The Silver Bride

'They'll settle out of court and print a retraction. They will also make some worthy charity a most handsome donation.' Dior gazed searchingly at the pale delicacy of her set profile and curved her even closer.

'And before I'm finished with them, they'll also reveal their source. Stella glanced at him in sudden hope, and then her eyes fell again.

'Journalists never do that.' 'You'd be surprised what they do behind closed doors when the pressure is great enough,' Dior asserted wryly. 'How are you feeling now?' 'That...that I want to be on my own,' Stella confessed ruefully. Dior tensed. 'I'm sorry. I just do.'

Gently detaching herself from him, Stella rose to her feet. 'I'll go for a walk.' 'I'll come with you.' Stella skimmed him a pained glance. 'No.' She could see his frustration, feel it. And she loved him so much. If she didn't she wouldn't be in so much pain.

But she needed time to wind down and come to terms with what had happened between them. Stella took the path down the beach house. Once she reached the warm soft sand on the beach, she kicked off her shoes and walked along through the surf whispering onto the shore.

The sun shone blinding silvered reflections on the sea. It was hotter than it had been on her last visit. But she loved the heat. It seemed to drive out the chill inside her.

Here they were on the very first day of their honeymoon and Aria had already practically torn them apart, she reflected with a shiver. Dior had indeed been outraged by such lurid invasive publicity.

And, whether she liked the role or not, Stella now knew that she had become Dior's Achilles' heel. He was a very proud man, and she didn't want him to be any less proud. But they had had yet another violent and destructive argument and she had got precisely nowhere.

How many more could they afford to have before Dior decided that their marriage had no future? Stella was far along the beach, sitting in the shade of a rocky outcrop when she saw Dior striding towards her with lithe, long-limbed grace. He was carrying a picnic hamper. 'I did ask to be on my own,' Stella reminded him gently.

'You've been on your own for three hours, Yinka Mou.' hazel green eyes held hers levelly. 'Now you need to eat.' 'Did the book Maxwell made the mistake of giving you tell you that too?' His lean, strong face clenched. 'So I want to be with you...is that a crime?' Involuntarily, Stella softened. 'No, I want to be with you too.'

'Only not enough to come back to the villa.' Stella considered that point and sighed. 'I have to admit that sometimes I get a kick out of making you run after me.' Dior looked startled. Then an appreciative laugh escaped him. 'I have never heard a woman admit that before.' 'Don't be slow, Dior.

Or was he simply more pragmatic than she was prepared to acknowledge? A frown drew Dior's level dark brows together. 'What are you thinking about?' he demanded. Stella gave him an innocent look. 'You,' she said with perfect truth. A look somewhere between male p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e and wariness formed on Dior's bronzed features, sunlight turning his eyes into reflective mirrors.

'Your expression seemed rather hostile—' 'I was just thinking that I want us to hang onto our marriage,' Stella assured him piously. The wary edge evaporated.