Dear Future Ex-wife

We stop in front of Nate.

His smile reaches up to his emerald irises.

My dad turns to face me and brushes my cheek with his fingers. He smiles, a real one for once. Who is this person? An alien must have inhabited my father’s body. Since when is he so… loving. Like a real father. He gives me a hug that drains the air from my lungs. When was the last time we did this? He’s really pulling out all the stops for Carl Voss.

“She’s all yours,” Dad says to Nate.

Nate’s gaze is so intense and unwavering as he slips his fingers between mine.

He presses his lips to my ear and whispers, “You look incredible, Harley. You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

I grin in response.

Nate gives me one of his signature smirks that I return as we take our places in front of the minister. My palms are sweaty, and my hands are shaking like a leaf.

This is happening.

I’m getting married.

Holy shit.

“I need to know one thing.” Nate leans closer, so only I can hear. “Are you keeping McQueen?”

A wave of nausea sweeps over me. I take a deep breath as he slides his hand down my arm, clutching my elbow as he pulls me closer. He wants to know if he won the bet, if I’m in love with him. Should I follow my heart and take the plunge? Standing in front of a minister, dressed in the wedding gown I designed with my friends and family in attendance, I know the answer. Nate promised my dream wedding, and he delivered. I thought real love was like something from a fairy tale, only to discover the person I was looking for all along was right in front of me.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I whisper.

“Never,” he breathes.

“Harley King,” I say, clearing my throat. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Nate’s face illuminates from his smile, and before I can stop him, he grabs the back of my head, fisting my curls as he kisses me.

“You’re supposed to wait until after you say ‘I do,’ jackass,” Reid says from behind Nate.

Some of the people in the crowd clap and cheer. Nate peels his lips from mine, giving Reid his middle finger behind his back.

We face each other, hands joined and smiles plastered on our faces, vowing to love each other until death do us part. The service is quick. Our vows are scripted. And before I know it, we’re repeating after the minister and sliding wedding bands onto each other’s fingers.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the minister says with a thick Caribbean accent. “You may kiss the bride.”

Hopped up on adrenaline, my body goes into overdrive. My pulse pounds so loud I can hear it in my ears. Nate cups the sides of my face with his big hands. We stare at each other, exchanging a look that doesn’t require words.

And then he kisses me.

I get lost in the moment with Nate, ignoring the crowd watching us, consumed by passion as I grip his jacket in my hands, needing his closeness. Not until someone brings their fingers to their mouth and whistles do I realize we took the kiss a little too far. I can hardly breathe when our lips separate.

The wedding is fake, but the kiss…

Our love. Our story.

It is so damn real.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Harley

When I was a little girl, I imagined myself in this exact gown with my best friend at my side. At the time, I didn’t know Nate would be my husband. I just knew I wanted him there. My heart swells with love and happiness every time I glance over at Nate, my husband.

Directly after the ceremony, we had a two-hour cocktail reception for our guests while we took pictures with our bridal party. Jonathan McQueen, of course, looked like the doting, loving father in our family portraits. He’s about as real as the characters from his video games. The rest of our friends and family were on their best behavior.

Nate hooks his arm around my back, digging his fingers into my hip as he steers me through the crowd. For the past twenty minutes, we thanked each of our guests for making the trip. I even got a weird, wet kiss from Nate’s aunt Helen. She welcomed me into the family, claimed she always knew we would marry. Which was weird because today was only the third time I have met her. She’s the eccentric aunt that never gets invited unless it’s a formal family function like a wedding or funeral.

“On your five o’clock,” Nate whispers into my ear.

I glance in the direction and find Carl and Sonja Voss making a beeline for us with flutes of champagne in hand.

“Carl,” Nate says as we meet them halfway. “Sonja.”

The Vosses beam with delight, offer us champagne, and then Carl is the first to extend his hand to Nate.