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"Xavier," she says. "Xavier, don't change a thing, I'm going to?—"

Her voice cuts off with a hoarse cry, and she comes, the hands she's so carefully kept away from my combed hair giving in as she rakes her nails against my scalp, her body riding my face. I keep my mouth on her, licking and sucking her through it, until finally her shaking thighs begin to still.

When I stand, my mouth is still wet from her, and I wipe it on the back of my hand while she pants and recovers. It's a sight I never want to forget, her dress pushed up around her waist, her legs splayed open on the vanity, her face flushed and eyes glassy as she catches her breath.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Maria," I say, unable to stop myself. "And you taste so goddamn good."

She shivers, eyes drifting closed. "I want to make you feel that good, too," she says softly.

I lean in to press a kiss to her throat, where her pulse is racing under her skin. "Later."

Her eyes fly open. "What?"

"Later," I repeat. "Right now, we've got a wedding to get to."

She looks down at herself, pivoting on the now-shaky vanity to see her lipstick smeared and her gathered curls listing to one side. "Oh, shit."

I can't help but laugh, adjusting my throbbing manhood and helping her down from the vanity. "Oh shit is right. Let's get the lipstick off both our faces before we're late."

"But—"

I press a finger against her swollen lips. "No buts, Maria. You listen to me, and I'll get us through this."

There's an argument ready to burst out of her mouth, but she swallows it down and nods once.

"Good girl."

5

MARIA

Igo through the wedding like I'm in some sort of trance, my legs faintly quivering still, and everything else appearing washed out besides the man at the end of the aisle waiting for me.

Distantly, I can see that the quickly thrown-together ceremony is beautiful, with white and yellow flowers scattered across the sands and an arch made from lake driftwood. A long white carpet leads to the arch so I don't get sand in my shoes, and the smattering of chairs lining each side of the aisle are surprisingly full. No one I know is here besides my father, who is dabbing his eyes as he starts to escort me to my new husband, but Xavier must have instructed his family to spread out so it wouldn't look so strange.

He's so thoughtful. He even found a way to drain almost all of the tension living in me before the ceremony. Except now there's a whole host of other emotions swirling inside of me, all stemming from how good his mouth had felt on mine … and between my legs.

I barely notice anything other than Xavier, but his father standing next to him catches my eye as well. Xavier had no groomsmen, but like me, his father stands with him, and it tugs at my heartstrings alittle. I met the man yesterday, and it was like all the puzzle pieces about this fly-by-night matrimony had fallen into place.

Salvatore Romano is tall like his son, and the breadth of his shoulders told me he had probably been broad in his youth, too. Illness had taken that from him, and he is thin and pale, but still strong enough to be next to his son on his big day. He had been kind to me when I spoke to him yesterday, taking both my hands in his and telling me over and over again how happy he was to welcome me to the family. Xavier told me when we were alone again that his father had been a hardass before he got sick, but the illness had softened him up.

The obvious affection between the two men and the joy on Salvatore's face made this farce feel almost worth it. If nothing else, I can see why Xavier is willing to go to any lengths to make him happy, even marrying a stranger.

Well, we're a lot less strangers after what just happened in the bedroom, at least.

I managed to clean my makeup up, wipe my lipstick off Xavier's face, but my hair was unsalvageable. I pulled it down from its updo and ran damp fingers through the stiff curls until they fell into soft waves. It looks intentional enough that no one will be able to suss out what the groom and I had been up to less than an hour ago.

Or at least I hope so.

The aisle seems a million miles long, but finally we make it to Xavier, and my father hands me off, sniffling audibly as if he doesn't know this is all bullshit. Xavier smiles, his teeth bright white, and the quivering in my legs intensifies.

Oh, it's going to be a long, long day.

The ceremony isshort and sweet, our vows identical and generic, but it gets the job done. I’m infinitely glad we already kissed and then some earlier, because it took most of the nerves out of our 'kiss the bride' moment, even if we both lingered longer than necessary.

Xavier and I still haven't had time to talk about what happened between us, but I have to keep reminding myself there will be plenty of time for that later.

Once the ceremony is over, the hired staff switches everything over, adding tables, a small bar, and a carefully assembled table of hors d'oeuvres. In a flash, a glass of champagne is shoved into my hand, and before I can blink, Xavier is gone, and I’m stuck talking to his numerous distant relatives. I rehearsed our agreed-upon story—meeting at one of my father's restaurants, falling head over heels for each other at warp speed—and I happily tell it over and over again, sneaking bites of smoked salmon crostinis and cucumber sandwiches when I can.

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