The Hostage Bride [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONE Rico Valeron brought the long, powerful car to a smoothly purring halt outside the house and drew on the handbrake. Checking his watch briefly, he turned the key in the ignition, silencing the idling engine. He had plenty of time, he told himself, and settled back in his seat, waiting. From her bedroom, Felicity heard the sound of the vehicle's arrival just seconds before she heard her father hurry from the dining room into the hallway. 'Your car's here!' he called up the staircase, the sound of his voice echoing slightly. 'Are you ready?' Ami ready? she asked herself, looking into the grey eyes of her own reflection in the dressing-table mirror, then immediately away again. She didn't like what she saw in those eyes. They gave too much away. 'Fliss!' Joe Hamilton was getting impatient now. 'Did you hear me? The car's here—we should be going.' 'Just a moment!' Felicity had trouble forcing her voice to work, making it strong enough to carry from her bedroom to the ground floor. In spite of all her efforts it didn't sound right. It had no strength, no conviction. It didn't sound at all believable. Not at all the way a bride should sound in the moments just before she set out on her way to her wedding. But then this wasn't the sort of wedding she had ever planned. Not the one she had dreamed of as a young girl. The wedding she had created in her fantasies, lying awake in her bed in the throes of her first adolescent crush. Then, she had imagined herself as Cinderella or Queen Guinevere,