Page 65 of His Secret Merger

I leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead, lingering there just long enough to feel her exhale.

“Nope,” I whispered against her skin. “Except for Mateo’s elementary school graduation a few months from now. And maybe—” I pulled back slightly, smirking, “—the occasional emergency board meeting when someone screws up the gala seating chart.”

She laughed again, shaking her head as she looped her arms loosely around my waist.

“For the record,” she murmured against my chest, “I can’t wait to meet Mateo. But for now…” She tilted her face up, eyes shining with something both fragile and fierce, “We’ve got a gala to pull off.”

I tightened my arms around her, resting my chin briefly on the top of her head.

“Then let’s pull it off, Jules,” I murmured, smiling into her hair. “And after that… we’ll figure out the rest.”

As we moved to the living room, mugs in hand, I caught the way her fingers brushed mine, the lightness in her laugh, the quiet steel in her gaze.

No promises today. No rings. No headlines.

But we were finally standing at the edge of something real. And this time, I wasn’t going to let us fall apart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Juliette

The lobby doors swung open, and a familiar burst of cool, lightly perfumed air greeted me, carrying the quiet hum of luxury. After texting Gabrielle about Damian’s proposal, I exhaled slowly, steadying myself as I stepped inside. It was just Saturday afternoon—just the initial walk-through. Not the gala. Not yet. But the way my chest fluttered; you’d think tonight was opening night.

Inside the ballroom, the hotel staff was already in motion, rolling in carts of linens, setting up sample place settings, and testing the lighting cues we’d painstakingly mapped out. The clink of glasses, the scuff of shoes on polished floors, and the quiet murmur of voices filled the space—a familiar symphony of organized chaos.

I moved along the perimeter, clipboard in hand, checking things off as I went. I probably looked calm, poised, and in control on the outside. But inside, my mind was a restless tide. Half of me calculated table counts and centerpiece placements; the other half circled back to Damian’s words from this morning.

I would love to be the father of your—our—child. As your husband.

The thought sent a flip through my stomach, equal parts warmth and panic.

“Okay, superstar.” Gabrielle’s voice broke through my haze, light and teasing as she stepped beside me, her own clipboard tucked under one arm. “Tell me you haven’t memorized the entire floor plan already.”

I gave her a faint smile. “Maybe.”

She bumped her shoulder against mine. “Anthony and Damian are downstairs checking in with housekeeping. Pretty sure they’re having some kind of alpha-off over the hotel’s table linens.”

A quiet laugh slipped out of me as I shook my head. “Of course they are.”

Gabrielle leaned in slightly as we reached the stage area. “So…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, eyes glinting with mischief. “Have you figured out what you’re going to say to him yet?”

My throat tightened. “Not yet.”

She arched a brow. “Jules.”

“I know.” I let out a slow breath, glancing over my notes without really seeing them. “I just… want it to be right. I want it to come from me. Not in the middle of chaos, not when we’re both still figuring out what this even is.”

Gabrielle’s mouth curved into a small, knowing smile. “The gala.”

I shot her a warning look, but a reluctant laugh escaped. “We arenotmaking a spectacle out of this at the gala.”

“Who said anything about a spectacle?” she teased, looping her arm through mine. “I’m just saying… sometimes the most unforgettable moments happen when you least expect them.”

We moved across the ballroom, ticking off details as we went—lighting, sound, menu confirmations, hotel room block—and all the while, my mind kept tugging back to him. Damian, downstairs, probably grumbling over charger plates, and the quiet, steady promise in his eyes when he’d looked at me that morning.

I wasn’t ready to give him an answer yet. But I was getting there.

When we pulled away from the hotel, the sun had dipped low, casting the streets in that golden light that made everything feel a little more cinematic, a little less real. I let my head rest back against the seat, thinking we were heading straight to the guest house, until Damian flicked on his turn signal at a street that was a couple of blocks shy of mine.

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