Page 293 of The Billionaires

“Isn’t that where the wedding night is to take place?” Jane’s grandmother asks, her frown deepening.

“We have a honeymoon suite,” Jane says proudly. “In this hotel.”

“The honeymoon suite.” Jane’s grandmother gives me a disturbingly lascivious wink. “I hope it has a swing.”

She means a sex swing, right? Jane must think so too, because her cheeks deepen in color.

“A swing?” Mary asks curiously. “Why would the suite have?—”

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” Georgiana says sternly, then leads her mother away, none too gently.

"But seriously,” Mary demands. “What’s the swing for?”

Jane gulps down a champagne flute. “I’ll explain when you’re much, much older.”

“Eww, don’t,” Mary says. “I don’t want swings ruined for me, ever.”

As my little sister-in-law departs, the DJ announces that the cake is ready to be cut, so Jane and I head over to do the honors.

As per the tradition, I wrap my hand over Jane’s—and, not surprisingly, I want to forego eating the cake and eat something that promises to be even more sweet.

Jane’s pussy, in case that wasn’t clear.

But I can’t. For reasons. Good ones—even if I can’t exactly recall what they are.

With the cake officially cut, I lead Jane back to the table, and we all attack the dessert.

I’m almost done with my cake when Jane’s family comes back with Piper and her bodyguard.

“This was so much fun,” Georgiana says. “But it’s getting late, and the little one has been fussing.”

“She has?” I walk up to Piper and kiss her forehead. Though there’s a baby grin on her face now, I know she could fuss again at any moment, so I bid Georgiana and everyone a hearty goodbye. As soon as they leave, my fellow musketeers stop by and inform us that they’re heading out too.

“Your bedtime already?” I can’t help but snark at them.

“Burlesque show,” Warren says. “Unless you’re about to put one on here?”

I roll my eyes.

“Why do you care anyway?” Bernard asks me. “All you should be thinking of is the consummation of this marriage.”

Jane turns beet red.

“Unless you already did it,” Michael chimes in. “After the picture taking?”

Did I say beet? Make that red wine.

“Have fun at the alleged Burlesque show,” I tell them and switch my attention to the next person who is about to say goodbye.

Very soon, the party is over, with the likely journalist spies as the only people remaining.

Well, then, here’s something for them to write about.

Standing up, I shout, “Okay, everyone! We’re headed to the honeymoon suite.”

With that, I pick up Jane in a bridal carry, and as people clap, I triumphantly stride out of the room.

CHAPTER 33

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