Married to the Secret Billionaire

But then his arms are around me, and he’s kissing me, and I sink into him, lost in the sensation. We break apart, just far enough for him to rest his forehead against mine and gaze into my eyes.

“I gave up all my secrets for you,” he whispers.

“And I gave up mine for you.” I lean in to kiss him again, softer this time. “For better or for worse, we’re totally exposed to each other now.” I dare a small smile.

“Now and forever,” he agrees. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me onto his lap in the carriage. I slide my knees around either side of his waist and pull myself against him, as his arms circle my waist.

When he kisses me again, it’s the kind of kiss that could start fires. The kind that I know we’ll be able to keep burning for the rest of our lives together.

15

Sinclair

I fidget with the hem of the dress.

“Relax, Sinclair. You look gorgeous.” Margot catches my eye in the mirror of the dressing room and winks. “Ankor won’t know what hit him.”

I watch my reflection as I chew on my lower lip, clearly still unable to shake my nerves, despite the fact that a little part of me knows she’s right—I do look amazing in this dress. It’s white, simple but sleek and elegant, a flow of silk that falls from my shoulders and hugs my curves just enough to hint that they’re there, before it cascades down from my hips, ending just above the strappy, glittery sandals I chose today. Around my wrist is a bracelet Ankor’s mother leant me, something both borrowed and blue, since it’s dripping with sapphire gems that wink in the overhead lights.

Between that, and the beautiful curled updo Margot managed to do on my hair, not to mention my simple makeup with just a hint of pink to my lips and a faint shadow of smoke around my eyes, I look incredible. I feel incredible, being here, about to do this. About to tie myself to Ankor for the rest of our lives.

But there’s still just the tiniest hint of worry trailing me. After all, ever since the press caught a glimpse of the ring on my finger, they’ve been hounding us worse than ever. Tailing Ankor’s and my every step, trying to catch an idea of what we’re planning for the wedding.

Luckily, I think we managed to get one step ahead of them, coming here.

I take a deep breath of the warm, muggy tropical air, and straighten my shoulders. “Okay,” I tell Margot. “I’m ready.”

She hooks her arm through mine and leads me toward the steps.

We made it to the top before the butterflies return, for an entirely different reason now. We didn’t invite many people—just Ankor’s immediate family, and a few of the staff—most of whom seemed a lot less surprised than I think Ankor expected them to, to find out that their pool boy was somebody else in hiding. I wonder if a few of them always suspected. His car isn’t exactly incognito, after all.

Still, it’s a strange sensation to descend the main staircase of the resort I once ran away to, with all eyes on me.

Margot goes first, as my maid of honor, a simple bouquet in hand. We weren’t even going to go with flowers, but the hotel florist insisted on making us some.

I raise mine to my lips and breathe in the perfume of the passion flowers in my own bouquet. Then, the scent still lingering in my senses, I start to walk.

I catch a glimpse of Ankor’s old students clustered by the wall. Mrs. Jenkins winks at me, and even Ms. Humbolt waves, though I know she’d still love to be able to flirt with Ankor instead if she could.

Ankor’s parents are in the front row, heads turned toward mine. His mother daubs at tears on her cheeks, and his father is smiling so widely it’s a wonder his jaw doesn’t ache from it.

But then my gaze reaches the front of the room, and my stomach drops out from beneath me, and I forget about everyone else. I forget the audience, his family, our friends. I forget about the press, or any worries I had about them somehow finding out about today and ruining it.

They can’t. Nobody could ruin this.

Because there’s Ankor. Waiting beside the altar and the chaplain the resort loaned us, staring at me as I start down the aisle, looking at me like I’m the sun and it’s the first time he’s ever stepped outside in his life.

I know how he feels. I’m looking at him the same way right now.

My stomach does a flip, and I tighten my grip on the passion flowers in my grasp—the perfect symbol for us, the perfect reminder—then keep walking, slow and steady, gaze fixed on my fiancé’s.