Page 34 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

“Perhaps.” I smile. “After all, it’s just business, remember?” I say it more to remind myself than him.

“Of course,” he agrees, his expression cooling. “Just business.”

The elevator doors open and I step out, leaving Gideon King and his world of high finance behind me. At least for the next 72 hours.

Until I become his wife.

Dear god, I can’t believe I’m actually going through with this.

Just another day in my so-called life. Painting in the morning, negotiating prenups by noon, becoming a billionaire’s fake wife by Friday.

Totally normal.

It’s going to be a long six months.

10

Gideon

The conference table is cluttered with fabric swatches, caterer menus, and legal documents. It’s an unholy trinity of wedding chaos that shouldn’t exist in my pristine office. I run my hands through my hair, a habit I despise but can’t seem to break when stress mounts.

Three fucking days.

That’s all we have until this sham wedding becomes my corporate salvation.

After Celeste’s betrayal, I swore no one would ever have claim to any part of me again, professionally or personally. I’ve always defined myself by my freedom, the ability to make decisions without consultation, to walk away from any situation that doesn’t serve me. Now I’ll be legally bound to someone else, even if it’s just on paper. My jaw clenches at the thought.

Six months, I remind myself.It’s only six fucking months.

The company I’ve built from nothing is worth more than half a year of inconvenience. Even if thatinconvenience has thick black curls and eyes that see too much. And a tight, sweet—

“Jonas, where are we on the venue?” I ask, trying to distract myself by tapping my Mont Blanc against the leather portfolio.

My cousin doesn’t look up from his tablet. “The Four Seasons penthouse garden is confirmed. Cost us triple the usual rate for the rush, but it’s done.”

“Good. And the guest list?”

“Carefully curated. Board members, key investors, enough social connections to make it appear authentic without inviting anyone who might ask too many questions.” He finally glances up. “Are you sure about this, Gideon? There are other ways to handle Blackwell.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“Litigation, regulatory countermeasures, strategic sell-offs—”

“All of which take time we don’t have.” I stand, walking to the window overlooking Manhattan’s skyline. “The Spousal Asset Protection Trust is our only option. We’ve been over this.”

Jonas shifts his weight, a telltale sign he’s uncomfortable. “It’s not the trust I’m worried about. It’s your choice of bride.”

Something hot and sharp flares in my chest. “And what the fuck is wrong with Ava?”

I’m tired of people underestimating her. It’s really pissing me off.

“Nothing, she seems... nice. But you barely know her.”

“I know enough.” The words come out a growl. I turn back to face him, jaw tight. “She’s intelligent, has no family connections to my business rivals, andunlike the parade of socialites we considered, she actually has something to gain beyond money.”

“The gallery?”

I nod. “A purpose of her own. It keeps her motivated, independent.” I don’t mention how her eyes lit up when I described the settlement terms. That fierce, hungry look of someone seeing their dreams suddenly within reach. It was strangely liberating.

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