Chapter 4
The bells rang a magnificent wedding zvon.
Kate stood on the church stairs beside her new husband. Her mother’s three strands of pearls that had been gifted to Kate as a wedding present felt as if they were choking her. That her mother had taken over the organising and had even given her pearls as if it were a real wedding hurt Kate deeply.
That her brothers could shake Isaak’s hand and congratulate him made her feel ill.
This, Kate vowed, would be the last time she would help them.
In respect to Ivor, and to Roman’s late wife, the reception would be a short one but the gorko, which translated to bitter taste, was the main part she had been dreading about the day.
The wedding she had managed to get through. The honeymoon would be a pleasure, for she couldn’t wait to see Isaak’s reaction to her news but it was the one kiss she had agreed to with Ivor that was causing butterflies for Kate now.
“You look very beautiful,” Isaak said as they took their seats at the reception table. He had already told her once as they stood in the church door holding candles, but he said it again for she did.
And yet, Isaak had thought when he had first seen her, the dress, which belonged in her family, wasn’t quite the right style for her subtle shape and he missed the freckles on her nose that had been removed by the makeup artist. Her hair had been smoothed and carefully pinned when Isaak had preferred her in curls.
“Soon they will shout gorko,” Isaak said, “and then—”
“Your uncle explained what would happen.”
It had been the part she had dreaded for her and Ivor’s lips had never met, but it was tradition for the newly married couple to down shots of vodka and kiss for a long time to take away the taste of bitter.
She was dreading it for different reasons now.
The thought of kissing Ivor had revolted but the thought of kissing Isaak deeply unsettled Kate in different ways.
It terrified her in fact.
Deny it all she might but there was no mistaking he was an incredibly attractive man and Kate actually didn’t like her body’s response to him—it was a part of her that she had quashed many, many years ago and she had no intention of resurrecting it for a man who paid.
Two crystal glasses were filled with vodka.
Kate drank it down in one and pulled a face.
“Now we smash the glasses.” Isaak smiled at her pained expression as she tried to swallow down the strong liqueur.
They threw down the glasses, and they shattered in many, many pieces.
“That means we will have a long and happy life,” Isaak said, pulling his bride into him and feeling her tension. He tried to make her smile, “or a long and happy year,” he whispered into her ear.
The vodka burned her tongue, her chest, and her stomach but she would take another shot more readily than the mouth that was nearing hers.
It was a kiss worth three million, yet all she wanted to do was run, except his hand was on her waist and the other cupped her chin and his deep blue eyes held her nervous gaze.
“Relax,” he whispered and then his mouth dusted hers.
He was very, very gentle, just nudging her lips at first as the crowd urged them for more.
Kate told her lips to move but it was more the hand on her waist that disconcerting. She could feel the warmth and the slight pressure that was slowly shifting her closer into him.
Then his mouth opened a fraction and softly he slipped in his tongue.
He felt her startle, which she did, for it felt like an invasion.
At first.
Wet, warm, he stroked her tongue intimately as his hand guided her in to the lean length of his body.
“Gorko,” the crowd urged and the ringing of spoons on glass were drowned by her heartbeat as her mouth finally gave into him.
His kiss burnt not just her chest or her lips now, for there was a fire spreading low in her stomach, a fire she had glimpsed but once and now it returned to the stir of his tongue.
Isaak felt the trip in her, the resistance that faded, and at the first glimpse of her passion triumph surged. Yes, Isaak thought as her kiss deepened, as the audience cheered and clapped for they could stop now, yet they continued on. He kissed her harder, his tongue sworded hers, but then she halted things and pulled back startled.
Deny, deny, Isaak thought as he looked at her cheeks, flushed despite the makeup and he watched Kate run her tongue over shining wet lips. “Now we dance.”
It was a slow torture for Kate.
Her breathing had not settled from their kiss and now his palm pressed into the small of her back as they swayed slowly on the dance floor.
Her scent had become pleasingly familiar, and Isaak lowered his head and breathed in the light floral notes. It was really the only part of her that he recognised today. He recalled their kiss, that moment just near the end of it where their minds had engaged and yes, he wanted away from the wedding party.
He wanted to better acquaint himself with the mystery that was the bride in his arms.
She could feel his erection against her stomach, and it revolted her that so easily he could harden for the woman in his arms that he considered a whore. Yet, again, there were the feelings she had briefly encountered in their kiss, a rare yearn for passion, for this beautiful groom to be hers, for this lie to be real.
She tripped a little and his hands steadied her.
“I am looking forward to our honeymoon,” Isaak said, his hand pressing her to him, his mouth lowering so she could feel his breath on her ear. “I am looking forward to tonight.”
Kate pulled her head back and smiled into his eyes as she answered Isaak, but it was a smile of spite for what was to come. “So am I.”