Page 11 of Dirty Nasty Billionaire: Part 4

“Thank you,” he says, his eyes firmly on the road in front of us. “And I’m sorry. That you had to see that.”

I rub my thumb in small circles on his palm. “It’s ok, Nixon. You don’t have to apologize to me for any of that. None of it was your fault. It was all them. They are sobroken.”

He nods. “I know. Seeing them like that, how sick they are, hearing her scream like that, made me realize that they truly have no idea what they did.”

“Don’t excuse them,” I say.

“I’m not. And I’ll never be able to forgive them. I’ll probably never even see them again. But having you there by my side to witness it, and watching you stand up for me…” he sighs, but it’s a sigh of release. “I feel like I can start to let go of the anger I had. And the resentment. I feel like I can start to move forward.”

I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding, that I’d been holding perhaps since Nixon first proposed. Even though we’d overcome the hurdles, it still felt somehow fragile. But hearing him say this, hearing him release what he’d been keeping inside for so many years, makes me feel like we’re going to be ok.

And then his blinker is on, the car exiting the Mass Pike. We cruise through the shady, lush streets of Wellesley, until he pulls into a parking spot near the quaint downtown. He undoes his seatbelt and turns so that he’s practically facing me, taking both my hands in his.

“I love you, baby,” he says, a genuine smile lighting him up from the inside. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life fighting for you the way you fought for me back there. You’re mine.”

He leans inland our lips meet, his fingers tangling in my hair at the nape of my neck. We pull back, our foreheads resting against each other.

“And you’re mine,” I tell him.

***

GizmoGossip: Blake and Masterson Tie the Knot

Nina March, editor at large

It wasAmerica’s version of a royal wedding this weekend, when billionaire CEO married his little commoner (intern) plucked from nowhere (his own company). Nixon Blake and Delaney Masterson, well, make that Delaney Blake, were married outside Kennebunkport, on a private compound Blake purchased for the occasion. And because suddenly the reclusive CEO is the effusive CEO, we know all about the affair.

The new Mrs. Blake wore custom Vera Wang, the groom custom Tom Ford. They danced to a swing band, they toasted with Dom Perignon, and they feasted on lobster cooked ten ways from Sunday by three-time Michelin star chef Wylie McKay. Oh, and the cake was made with three hundred cannoli flown in specially from Mike’s Pastry in the North End.

Don’t you wish you were invited?

The couple will honeymoon all over the fucking planet, as they crisscross the world in Blake’s private jet.

Honestly, who’d want to be a princess when you could be Mrs. Nixon Blake?

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