The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans 3)

In theory, today would be easier.

The photographers circling us made me feel like my performance had already begun, and I pulled my lips back into a bright, nervous smile. For the next ten hours or so, I’d be on stage, reprising my role of Marist Northcott the brand, not Marist Northcott the person. Hopefully, the smiles would come easier once my stage partner was at my side. Royce was an experienced actor, who’d cover up any forgotten lines and guide me through the scenes.

When the event coordinator opened the door and announced it was time, my heart clogged my throat. I clutched my bouquet tighter in my left hand and looped my right arm through my father’s, and he set his hand on top of mine in reassurance.

“Your mother and I love you very much,” my father said. “We’re so happy you’re happy.”

When his chin began to quiver, my eyes went wide. “Oh, God, Dad. Please. If you start, I’ll start.”

He nodded, blew out a long breath that seemed to even him out, and then we were off.

The music of the orchestra wafted up over the balcony as the processional concluded, and as my father and I made our way toward the top of the steps, the garden below came into view.

It’d taken a team of contractors five days to transform the space. Elegant white folding chairs were set in endless rows, twelve seats on each side of the wide center aisle, which was a boardwalk covered in flawless white. It led to a white, three-tiered platform at the front like a stage, and at the back of it rose an arbor, draped in gauzy curtains and decadent flower arrangements. It’d serve as the backdrop for the ceremony, and microphones had been hidden inside so everyone could hear us as we exchanged our vows.

The bridal party was already assembled. Emily and Sophia looked stunning in their pink dresses, and Vance and Tate were handsome as they stood on the platform steps in their tuxedos, sweating under the bright sun.

As my father and I appeared at the top of the steps, the guests’ conversations abruptly stopped, and they rose to stand. I was Medusa once more, turning the entire crowd into stone.

During the rehearsal last night, my father and I had been instructed to pause here for a minimum of fifteen seconds. My father had been told not to start us moving again until he received a wave from the head coordinator at the base of the stairs. I was supposed to use this time to get my first look at my groom—that way I wouldn’t be distracted while I descended the stone steps. It was precarious in four-inch heels, a full skirt, and a heavy train.

Fifteen seconds wasn’t nearly enough time.

Royce was so far away from me, but it didn’t matter. I could see his enormous grin from where I stood. I’d seen him in tuxedos before, but rather than the standard bowtie, he’d opted for a black silk necktie, tucked into a black vest, and covered with a classic matching jacket. It left only a V of his white shirt showing and drew my eyes up to his gorgeous face.

He made my heart stop, but as my father’s arm gently pulled me along, it started anew.

I smiled as we slowly descended the stairs, my teeth clenched with concentration and my long train and veil trailing behind us. When we reached the bottom, I felt the full intensity of everyone’s stares, but I had tunnel vision.

I only saw Royce.

And I wanted my father to move faster so I could get to my groom quicker. I couldn’t wait for the moment when my father would put my hand in Royce’s because I felt like I hadn’t touched my fiancé in a lifetime, and I was desperate to have the connection back.

After the rehearsal dinner last night, we’d said goodnight and slept in separate bedrooms in the same house for the first time in months. He’d texted me in the morning to say he hadn’t slept well, but only because he’d been missing me.

So, while he still hadn’t said the words, I believed in my heart he felt them. As I marched up the aisle toward him, he gazed at me with so much emotion in his eyes, it couldn’t be anything other than love.

He came down the three steps of the platform to meet us, waited for my father to give me a kiss on the cheek, then accepted my father’s hearty handshake. When my hand was finally set in his, electricity poured through me. I sighed in relief, feeling as long as Royce and I were together, there wasn’t anything that could stop us.

Not even Macalister Hale.

We walked together up the steps toward the officiant waiting for us, and when we reached our places, Emily and Sophia hurried to spread out my train and make it picture perfect as it cascaded down the platform’s steps. Royce stole a glance down at the unfamiliar ring on my right hand—and did a double-take. He gazed at the ring like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He lifted his confused, rapidly blinking eyes to mine, and whispered, “My mother’s?”