Page 181 of Modern Romance June 2025 1-4

‘How are you feeling, sweetheart?’ her mother asked.

‘I’m not sure.’ While Jasmine was coming to know Emilio a little bit more, she was certainly not in love with him. How could marrying a man she didn’t love be anything but disappointing? But she was excited about what this marriage would mean for her baby.

‘Are you nervous?’

‘Not really.’

‘You know, you can still back out of this marriage,’ Angela said.

‘I thought you liked Emilio.’

‘It’s not that. I know you always think everything through so carefully, but you don’t know each other very well. I worry what will happen later on if you don’t marry for love.’

‘Love is a myth, Mom. You just need to make the best choice with the information presented.’

‘And Emilio is the best choice?’

Jasmine turned and took her mother’s hands in hers. ‘He is.’

Angela was right: they didn’t know each other. But Jasmine was learning there was so much more to Emilio than he let anyone see. Would she ever find the man beneath the playboy? If she should care to.

‘I know he wants to be there for his child, but that doesn’t mean—’

‘It does. Being married to him will give this child things I could only ever dream about.’

‘Was it really so bad for you growing up?’ Angela asked in a gentle voice.

Jasmine could have kicked herself. She didn’t want to hurt her mother; she was only doing what she knew would be best. ‘No, it wasn’t. But we had some tough years, Mom. I can provide for our baby—I know I can—but I can’t give them what a father can. I can’t give them what Emilio can. It’s not a bad idea to marry Emilio when I’m doing everything I am for my child’s future.’

‘Okay,’ Angela said with a sigh. ‘I’ll see you upstairs.’

She turned to leave, but Jasmine halted her with a word. ‘Mom.’ She hurried over to the only person she had ever been able to rely on, to trust, and hugged her fiercely. When she let go, her mother’s lashes were damp.

With a small smile and a hand on her cheek, Angela rushed out. Jasmine turned to the mirror, adjusting her hair. She’d worn it down, one side pinned back with a sparkling crystal grip: a gift from Emilio. Everything she was wearing had been a gift from Emilio, in his usual heavy-handed way. Diamond earrings. Designer heels. A new dress.

Even though she hadn’t got married in the dress she’d picked before, Jasmine had impulsively decided she wanted something different, untainted by the idea of Richard. And she’d been prepared to get it herself; Emilio hadn’t even wanted a wedding, after all. But he wouldn’t hear of it. He’d arranged for Jasmine to be taken to a renowned designer after hours without him, and had arranged payment for whatever Jasmine wanted, insisting she indulge. So she had, even though she wanted nothing from him, even though she’d reminded him of their rules. He had simply stated that she’d made no rule against a wedding gift. So she’d grudgingly accepted and picked the dress purely by gut feeling.

Now she was glad this dress was different from her first one. And how different it was! The dress Jasmine had meticulously picked for her first wedding was long-sleeved, whereas this had no sleeves at all. The old one was thick and heavy; this was made of the finest tulle and lace. And, when she moved, the light caught all the floral, hand-made lace that covered the skirt. This dress, with its corset-style top, mermaid silhouette and short train, fitted her statuesque body in a way the old one never had. This one felt good. It felt right.

Jasmine didn’t want to think too much about that. How could an impulsive reaction to a momentary lapse in judgement feel so much better than a carefully controlled plan?

‘That’s it! No more thinking,’ she told her reflection. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

She went up to the terrace that had been made over in the few hours since she had seen it last. A long white runner had been laid over the path, and her mother met her at the head of it.

‘Ready?’ Angela asked.

‘Yes.’ Jasmine linked her arm with her mother’s and down the aisle they walked, under newly erected white arches covered with flowers and vines. Down she glided, towards the greenhouse, where Emilio stood with the celebrant. Rachel must have been there too somewhere, to act as their second witness. But Jasmine couldn’t tear her eyes away from her groom.

Emilio, standing there in a light tan suit, a gold pin twinkling in the centre of his tie. A pink flower in the lapel of his jacket. He looked incredible, but it wasn’t the fancy three-piece suit or the spectacular garden that carried her towards him. It was the look in his eye: ravening, predatory, just like when she had first met him. A look that said he wanted her. A look that had her questioning her sanity.

Was she right to deny their chemistry? It was potent, what they had. It took away sense and left only hunger in its wake. And, she wondered, would she always have to battle this attraction? Would she be able to?

***

Emilio could scarcely breathe. His fingers twitched by his side, aching to feel those curls—worn down, just like on that fateful night they’d met. That dress…white and pure, but eliciting filthy thoughts. Thoughts that were only fuelled further by the fact that he already knew how she tasted. He knew, and he craved it, but had agreed to her rules. To deny them both.

But, when he looked into her green and gold eyes, so magically illuminated in the sunlight, he could tell she felt this need too.

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