The magistrate cleared his throat loudly

and intoned the opening words of the ceremony. Angelina strained to listen, but his words didn’t register.

She felt strange, as if she were standing outside her body and looking on. She’d acquiesced to their marriage because it was better than returning to Cuba and facing what her father had planned. Alejandro had promised she could live her life as she saw fit, running her factory without his interference. He’d even promised to end the marriage when her father was convinced to leave her alone.

But somehow, all his reassurances rang hollow. She was more than aware of their attraction to each other. How could they possibly withstand temptation, living together as man and wife? And if they succumbed to temptation, there would be no easy annulment. Even if they weren’t married by the Church, if they shared a bed, they were married in the eyes of God. And what if a child came of their union?

The magistrate, attired in a worn frock coat and soiled linen, said something about taking this man and stared at her. Trying to focus, she was like a fish out of water, completely out of her element.

Alejandro squeezed her hand.

She lifted her head and gazed expectantly at the magistrate.

The man met her gaze and frowned. Impatience colored the tone of his voice when he repeated, “Will you, Angelina Ximenes, take this man for your lawfully wedded husband? For richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to honor and obey?”

The word “obey” stuck in her mind.