Page 34 of Tempted By the Bosshole

“She’s unmarried? What is wrong with these Gen Z dudes? If I were young and single, I’d snap her up.”

Despite my nerves, I smile. “I’m not sure she wants to be snapped up and tied down.”

“Ah. Well, back in my day, I would have made that fun.”

I know. Steve and I share a lot of the same proclivities. “What about Laurel?”

“Oh, I’m just expressing surprise at the no-dick dipshits of her generation. I love my wife. I don’t want anyone else.”

“Good, I’d have to beat your ass,” I whisper.

Steve huffs. “You and what army?”

“I don’t need an army, bro.” I slap him on the back with a laugh.

Jen reaches the altar, and I smile, holding out my hand. “I’m Nate. Nice to officially meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.” She shuffles her bouquet, and we shake. “If you break my friend’s heart, I’ll kill you.”

Her fierceness makes me smile. “You can stop sharpening your claws. I only want to take care of Isabella.”

As she takes her spot on the other side of the altar, I see the wheels turning in her head. “If that’s true, then…thanks for this morning. She needed the help you sent, especially Laurel.”

I have my suspicions about why, but before I can ask, the music swells again, a dramatic trumpeting announcing the bride. I drink in the vision in white that emerges at the end of the aisle.

Isabella literally takes my breath away. “Fuck me…”

“She’s beautiful,” Steve seconds. “Congratulations.”

I know my brother; he still has reservations, but he’ll shelve them and support me. And I love him for that.

But I hate for my bride’s sake that she had no one to walk her down the aisle. That’s Douglas Shay’s fault, not mine.

With every trembling step, Isabella comes closer. She’s visibly nervous. Even her hand shakes when she takes my outstretched one.

With a squeeze, I pull her to my side. “You look stunning.”

She turns to me, seemingly on the verge of tears, then whips her gaze to the officiant, tuning me out.

What did you expect? You’re forcing her to get married…

“Dearly beloved…” the older man drones like someone who performs this ceremony twenty times a day.

I ignore him. I know the drill. I know the gravity of the words we’re about to speak. Does Isabella?

We exchange vows, and I slide her diamond wedding band on her finger. No telling what will happen next, but if she’ll give me a little time and a little trust, I’ll do my best to make her happy. If she doesn’t…we’re in for a long death do us part.

Finally, the officiant prompts me to kiss the bride. I lift her veil. The silver paths of her tears are like a stab to my heart as I cup her face and thumb away her tears. “Kiss me, wife.”

Isabella blinks before her eyes slide shut obediently and she offers me her mouth. I’m not fooled. If we were alone, she’d probably tell me to go to hell. And I would deserve it. But she’s too polite or too embarrassed to make waves in public, so she sweetly complies, her lips clinging to mine as I claim her for the rest of our lives.

Then the officiant pronounces us mister and missus before we make our way down the aisle again, hand in trembling hand. Camera lights flash. Jen and Steve bring up the rear.

“You really do look beautiful,” I murmur.

My bride turns to me, tears still clinging to her lashes. “I don’t understand. Why?”

Why go to the trouble of marrying her? Of having a lavish wedding? “Because you’re mine. I’ll never let you go. And I want the world to know it.”

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