That night, when she’d gotten into the gondola with the enigmatic stranger, she’d known they would end up in bed together even if she hadn’t fully admitted it to herself. Tonight, she was admitting it. And she wanted it so desperately her skin tingled with anticipation. It didn’t matter that she’d been furious and hurt earlier. Nothing mattered except that she’d stood in that tiny chapel and promised to love, honor and cherish until death do us part, while her heart thrummed and her palms sweated and the man standing beside her gazed at her with piercing silver eyes. They were in this together now, officially, and tonight was their wedding night. She couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. She was a married woman, the marchesa di Casari, and her family had no idea. Guilt slid deep into her bones. Renzo would hit the roof when he found out. Thank God that wouldn’t be for another couple of weeks at least—more if she was lucky. Still, she had time to figure out how to tell everyone what she’d done.
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