Married to the Secret Billionaire

On my future husband’s.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” The chaplain keeps talking. We read his speech ahead of time, and both approved. It’s sweet, a talk about how love endures and overcomes any obstacle. About how it brings hidden things to light.

It was perfect. But I’m glad I read it ahead of time, because I couldn’t possibly pay attention now. Not with Ankor looking at me like that, his gaze roaming over my dress, his eyes searing hot.

You look incredible, he mouths, slowly, so I can read every word on his lips. Just looking at them move reminds me of everything he does to me with that mouth, and it sets my face on fire, sends a pulse of desire through my body, and makes me tighten my grip on the flowers again.

I want to be holding him instead.

Soon I will be. Soon, we’ll never have to let go again.

“Do you, Sinclair, take Marco Ankor Helmtree to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

My breath catches in my throat. “I do,” I whisper.

“And do you, Marco Ankor Helmtree, take Sinclair to be your wife, from now until the end of your days?”

“I do,” he replies, and I can’t look anywhere but at those searing eyes of his, fixed on me, pinning me in place. Making my heart beat so fast I feel like I could fly right now.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the chaplain says, somewhere in the distance, but I hardly even hear it. I’m already falling into Ankor.

Our lips meet, hot and hard and fast. I sink against him, melt into him, my lips parting beneath his as he kisses me deeply, one arm hooked around the small of my back, the other tracing up to cup my cheek, brushing a single curl of my hairdo that escaped behind my ear.

It’s only when we finally, finally break apart that I even register the cheering and clapping from the rest of the room. We got married in a little side room off the main section of the resort complex, with a stunning view out over the ocean. The resort insisted on catering for us, and as I twine my fingers through Ankor’s and we start down the aisle, unable to look at anyone but each other really, I can already catch the scent of the delicious food wafting in through the double doors at the back of the makeshift chapel into the reception area.

He squeezes my fingers, and I squeeze back, leaning into him. Soon, the rest of our friends and family will close in. This will turn into celebrations, cheering and toasting and drinking to one another and our story. But for now, for this moment, as we process down the aisle, our hands entwined… It’s just me and him. Only me and Ankor in the whole wide world.

And right now? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Epilogue

Sinclair

I grimace, my forehead beaded with sweat, and grip Ankor’s hand tighter. So tight I swear I’m probably hurting him, but at this point, I don’t care. I let out a low groan through gritted teeth.

“Almost there,” he whispers against my cheek, and it only makes me clench my fists harder.

“Dammit, why did I agree to this?” I hiss through my still-clenched teeth, which only makes his smile bigger, damn him.

“Because you’re my brave warrior,” he points out, kissing my cheek. If I wasn’t in so much pain, I might be tempted to smack him.

But then the sound stops, and the wave of pain recedes, and I look up with a sharp inhale. “Is it done?” I ask. In the mirror, I can see my reflection, lying prone on the table with Ankor beside me, holding my hand in both of his.

Behind us stands the tattoo artist. “It’s done. Honestly, that was your first tattoo? Most people cry or faint.” He laughs. “You did great.”

I blink a few times, shifting my shoulder experimentally. The movement makes me wince a little, but it’s mostly just anticipation. Now that the needle itself isn’t digging under my skin, it doesn’t hurt so bad anymore. In fact, now that I think about it, it was more the anticipation that made it bad, not the actual tattooing itself. “Honestly, it didn’t hurt as much as I expected,” I admit.

Then he catches my eye in the mirror with a grin. “Ready to take a look?”

I inhale sharply and nod. I’m even able to relax my death-grip on Ankor’s hand—although I’m still not quite ready to let him go just yet.

I keep holding his hand as I move my quivering legs toward the edge of the table, ready to sit up, though I’m nervous about what I’m about to find on my back.

Ankor, of course, peeks over my shoulder first. I watch in the mirror as his eyes go wide, and he smiles.