Jennifer Probst - The Marriage Mistake

“Hello, Mama.” She took the seat across from her. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to stop and see you before flying to Michael’s house. Also wanted to see this famous Vegas. Who would’ve known such glamour existed in the heart of the desert, no?”

“Yes. Hopefully I’ll get to show you around. But I have some exciting news for you first.”

“Yes?”

“Max and I are getting married.”

Carina handed it to her mama. The woman was a practiced poker player. Her face lit up and she clapped her hands together in pretend joy. “No! I did not realize you and Max were seeing each other. I am so happy, my dear. Wait till I tell your sisters.”

“Should we wait to marry in Italy or get married here?”

“Oh, definitely here. Look at this place—it is a perfect place for a wedding!”

“Mama, stop it.”

The older woman never flinched. Just stared at her with those steady dark eyes without a shred of remorse. “Stop what?”

“I know what happened, Mama. You found out Max and I slept together and you forced Max to ask me to marry him. How could you? How could you force a man to take me on like some kind of responsibility?”

Mama Conte sighed and pushed away her plate. She took her time and sipped at the strong espresso. “I did not mean to deceive you, Carina. I thought it would be more romantic if Max asked you without you believing it had anything to do with me.”

She gasped. “It has everything to do with you. Let me try to explain. Max and I spent the night together, but we don’t want a long-term relationship. We’re not right for one another. By threatening him with honor, you’re forcing him to make a choice he does not want. We can work this out. If you keep the whole thing to yourself, no one ever has to know. No one will get hurt.”

The woman who raised four children and built an empire narrowed her gaze and leaned in. Carina trembled under her dictating stare. “You do not understand. You slept with Max. I have not raised you or Maximus to run away from your responsibilities. Just because you come to America does not mean you lose your values. This must be made right.”

Carina’s heart beat so loud the sound roared in her ears. She breathed deeply and tried to treat it as a business deal she had to win at any cost. Unfortunately, her mother was the strongest opposition she’d ever faced. “Mama, I never meant to hurt you, but this is my life now. I cannot marry Max. You must understand that.”

“Why?”

“Because! Because we don’t care for each other like that. Because when two people have sex it doesn’t necessarily mean a lifetime commitment.”

Mama Conte nodded and crossed her arms in front of her. Her voice turned cold. “I see. Then you must answer me one question. If you are willing to hurt me and mock everything I did to raise you, every ethic and moral Papa and I believed in, you must promise to tell me the truth when I ask you this.”

Shame flooded her. Carina clenched her fingers and nodded. “I promise. Ask me.”

“Look me in the eye, Carina Conte, and tell me you honestly do not love Max.”

The breath whooshed out of her body like she’d been clubbed. Carina stared at her mother with a combination of horror and relief. Just say the words. Tell her very simply she did not love Max and she’d be off the hook. Sure, there’s be guilt, and her mother would be disappointed, but there would be no forced marriage. No false relationship or phony vows of affection they both didn’t feel.

I. Don’t. Love. Max.

She opened her mouth.

The years of growing up under her mother’s care flashed before her. After Papa died, her world collapsed on its foundation and it was hard to find her footing. Michael helped. But her mother was the rock that held it all together. An iron fist and a heart that beat pure gold, she stood beside her every night while she cried and told her stories of Papa, never afraid to talk about the man who was her lifetime love. She moved through her grief with honesty and a courage Carina swore she’d duplicate in honor of her mother.

As the words formed on her tongue, her heart screamed her a liar, and for a moment, she reached a turning point.

Her mother waited. Trusting she’d tell the truth. Trusting her to be real with herself and never act the coward.

She still loved Max.

The realization slammed her back. Grief and hopelessness flooded her body like a tsunami hell-bent on destruction.

Her voice broke. “I can’t.”

Her mother reached over and took her hand and squeezed it. “I know. You have always loved him. Knowing this, I must enforce this marriage, and you must try and find your way. Max has deep feelings for you, my sweet Carina. I will not allow him to deny himself or your chance. If you do not agree to this, I will call Max’s mother. I will tell Michael everything, and you will do more damage than you can ever know. Because you will break my heart.”

Her throat tightened and suddenly, she was completely drained. The fight slid from her muscles and she slumped on the chair. Like a child, she wanted to cry and crawl into her mother’s lap for comfort. But she was grown now, and had to face her own consequences and decisions.

There was no longer a choice.

She had to marry Max.

But she didn’t have to like it.

* * *

Carina knocked on his door.

Her weak heart exploded with lust and something deeper when he answered and stepped aside. Thank God he’d put on some clothes, but barely. The blue sweat shorts hung low and showed his washboard stomach. The matching T-shirt seemed old as dirt, and the worn fabric clung to his shoulders and chest like a lover.

She fought the impulse to lean in and drag in a breath of his scent—a mixture of soap, coffee, and a hint of musk. He’d showered and his hair was damp and neatly tamed back from his forehead.

“Well?” One bare foot was propped up on the other while he faced her.

“You were right. She wants us to get married.”

Carina waited for a vicious curse. A full-fledged panic attack. Anything to give her an excuse to break her mother’s heart and take the punishment. Instead, he nodded as if he already knew. “I figured. You want coffee?” He gestured toward the table set from room service. Silver domes lifted to reveal scrambled eggs and toast, and a full pot of coffee sat beside a vase with a single long-stemmed rose.

Her temper exploded. “No, I don’t want any goddamn coffee! And I don’t want a husband who doesn’t want me, either. Do you really want to do this? Do you want to be trapped in a permanent relationship you didn’t even choose?”

He lifted his cup and studied her. His face reminded her of a mask, completely devoid of any emotion. “Yes.”

“Why?”

He sipped the steaming brew. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Fury broke loose within and unleashed. “Fuck you, Max. I’ll marry you, but I won’t be your little puppet. Just remember I never asked for this. I don’t need your pity, or good intentions. I had my one perfect night and I don’t need another.”

She slammed the door behind her.

* * *

The day passed in a blur.

The La Capella chapel was a Tuscan-inspired space that fit perfectly. The rich earth tones, highly polished marble floors, and mahogany pews reminded her of home. Carina donned the simple white floor-length Vera Wang dress with numb fingers. Her mother fussed over her hair as if it were a real wedding, twisting the unruly strands into shiny fat curls. When she placed the pearl-crusted veil on her head and covered her face with the white film, no one saw the tears that sprung to her eyes.

She always imagined her giggling sisters around her and walking down the aisle to a man who loved her. Instead, she paused in the doorway and finally understood how her sister-in-law felt trying to conquer her panic attacks. Her stomach lurched, and perspiration broke out on her skin, making her itch.

Cheesy organ music drifted in the air, and Carina took a step back in her Ciccotti shoes, which had four-inch heels, real diamonds, and urged her to run. Hell, she’d be the runaway bride. Find a FedEx truck and hitch it out on a grand adventure. Change her name, go under deep cover and—

Her gaze slammed into his.

His whole aura screamed control. Piercing ocean blue eyes held hers and gave her the strength needed to drag in a breath. Another one. Her mother linked her arm firmly within hers, lifted her cane, and began the long walk down the aisle.

Never breaking his stare, he willed her to complete the walk until she stood before him at the altar. He was male perfection. Dressed in a crisp black tuxedo, with red accents and a rose in his lapel, he exhibited a lean grace and elegance.

He recited his vows in a voice that never shook. The seriousness of the moment conflicted with the impulse of her decision. Somehow, it didn’t seem real until she said the words. Her tongue stuck on the answer. Could she really do this? Marry a man who didn’t love her? The questions whirled and wreaked havoc with her head. A halting silence rushed over the chapel. Her mother tilted her head and waited. The blood roared in her ears, and she swayed on her feet.

Slight pressure from his fingers tapped her back. Slowly, he nodded. Encouraging her to say the words. Demanding she take the leap.

“I do.”

He slid the three-carat crown-of-light diamond onto her finger.

Claimed.

His lips were warm but his kiss was chaste. A formal ending to a ceremony that would change them forever.

Sawyer gave them a private dining room. A popular band played old Italian favorites, and they feasted on pasta, wine, and various appetizers. The cake was personally created by the Venetian’s pastry chef in honor of the wedding.

The next few hours unfolded for her as if she was outside herself. She smiled when necessary. Made calls to Max’s mother and her family to break the news. She forced squeals of happiness with her sisters, and painted a scene of their secret courtship that made her choke. All the while, Max never touched her. He barely glanced at her as they performed the mandatory dance. She guzzled champagne in an effort to forget until they finally made it to their room.

The king-size bed mocked her. Their lovemaking still clung in the air, or maybe it was just her imagination. He stood in front of her, dressed in his impeccable tuxedo, all his gorgeousness and grace so close yet galaxies away. Her body caved and melted under the sudden heat of his stare. “It is our honeymoon night.”

She imagined him stripping off her wedding dress and panties. Parting her thighs. Dipping his head to suck and lick until he finally pushed deep inside and made her forget everything except the way he made her feel.

She grabbed the bottle of champagne chilling in the holder and a glass. Kicked off her shoes. And smiled mockingly.

“Here’s to us, Maxie. Good night.”

In a fit of temper, she saluted and sauntered away with the champagne. Closed the door and locked it. Slumped against the wall in her wedding dress.

And cried.

Two weeks later, Max realized his life was different.

Max enjoyed order and simplicity. His bedroom reflected his lifestyle, full of cherrywood furniture and spartan decorations. Now, the darkness exploded with touches of light—a tangerine throw rug over hardwood floors, a frilly pink scarf hung on the hook behind the door, the spill of glass bottles with fragrance and a clutter of shoes clustered in the corner.

His private bath now smelled of cucumber, melon, and fresh soap. His razor had been moved from the cabinet and was replaced by bottles of lotion and creams. As he made his way down the spiral staircase and into the living room, he noticed a few celebrity magazines lying on the sofa next to an array of romance novels with sexy covers. Max scooped one up to move it into the bookcase, but decided to peek. After he read the scene, he wondered why his face felt suddenly hot. He quickly shelved it and walked into the culinary kitchen.

Empty, except for the spill of bread crumbs on the white granite counter like a little mouse. He followed the trail down the hall and toward the back. She had claimed the sunroom as her new workspace and seemed to spend endless hours here. Max tapped on the door and opened it.

She stood in the spill of light in the center of the room, staring at a blank canvas. He rarely used the space other than for storage, but she descended in a whirl of organization. Boxes disappeared, shaded blinds were ripped down, and the wallpaper torn off. Now, new life breathed into an artist’s haven with sun streaming through the bay windows and onto rich peachy walls, and endless storage shelves filled with supplies. He’d hooked up the music system, and Beyoncé ground out sexy lyrics at high volume.