Page 289 of The Billionaires

“I like to start the newlyweds shoot with the Gaze Pose,” Kevin says. “It’s the one where the couple look deeply into each other’s eyes. It’s a great warmup for what follows.”

Complying, I meet Jane’s eyes and instantly get lost in their amber depths. As if from a far distance, I hear Kevin say, “Got it. Perfect. Now let’s do the next pose… The Kiss.”

CHAPTER 31

JANE

Another kiss?

With Adrian?

I still haven’t recovered from the one at the church—the best thing to ever happen to my lips… and the bits attached to them too.

That kiss was so universe shattering that I’ve had to keep reminding myself that this wedding is fake ever since. Which is why, if we kiss again, I don’t think I?—

Adrian’s lips touch mine, and my ruminations are short circuited. All I feel is his tongue gently penetrating my mouth, his hand on my lower back, his warm breath?—

“Turn her more to the right,” a voice—Kevin’s?—says, and even that doesn’t seem to ruin the moment.

Adrian keeps kissing me as I feel myself being deliciously manhandled into a more photogenic position.

“Great,” Kevin says. “Keep it up.”

Adrian deepens the kiss, and I feel like I’m floating out of my body—like my lips are the only physical part of me while the rest becomes as light as the ghost of a helium balloon.

Miss Miller—or rather Mrs. Westfield—finds this public display of affection gauche, even if performed with one’s lawfully wedded husband. Unless, of course, this is the start of a bedding ceremony to add legitimacy to the marriage, in which case it should proceed posthaste.

“That’s it,” Kevin says.

Adrian doesn’t stop, nor do I.

There are giggles in the room.

Kevin clears his throat a few times.

To my huge disappointment, Adrian gently pulls away.

Bringing my hand to my lips, I catch my breath.

My mom and grandma wink at me while my sister makes a gagging face. One of Adrian’s friends tells us to save some for the wedding night.

Speaking of said friends, they are almost as hot as Adrian himself—and he’s set the bar pretty high. Is this proof that the rich are secretly genetically engineering their offspring for good looks? It’s a better conspiracy than the one about Elvis walking on the moon instead of Neil Armstrong.

“Get some air,” Kevin says to Adrian. “I’m going to do some Jane-only poses.”

And so he does, first by snapping some pictures of me pretending to write my vows, then ones where I slip on my shoes. Next, a giant bouquet is brought over, and Kevin takes a picture of me staring at it like a hungry goat.

By the time I show off my veil and the train of my dress, I’m somewhat recovered from the kiss, and just in time because Kevin then announces that he wants us to do something called the V pose, and that it involves Adrian.

“Stand next to each other,” Kevin orders. “Hips touching.”

As soon as we comply, my breathing becomes heavier.

“Touch foreheads,” Kevin says.

Did he just say touch?—

Indeed. Adrian leans in, gazes warmly into my eyes, and grabs my hand.

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