Chapter 2 - The Wedding NightThe heavy oak doors of the Montero penthouse suite clicked shut, locking out the noise of the city and the false congratulations of two hundred guests.
The penthouse overlooked the glowing city skyline. Floor-to-ceiling glass framed the full moon hanging over high-rise towers. Inside, the quiet was suffocating.
Elena stood in the middle of the master bedroom, still wearing her full bridal veil, her hands trembling against the lace of her gown. Ricardo unbuttoned his jacket, tossing it onto the armchair. He unbuttoned the top of his crisp white shirt, revealing a broad chest, his shadow stretching across the floor under the warm chandelier light.
He turned to face her, his dark eyes slow and deliberate as they swept over her.
“Take off your dress,” Ricardo said.
His voice was calm, devoid of passion or warmth. It hit her like a splash of ice water.
Elena stiffened, her jaw clenching. “What?”
“You heard me,” Ricardo replied, taking a slow step toward her. His hands went into his trouser pockets. “Take it off. We both know why you are here, Elena. There is no need to keep playing the tragic bride for the cameras.”
Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but pride held them back. “Is this what you wanted? To humiliate me the moment we’re alone?”
Ricardo stopped a few feet from her. His expression didn't soften, but a subtle flick of his brow betrayed something deeper. “I don’t care about humiliating you. That gown belongs to the Montero publicity machine. This room does not. Take off the dress so you can breathe, or stay in it and suffocate. It makes no difference to me.”
He turned his back on her, walking toward the glass bar to pour two fingers of bourbon.
Hands shaking, Elena reached for the hidden zipper along her spine. Her fingers fumbled with the delicate hook-and-eye closure. She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper, struggling against the heavy silk that held her hostage.
Seeing her struggle in the reflection of the glass window, Ricardo set his glass down. He walked back to her silently.
“Stop,” he muttered low.
Before she could pull away, his warm, calloused fingers brushed against the nape of her neck. Elena gasped softly, her breath hitching as his hands expertly worked the tiny silk buttons down her back. His touch was firm, surprisingly careful, avoiding touching her skin directly more than necessary.
The gown loosened, slipping down her shoulders and gathering around her waist in a pool of white satin. She was left standing in her white lace lingerie and her veil, vulnerable under the soft golden light of the bedroom.
May you like
Ricardo stepped back, his eyes steady on hers. For a fraction of a second, his breath caught, his gaze lingering on her exposed shoulders and the rise and fall of her chest before his cold mask snapped back into place.
“The master closet is on the left,” he said quietly, turning toward his dressing room. “Sleep whenever you’re ready. We have a press conference at eight tomorrow morning.”
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