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It had been a long day and it wasn’t even noon. You and Titus had been married for less than a week, though no one was aware of that save for the few Le Bail followers that had been invited to the satanic ceremony. Now, Ursula had you running around planning the public wedding that you very much did not want.
You’d never been one for pomp and circumstance. In fact, you’d always imagined if you married you would elope somewhere tropical, just you and the groom and perhaps a witness or two. Ursula demanded a public spectacle. “Danforths do not elope,” she’d said and walked out of the room to end the conversation.
You were on your way to the dining room where you were to have a “working lunch” as she’d put it. Apparently, it was vitally important you pick the table linens today. You hated this, every aspect of it. And to make matters worse, you hadn’t seen Titus all day. He’d left before dawn to take care of some business and had given no indication of when he’d return. Lucky bastard.
As you passed a cross hallway, a heavy familiar hand pulled you sideways. You found yourself with your back against the wall, Titus leaning into you with his hands braced on the wall above your head. He pressed his lips against yours and gave you a slow, lingering kiss. When he finally pulled back, he gave you a crooked smile. “Hello, sweetheart.”
Your fingers flexed feeling the broad expanse of the chest beneath your hands. “Hello, Titus. You’re going to make me late for lunch with your sister.”
He huffed in irritation before tracing the line of your neck with his lips. You tilted your head to give him better access. When he reached your ear, he paused. “Canceled.”
“And did your sister agree to that?” The words came out breathy and broken. Gods, what this man did to you.
“She didn’t have much of a choice.”
Realizing he was serious, you pushed against his chest. He allowed you to put a small amount of distance between you. “What did you do, Titus?”
“You and I are leaving tonight for the Mediterranean. We will have a very small, private ceremony, photos of which will be sent to the press. Then we will proceed to travel anywhere you wish for eight weeks.” His eyes studied your face, undoubtedly looking for any sort of disagreement.
“There is no way Ursula agreed to this.” She had been the one screaming about protocol and appearances. If it was up to you, you’d share nothing of your marriage with the rest of the world.
He straightened, looking immensely proud of himself. “That, dear wife, is the genius of my plan. Upon our return, we will host a reception here at the estate. I have informed Ursula that she is in charge of absolutely everything except your dress. That we are leaving every detail in her very capable hands.”
“Are you telling me that in one morning you have arranged for us to have a two month honeymoon and shoved all of these inane decisions off on your sister and she’s okay with it?” You couldn’t keep the hope from tinting your voice.
“I dare say she’s thrilled, actually.”
You lunged at him, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. “You are the best husband.”
He hummed against your lips as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Remember that. Now, we have much to do if we want to leave on time.”
Your fingers played with the fringe of hair at his neck. “I don’t know, Mr. Danforth. I’d say we have time for a little distraction.”
His smile turned smug. “Whatever my lady wishes.”