Page 89 of Resisting the Billionaire

Gabriel

Isign my name on the sworn affidavit, my stomach giving a lurch as I slide the paper back over to the clerk. No, there are no legal impediments to this marriage, only moral ones.

Next to me, Serena is recreating that sickly shade of green she last sported while watching me and Mackenzie eat those ribs at the catering venue. Not that I can blame her this time. Applying for our marriage license is as stomach-clenching as I feared.

“All right,” the clerk chirps, giving us a huge grin. “Just give me a moment to enter this information in the system and I’ll get your license for you.”

Or more like tweet to your twenty followers what you’re doing. The girl obviously recognized us. Then again, Dad finally put ThousandWords’ marketing team to use in playing up our relationship online. And due to a lack of staged photos, we’re now marketed as “an intensely private couple”. Have to admit, it’s a good angle.

“And will you be changing your surname after the wedding?” she asks Serena. “I can get that paperwork started for you.”

“Um, no,” Serena murmurs, glancing over at me guiltily. No sweat off my back, though. I’d prefer for us to keep separate names.

And separate lives.

The woman pops out of her chair and disappears into a back room, leaving my fiancee and I alone awkwardly staring at the vacated desk.

“So, what are we going to do as far as living arrangements?” I hate having to talk about this stuff, but we’re kind of down to the wire here.

She flinches, the idea of us cohabitating apparently abhorrent to her. “I’d like to stay in my apartment,” she says tentatively, like she’s not sure how I’ll receive her statement. “Alone.”

“Fine with me,” I shrug, my shoulders releasing some of their tension. That’s one less thing to worry about.

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be?”

She peeks over at me, sweeping a curtain of blonde hair behind her ear. “I was afraid you’d see it as a rejection.”

I manage to contain the cynical laugh that threatens to escape. She’s done a pretty decent job of that already.

“How about a ring?”

“Mackenzie got us bands for tomorrow.”

“No, I mean like an engagement ring. Some big, sparkly honker that tells everyone you’re a Bishop now.” That’s what she wanted in the first place, right? And the more expensive, the better. It’s Dad’s money that’ll be paying for it.

“No.”

I shrug again, fixing my gaze on the still empty desk in front of us. The cup of pens, the stapler, the tiny bottle of white-out. Anything to avoid looking back over at her. How long is it going to take this lady to print out our license?

“I don’t love you,” a choked whisper sounds from next to me.

I glance over, Serena’s head bowed, doing her signature move of shrinking in on herself. “I know.”

“And I- I don’t want to marry you,” she tearfully admits.

Again, that’s been painfully obvious from the beginning. “I know.”

She swivels toward me, eyes red-rimmed. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why are you marrying me?”

What world is this girl living in? “My dad’s making me.”

She presses her index finger to her chest. “Mine is too. I- Oh my God, this whole time I thought you were so excited about the wedding.”

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