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fingers as they gently squeezed hers.
Registry staff were their only witnesses, and the ceremony was basic,
simple and quickly over. Still, she felt hypocritical. When it was
Quinn's turn to speak his voice was low and harsh and he didn't look
at her, but down at their joined hands. Then he slid a narrow gold
band onto her finger and she felt a small, cold shock. The action
seemed irrevocable somehow, though she knew the ring was a lie,
that this whole thing was false. Her fingers trembled, and Quinn
closed his hand about hers again.
His eyes lifted, met hers, and for a moment time seemed to stop. His
face was grave, his gaze steady and dark. Compelling, as if he was
afraid she wanted to run away, and was trying to keep her there by the
sheer force of his will.
The registrar beamed at them, pronouncing them husband and wife,
and Quinn hesitated, then he cupped her chin in his free hand, bent
and kissed her.
Expecting a mere brushing of lips, she was surprised that his mouth
lingered for seconds, firm and warm on hers, while he held her.
Taken unawares, she found a disturbing tide of heat racing through
her body before Quinn drew back and smiled down at her, his
eyebrows quirking slightly upward when he met her widened eyes.
The registrar closed the book, the witnesses congratulated them and
shook Quinn's hand, and they were ushered out.
On the street, Quinn said, 'The worst part's over.
You look as though you could do with a drink, Mrs Branson. Did you
have breakfast?'
Stefanie shook her head, hiding an odd sensation in her midriff at his
use of the title. 'I didn't even think about food this morning.' She'd
been too strung up.
Quinn found a cafe and got sandwiches and muffins with coffee,
urging her to eat.
Stefanie had a sandwich, and it awakened her appetite.
'Not much of a wedding breakfast, I'm afraid,' Quinn apologised.
'Maybe I should have found somewhere more fancy.'
'It wasn't a real wedding,' she objected. 'This is fine.' To prove it, she
took a muffin and split it.
'I'm sorry to have put you through that.' Quinn's eyes searched hers.
His voice low, he asked, 'Was it very hard for you?'
Certainly it hadn't been the wedding she'd planned only weeks ago.
And he obviously realised she couldn't help comparing this morning's
stark legal ritual with the lifelong vows she would have exchanged
with Bryan in a flower-filled church, with her father to escort her
down the aisle, her bridesmaids attending her, her mother and friends
looking on. 'It's all right,' she said. 'It wasn't so bad.' It couldn't have
been easy for-him, either. Had he been thinking of Noelle when he
slid his ring onto her finger?
At that, a peculiar hollowness seemed to settle in her chest. Maybe
he'd been thinking of Noelle when he 'kissed her after the
ceremony closing his eyes and imagining Noelle had just vowed
her love and life to him.
Noelle would have kissed him back instead of being stricken
motionless with surprise.
Quinn glanced at his watch. They were flying out later that day. 'We'll
pick up your things and then mine,' he said. 'If you have any
last-minute shopping to do we could spare an hour or so.'
'I don't think I need anything more.' She'd done a bit of extra
shopping, but had tried to keep her luggage minimal. 'I'd like to phone
home before we take off.'
'Have you told them about this?'
'I said I had a job on Busiata, and got them to send some clothes and
stuff down here for me. But they'll want to write to me, so...I guess I'll
have to tell them if I'm going to be known as Mrs Branson.'
Quinn frowned thoughtfully. 'Busiata is a very conservative society,
and they'd certainly wonder about a married woman keeping her own
name. But...I have the impression your mother and your younger
sister, anyway, may not be souls of discretion.'
It was true but, 'How do you know?'
'You've talked about them. You were the responsible older sister who
looked after the younger ones, lent them a sympathetic ear and got
them out of trouble. Gwenda's the practical, take-charge one who gets
things done, and Tracey's at the emotional teenage stage. She's more
like your mother, and I gather you and Gwenda take after your father.'
Stefanie hadn't realised she'd told him so much, or that he'd listened
so carefully. She had never described her family in those words, but
his assessment was basically correct. Tracey or her mother was likely
to tell one other person in the greatest of confidence, and then be
astonished and disbelieving that the secret had got out. 'I don't know
what we can tell them,' she said, 'if I have to use your name.'
He glanced around as if looking for inspiration. 'Would your family
accept that you married me on the rebound?'
'They'd certainly be surprised.' She'd never been the impulsive sort.
'And hurt that I hadn't invited them to the wedding. I'll have to let
them know it's only a...a makeshift marriage.'
He frowned. 'I know the chances seem remote, but the more people
who know the real story, the more likely that someone on Busiata will
hear of it. Besides, I don't think you want it spread about Ratanui.'
The news would fuel gossip anyway, but she'd prefer people didn't
know it was a purely practical pretend marriage. Still... 'Who's going
to believe it's the real thing? Barely three weeks after...'
'It won't be the first time people have married within weeks of
meeting. Come to think of it, we met months ago, and you've been in
Wellington for a while. No one will know we haven't been seeing
each other all that time. It's not impossible that we found mutual
comfort in our sorrow and decided to marry. Or even that we were
attracted to each other before, and relieved to be free to follow our
mutual desire.' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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