Cedric had not expected such candor. Hadn’t expected his own reaction to it either, and it was clear from the look on her face that it had cost her. But he couldn’t imagine her hurting anyone. Yes, she was fiery and yes, she’d lifted a hand to him, but he had provoked her. And the electricity between them surely hadn’t helped. She didn’t seem a woman liable to flying off the handle, though, not when she’d seemed very cool around him-when he wasn’t provoking her, of course. What had happened to make her think it was an issue? And why did she call herself difficult? She hadn’t seemed difficult to him. A woman of deep passions, perhaps, but not difficult.
He wanted to ask her questions, find out why she thought these things about herself, but he didn’t want to make her distressed or agitated more than she already was. Perhaps there would be some time later, when they were on honeymoon. You don’t need to know. Why would you want to? Cedric shoved that thought away.
“Anna, I handle extremely difficult people every day. One fiery, passionate goddess is nothing.”
“I’m not a goddess,” She frowned, even as the remaining tension in her seemed to die away. “About the urmmm… Wedding night,” she said softly, “You said that we could wait until I was ready…”
“Yes?” he prompted when she didn’t say anything else.
“I don’t think I’ll be ready by next week. I know I agreed to it and I intend to keep my word but I don’t think I would be then, so could we please just…. Postpone it for a while longer…and we don’t have to have a honeymoon. Yes, I want to go to France…. I guess since I have never been there. But let’s just go to the estate after the wedding, and we can do all of that some other time,”
Cedric stared at her for a long moment. He wanted her… Badly, but the last thing he wanted was to have sex with her when she still had doubts, so he gave her fingers another squeeze then let them go. “We can still go to France if you want to, and we don’t have to have our wedding night next week if you don’t want to. I can wait. So… Is canceling the honeymoon really what you want?”
Anna was quiet for a while, but then she nodded, “For now, yes,” she said, “I’m sorry but the whole getting married thing is happening so fast and I feel quite overwhelmed already. I’d like to see France of course, but I’d rather we hold it off for now,”
Cedric nodded. He could see that the idea of a honeymoon and sex made her uneasy, and the last thing he wanted to do was make her feel obligated to have sex with him. He knew he wouldn’t enjoy it either if she wasn’t fully into it, so he said, “Whatever you want, Anna,” then to her relief, he changed the topic completely, “Now, let’s discuss something less problematic for a change. What are your thoughts on wedding gowns?”
__________
Over the course of the next week, as arrangements for the wedding began in earnest, Anna wondered from time to time if her confession in Cedric’s office had been a mistake. She’d never been so honest with another person before-she’d never had any kind of personal discussion with anyone before-and part of her had been very reluctant to confess to anything. But she could tell that he wasn’t going to let her reluctance go when it came to a physical relationship.
He was too observant to lie to and too experienced for made-up excuses. He knew she wanted him, she’d as good as told him, and so of course her clear agitation about the thought of sex was going to make him curious. She couldn’t bear for him to assume things, either, or think that the issue was him when it wasn’t. Or rather, it was him, but not for the reasons he thought. So truth had seemed to be the best option.
She hadn’t known what to expect when she’d told him about her terrible temper-some offhanded, casual comment perhaps. A shrug. Or maybe even distaste, because he didn’t seem a man given to overly emotional displays himself. What she hadn’t expected at all was for him to put his wine down and come over to her and take her suddenly shaking hands in his. And she hadn’t realized how agitated she’d been until that moment.
His hold had been warm and firm, feeling strangely like an anchor keeping her in place, and his attention had been wholly on her as she’d told him, his gaze direct yet without judgment. And it hadn’t felt as hard to confess such a terrible weakness as she’d first thought.
She’d thought he might ask her whom she’d hurt in the past with her anger, and she hadn’t wanted to tell him about her father, about the last precious photo of her mother that she’d torn up because she’d been so furious. Or about how her normally shut-down father had looked at her as if she’d stabbed him, and then clutched at his head and collapsed in front of her.
He’d nearly died that night. The doctors had told her that his stroke could have happened at any time, but she knew it was because of her. Because she’d ripped up the last photo he had of his beloved wife in a fury. Because she’d hurt him and had wanted to hurt him.
Luckily, though, Cedric hadn’t asked her and so she at least hadn’t had to confess that crime to him, and she’d been more than happy to move on to discussing gowns and other less fraught subjects.
He hadn’t pursued the topic, or the topic of sex either, clearly busy with wedding arrangements. He’d made various gracious invitations for her to join in with the decision-making process, which she just as graciously declined.
She didn’t want to be involved in it. The whole thing was a pointless performance, though part of her was curious as to whom exactly he was performing for. She certainly didn’t believe he’d suddenly decided on a formal engagement, complete with ring, plus a wedding, just for some photos.
No, it was about something more than that, but she tried to put it out of her mind. The very last thing she wanted was to become curious about her notorious playboy husband-to-be.