Stefano stood as well. Brielle continued to sit. For the first time, instead of looking defiant, she looked frightened. Elie held out his hand to her. She pressed her lips together.
“The house is outside the city, on the lake, Brielle,” Elie said. “It takes a bit of time to get there. Thank you, Stefano, for sorting this matter out for us. I appreciate you taking the time.”
Stefano came around the desk. “I suggest you continue to talk things out. Communication is imperative between you going forward. And, Elie, don’t forget you need to have bodyguards on you both when you’re not locked in with a security system. Make your bride very aware that is an absolute law she will be living with at all times.”
Elie inclined his head. “I am not about to forget anything regarding her safety.” He was fully aware that the reminder was more for him than for his bride.
CHAPTER FOUR
Brielle didn’t say one word on the long ride to Elie’s house. She didn’t know what to say. She was exhausted from the long flight and the shocking culmination of her arranged marriage. Never, in a million years, had she expected she would be married to Elie Archambault. She’d gone to great lengths to ensure she would never see him again.
She’d left her beloved country, France, and gone to Spain in order to get away from Elie and his apologies. She hadn’t been running from the things he’d said about her body, although of course his cruel, cutting words had hurt, but she was used to being belittled in worse ways by her parents and sister.
She’d sat on Jean-Claude’s couch, in his sitting room, burning with embarrassment that the Archambaults had vetted her, investigating her like some prize heifer, and then summoned her to be looked over by their prize bull. Elie’s unmitigated rejection stung, but then she’d gone there to reject him and all things Archambault. Let Fayette and her parents have them.
How was she going to explain that to Stefano or Elie? Thank God they didn’t ask the right questions and force her to confess her real reasons for not wanting to be married to Elie, but now she was in this terrible situation and she was too tired to figure out how to get out of it. Or even if she wanted to. That was the worst of it. What if she didn’t really want to get out of it?
It was too late anyway. He knew things about her she’d never wanted him to know. He was the one person on earth she hadn’t wanted to know the sexual preferences she’d answered so honestly about herself. There was so much more—the more she’d planned on confessing to her new husband if he was a good man and treated her right.
Fayette had told her so many lies. Brielle had reached a point she didn’t believe anyone. It was just that—what possible reason could Elie have for lying? She was no treasure, no prize. If Elie had a hidden agenda, she couldn’t see what it could be. Stefano Ferraro could hear lies even if she doubted herself. He had believed Elie. Now she had to resign herself to being married to him. First, she had to figure out how she felt about it and the revelations he had given to Stefano. She was just too tired to know how to feel anything at all.
Had he really stalked her? She certainly had stalked him. How could she not know he was doing the same thing? She had noticed he came into both of the places where she worked frequently, but she hadn’t noticed he paid her a lot of attention. He had apologized a million times to her, and he had told her he thought she was beautiful. She sent every letter back and eventually never received them because she’d gone to Spain. She didn’t dare be tempted by him. He was the one man she didn’t want to give her secrets to. Now here she was, married to him. And he was the kind of man who would never leave things alone. He’d find out every single secret she had.
She must have dozed off in the car because, the next thing she knew, he was waking her and she found herself stumbling a little as she made her way into a large, two-story house. Blinking sleepily, she did her best to take in the high ceilings and stone fireplace but he kept her moving toward the master bedroom and bath.
The thought of their wedding night had her heart suddenly beating out of control. She didn’t think she could handle the idea of physical intimacy between them, not as tired as she was. He opened a door for her and gestured.
“Master bath. Get ready for bed, Brielle. You look like you’re going to fall over any minute.”
She nodded and pulled her gown in after her so she could close the door behind her. It would be such a relief to finally take off the wedding dress. It had been comfortable when she’d first put it on, but now it felt heavy, as if it weighed a ton. The moment she was out of it, she was going to take a long, hot shower, or better yet, soak in that luxurious tub that had bath oils sitting on the edge of it.