Page 286 of The Billionaires

My emotions are just mixed up because of how realistic this all seems.

Click.

There. That was someone snapping a picture—probably one of the paparazzi who thinks it was their stealth that helped them infiltrate this wedding, not my security team turning a blind eye.

I glance to my right, where my best-in-the-world security guard/nanny is holding Piper, her broad back blocking the pictures as I instructed her to do.

Jane and I have no choice but to end up in the tabloids, but my daughter’s privacy will not be violated.

I turn back to Jane just as she reaches me, and I can see that she looks overwhelmed, which makes me want to cancel this whole thing and give her a huge hug instead.

But no.

The show must go on.

“Dearly beloved,” says the priest. Or is he a bishop? “We are gathered today?—”

Jane lifts her veil, and seeing her feels like a sunrise during a vampire apocalypse.

The bishop continues his spiel. I only half listen until we get to the vows part, and he makes Jane say something that I presume she herself picked out from her Victorian repertoire.

Among other things, Jane promises to “obey me,” which sounds vaguely BDSM-y.

Like it, Yoda does.

“You may kiss the bride,” the bishop finally says.

I lay my hand on Jane’s lower back and pull her to me, the scent of guava with a subtle hint of begonia making my head spin.

As we look deeply into each other’s eyes, hers gleam—and the cameras begin to click just as I dip my head and claim her mouth.

The church seems to disappear. Jane’s lips are soft, pliant, and taste like strawberries. She’s also returning the kiss with unvirginal eagerness, which might be why I deepen it, invading her mouth with my tongue in the way I’d like to do with my?—

The bishop angrily clears his throat.

Cockblocker.

As I pull away from Jane, the crowd in the church goes wild, clapping, cheering, and whistling.

Between this kiss and the legendary honeymoon suite we have booked at the hotel, no one will have any doubt that Jane and I are going to consummate this marriage.

But, of course, we will not. I have to remind myself (and Yoda) of that.

“The carriage is ready,” the security guard holding Piper loudly whispers.

I kiss my daughter, wave at Jane’s family, then take my new wife by the hand and lead her down the aisle.

People pelt us with rose petals as we go. Isn’t it supposed to be rice? Must be some historical romance thing—as is the horse-drawn carriage outside with a bunch of old pots and pans attached to the rear bumper.

“Will you keep an eye on Piper?” I ask my new mother-in-law before she follows the baby and her bodyguard into the limo.

“It will be my pleasure,” she says with a wide grin. “Enjoy the ride.”

I smile at Jane. “How does it feel to be Mrs. Westfield?”

Jane moistens her kiss-swollen lips, but before she utters her reply, the carriage begins to move, creating a horrible noise that could deafen a corpse.

“I’m sorry,” Jane shouts over the clamor. “The pans sounded like a good idea when I read about them in my books.” Or at least, I think that’s what she says.

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