Once Touched, Never Forgotten - By Natasha Tate Page 0,53
silence, her lungs tight. Seeing the weighty ring on her finger, knowing that he’d chosen it as a mark of ownership over her, she felt the tension in her chest increase even more.
You can do this. For Emma, you can do this.
Less than forty-five minutes later, after a hurried makeup treatment and style, Colette looked every inch the flushed, nervous bride. The stylists had coiled her hair into an ornate, pearl-encrusted upsweep that exposed her neck and left wispy strands of blond trailing along one cheek and her nape. Her dress—a gorgeous beaded silk sheath—cinched in at the waist, boned through the bodice, and ending two inches above her knees—made the most of her modest curves and exposed far too much of her chest and arms. Her new three-inch heels, a concession to femininity she rarely allowed herself, made her legs look like they went on forever.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she realized she’d never looked so beautiful. She bit her shiny coral lips, feeling like an utter fraud. What madness had she agreed to?
By the time she walked to Stephen’s elegant study and stood next to him before an elderly, rheumy-eyed justice of the peace, she felt trapped in a nightmare from which there was no escape. The panic Colette had been fighting for the past hour knotted in her chest, her breath so rapid and shallow it felt like she was hyperventilating.
Dizzy, her legs weak, and her hands clenching the small bouquet of flowers Stephen had gathered from his garden, she forced herself to remain at Stephen’s side without collapsing. Trembling, she locked her knees and faced the officiant.
Without shifting his focus from the justice of the peace, Stephen reached to collect her hand, aligning his warm, dry palm against hers. Stephen’s secretary and Janet, along with a beaming Emma garbed in smocked white batiste, served as the only witnesses to their union.
“We are gathered here to celebrate the union of Stephen Whitfield and Colette Huntington,” the officiant intoned as he surveyed their tiny group of five over a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. “We honor their commitment to each other, and to the future they will create together …”
As the ceremony continued, Colette was excruciatingly aware of Stephen’s fingers threaded between hers. He stood as still as stone, his profile serious and his posture erect. When it came time to exchange their vows, Stephen reached to collect her bouquet and then handed it to his secretary. Turning back to her, he claimed both her empty hands with his.
His blue eyes focused on her face, refusing to release her gaze, while he professed his intentions for their future life together. “I, Stephen, take you, Colette, to be my wife. I promise above all else to be honest and faithful, and to honor you as my partner and spouse. I promise to raise our children with love and devotion and to do my best to foster joy and peace in our home. I give you my hand, my support, my trust and my name as I join my life to yours.”
The knot in her throat turned into a boulder, and suddenly she couldn’t see through the tears misting her eyes. “I, Colette, take you Stephen, to be my husband …” Her voice shook, but she cleared her throat and made it to the end without falling apart.
And then it was time for them to exchange rings. Goosebumps rode her flesh as he slid a platinum band on her icy finger. His eyes remained on hers, steady and calm and somehow comforting, despite the surreal circumstances of their union.
“Just as this circle has no end, my commitment to you is eternal,” he promised, without a trace of unsteadiness in his voice. “With this ring, I take you to be my partner for life.”
Her gooseflesh grew into an uncontrollable trembling by the time she reached for his hand and pushed a matching ring down his long, tanned finger. The ring caught on his knuckle and a small smile lifted one corner of his mouth. He reached to help, and then bolstered her with both hands. She blinked, inhaled sharply, and whispered her commitment to the only man with the power to destroy her.
“… I now pronounce you man and wife,” concluded the magistrate. “You may kiss the bride.”
Stephen gently drew her close against his body and bent his head to hers. For a moment their breath mingled. And then his lips touched hers in a sweet, supple kiss that carried more