed inwardly as she walked slowly on Rafael’s arm. But she managed to paste a fake smile on her face, nodding to people she knew were smiling to her face, but already dissecting every minute of the ceremony, and her dress and the prospects of success for this marriage. They would be the topic of coffee mornings all over the capital for days, weeks to come.

She couldn’t believe she’d betrayed herself so badly with her reaction to that kiss. She couldn’t believe that at the mere touch of his mouth to hers all her iron-clad intentions had dissolved to dust. This was going to be a lot harder than she’d anticipated because she was so vulnerable to his touch.

She couldn’t deny any more that what she felt was not just antipathy to Rafael. What she felt was violent attraction mixed with antipathy, and Isobel knew herself well enough to know that if that intimacy was breached she’d be lost. She’d always believed that physical attraction would be conveniently tied into falling in love with someone. She’d never counted on the fact that it could happen independently of her feelings.

She was terrified now that intimacy with Rafael might result in her deluding herself into thinking that she felt something for him. One thing was paramount as of that moment: she needed to protect herself at all costs, and maintain a distance between them until she knew how to cope with these feelings and not betray herself.

When they emerged from the church, all Isobel’s thoughts scattered. A barrage of press awaited them, the camera flashes almost blinding her. And a huge cheering crowd had gathered across the road. Instinctively, her hand tightened on Rafael’s arm.

He looked down at her and grimaced slightly before saying, ‘I should have expected this. Just smile and look happy. They’re all here to see you.’

Isobel was beyond shocked at the reception. After a few minutes Rafael led her down the steps of the huge cathedral and to a waiting car, handing her carefully into the back before joining her.

As they pulled away Isobel saw the rest of the wedding guests start to spill out of the church into the heaving crowds. She realised she was shaking like a leaf. Rafael noticed and took one of her hands in his; to Isobel’s dismay her shaking started to subside. Her body was a traitor.