Page 14 of Married to My Grumpy Minotaur Boss

Worse, I hate the thought of letting him down like that. This whole thing was my idea after all.

Twenty minutes later, I’m swaying backward and forward with the motion of the yacht in the cabin on the main deck. One lady kneels at my feet fixing the hem of the long white dress and another yanks in the corset to pin it tighter across my breasts.

“That’s it. I told you it was an easy fix.”

I stare at myself in the mirror, not quite able to believe the beautiful bride staring back is me. My long red hair still hangs in untidy tresses over my shoulders after they pulled it out of my ponytail, but the bodice of the dress fits snugly against my torso, tucking me in a little, making my waist look smaller than it is. The skirt sits too snugly around my hips and belly for my liking, but there’s nothing to be done about that. We have literally no other options.

I smooth my hands over the little swell my lower belly makes in the white fabric with a grimace. I’ve never had a perfectly flat belly like the models and actresses I admire. Even the ones with curves somehow make them look good. Not like me. I just look flabby.

The woman at my feet speaks through gritted teeth filled with pins. “Have you thought about what you’ll do tonight, dear?”

“Hmm?”

“Well it’s the wedding night, isn’t it? Are you going to sleep in the same bed? Are you going to sleep?” She looks up and waggles her eyebrows at me. I trip and stumble off the little pedestal I’m standing on for her to fix the dress.

Three sharp pins prick into my ankle and I squeak in surprise. I’m not focused on that, though. Suddenly, all I can focus on is the image in my mind of a large, thick body taking up most of the mattress, making a dip in the middle that drawsme like gravity while his large curved horns spread out on either side of us.

I swallow. “Ah... maybe I’ll just sleep on the floor.”

The seamstress snorts. “Yeah right. If I had the chance to sleep in the same bed as Ronan Kernos, I know I’d be taking it.”

“I—I...”

She helps me back onto the pedestal. The woman behind me whispers, “No one would blame you.”

Oh, God.

Now, not only are my pits sweaty and my hands shaky, my pussy floods with so much moisture it threatens to ruin the pretty lacy underwear that hair and makeup felt was necessary for this scene.

It’s a bed. A freakin’ bed!

No, it’s more than that. It’sonly onebed. Like in all my favorite romance novels. What the hell am I doing here and how is this my life?

EIGHT

Ronan

What the hell am I doing in front of an altar?

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I stand and wait for Justine. There’s a camera in my face and another somewhere behind me. I am seriously questioning my life choices.

I’m standing beside a simple wooden trellis stuck in the sand decorated with flowers and waiting for a bride I didn’t choose on a stinking hot day when I’d rather be anywhere else. I count the petals on the huge white lilies. The number of seconds until this farce is over. The crazy number of beats per minute of my thundering heart. I’m not nervous. That must mean it’s a cardiovascular problem. A thought I’d rather not indulge right now with multiple cameras fixed on me.

Damn it!

I pull the fussy handkerchief from my breast pocket and dab at my face.

This feels far too real.

Then something—perhaps an indrawn breath or hushed whisper—alerts me to her presence behind me. I turn and my mouth goes dry. The fitted corset of her dress hugs a slim waist and flares out slightly to accommodate wide hips. The stretchy white fabric of the skirt clings to curves I have a sudden urge to grab. It tapers in over thick thighs all the way down to where dainty human toes in strappy sandles peep from the hem.

Even her long red hair has been smoothed and tamed into a stylish chignon decorated with lilies and orchids.

What the fuck did they do with my junior assistant? This woman isn’t her. This woman is fucking girl-of-my-dreams material.

I clear my throat, remembering the cameras trained on me, zooming in on my face for the world to see how my jaw drops to the fucking sand when she steps across the pebbly beach and takes my hand. I remember I’m supposed to be playing along and I don’t know what to do with my face. It feels so unnatural to let my real emotions show that I struggle for a moment. Finally, I allow just a hint of the look of awe she deserves to have one day when she does this for real. From someone who actually knows her.

When she places her hand in mine, it trembles.

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