Page 131 of Modern Romance Collection December 2024 Books 1-4

“You invited her?”

“She’s family.”

There. An almost imperceptible flinch before he regains control.

“Yes. Of course.”

He doesn’t offer up anything else so I steer the conversation back to my own nuptials.

“Don’t worry about Juliette. She’s signed the contract.” The majority of guests have moved to the beach and are taking their seats. The sun is just about to graze the horizon. In a matter of minutes, I’ll be a married man. “Drakos Development is safe.”

I can feel Rafe’s gaze on me, but I don’t look. I’ve had enough surprises for one evening.

“Business isn’t everything,adelfós. I hope you learn that before you lose something important.”

“I have something important.” I look at him then and arch a brow. “My share of the company. I would do anything for it. Including marrying to ensure its legacy.” I make a show of glancing down at my watch. “Speaking of, it’s time. Shall we?”

I don’t bother waiting for an answer. I stride toward the door. A moment later, I hear his footsteps behind me.

As we walk downstairs, Sarabeth materializes at the bottom. With her black hair pulled into an elegant twist on top of her head and a violet-colored sheath dress, she could pass for a guest if she wasn’t sporting a headset and a tablet.

“Mr. Drakos, please proceed to the ceremony site. We’ll begin the processional in ninety seconds.”

I salute her as I pass. The woman would have made a phenomenal drill sergeant.

The quartet reserved for the cocktail hour and ceremony are playing a lighthearted tune as Rafe and I walk down the elevated aisle. I nod to guests and smile, aware of the photographer catching my every move. The photos, and our only interview, have already been sold to a national magazine. An additional investment in making sure the right story is told about our relationship while reaping extra publicity for Drakos North America.

Rafe and I stop before the arch and face the crowd. A flower girl in a blush-colored dress prances down the aisle, scattering scarlet rose petals with an abandon that makes me grin. Catherine, the mother of the little girl and a good friend of Juliette’s, follows in a bridesmaid gown the same shade of seductive red that makes her dark brown skin glow. She smiles for the cameras, but I don’t miss the sharp glance she serves me as she takes her place on the opposite side of the arch. I only met her for the first time last night at the rehearsal, and Catherine has suspicions.

Smart woman. Fortunately, in the one conversation I had with Catherine, it doesn’t appear Juliette has broken her promise. Yet. But Catherine, who has known Juliette for years and has some connection to Juliette’s family, isn’t buying the whole suddenly-in-love angle. As long as Juliette adheres to the contract, Catherine can cast me all the suspicious looks she wants.

A moment later, the traditional wedding march begins to play as the officiant gestures for everyone to stand.

And then I see her.

The world fades away. My vision becomes a tunnel, my focus solely on the stunning woman at the opposite end of the aisle. Long sleeves made of lace offer tantalizing glimpses of her skin. The low cut of the bodice leaves her shoulders bare and follows the lines of her waist before cascading into a full skirt that makes it seem like she’s gliding down the aisle towards me.

The subtle, sexy touches blend with elegance and her natural beauty. Gone is the severe bun or the efficient braid. Her hair flows, dark and wavy, down her back, just like it did that day on the bluff. A veil trimmed in the same lace as her sleeves flutters behind her like butterfly wings. Blush highlights her cheekbones. Her lips, painted a vivid red, are tilted up into the barest of smiles as she nods to some of the guests.

I blink in surprise when I see the woman by her side, moving down the aisle in her wheelchair with one hand on the control and the other wrapped tightly around Juliette’s. She’d mentioned someone special was walking her down the aisle but that they had been indisposed for last night’s rehearsal.

The woman looks at me, and recognition slams into me. Desdemona Harris. Simon’s ex-girlfriend. Silver streaks through her blond hair. The slight wrinkles by her eyes make her appear kind. Her gaze, chocolate brown, is warm but nervous, as if she’s not sure what to make of all this. She turns her gaze to Juliette, who looks down at her and smiles with such reassuring warmth it makes me lose my breath.

The tension in their grip pulls me back from my fantasy. Juliette looks back up. Our eyes meet and I see nerves, apprehension.

Beautiful.

I nearly mouth the word to her, to ease the tension in her gaze and build a bridge between us.

But then she shifts, her chin rising as her eyes harden and she stares at me with something akin to disgust even as she smiles so sweetly it makes me want to growl. In that moment I regret the horde watching our every move, the cameras clicking away. I want it to just be the two of us so we can finally rip the gloves off and shout at each other. Something raw and honest, not this brittle chasm that widens with every encounter.

An alarm sounds deep within my mind. I freeze. I can’t remember the last time I wanted something messy, craved reality instead of the precise existence I’d crafted for myself. The woman walking toward me, the one I’m about to pledge my life to for the next twelve months, has made me want...more.

I don’t want more. I want what I’ve forged for myself, with no one but me at the helm.

I slip back into the familiarity of my role and shoot Juliette a confident smile as I rake my eyes up and down her body. A different heat is kindled as my gaze lingers on the swells of her breasts above the bodice of her dress, the flare of her hips beneath the gown. A heat made all the more pleasing by the warning look she shoots me as she draws near.

My smile grows. We agreed on no sex. But no one said anything about not looking.

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