Page 93 of Resisting the Billionaire

He holds a hand out to me, and I gladly accept his firm handshake. “Mackenzie Sweet. I’m the wedding planner.”

A server rushes in with an extra chair and takes his food and drink order, but Connor doesn’t appear to be the least bit concerned about catching up with everyone else with a soup and appetizer, insisting he can start with the entrée.

“Did you just fly in?” Gabriel asks, taking a seat again. “You cut it awfully close.”

“I couldn’t miss your wedding.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as Gabriel gives him a tight-lipped smile, Serena focused on picking at her dish.

He gazes around the room, finally reading the mood right. This isn’t a joyous occasion.

“Tell us about the Philippines,” I blurt out. “Your work there must be fascinating.”

Connor grabs onto the lifeline I offer, the tension in the room relaxing as he regales us with stories about amusing cultural misunderstandings he’s had and how different life is there. At some point, Mr. Bishop excuses himself to take a phone call, but the only one who really seems to notice is Serena’s father, who watches him with suspicious eyes.

The main course and dessert come and go, and Serena makes her goodbyes after politely finishing her tiramisu, followed closely by Mr. Montague. Gabriel merely takes another long draw from his wine glass, but Connor gets up to walk her out. Archer watches from the end of the table silently, his gaze switching between the bride and groom, a frown on his face.

“I should get going too.” I stand, smoothing the front of my dress over my barely full stomach. For a four-course meal, it turned out to be awfully small portions.

“I’ll walk you out.” Gabriel tips his wine glass back to finish the last of it and gets up, not giving me a chance to decline. He walks around the table to help pull my chair out, pressing his hand against my lower back as he leads me out of the room.

Archer’s gaze follows us too, but I don’t make a show of removing Gabriel’s hand, not wanting to draw attention to it. Really, though, what is he thinking doing that in front of his brother?

I wait until we’re out the door of the private area before gently removing his palm. I already saw those pictures The Manhattan Herald posted of us online. If anyone in the main dining room of the restaurant captured a photo with him touching me, it would absolutely send the wrong message.

Or rather, the right one.

The lights of the Manhattan skyline twinkle through the floor to ceiling windows as we walk by the other diners, most glancing up at us. Is it just because it’s human nature to stare at others passing by, or do they recognize Gabriel?

We’re almost to the exit when a woman holds up her phone in our direction, indiscreetly snapping a shot. Yep, it’s because of Gabriel again. Hopefully this one doesn’t make it to The Manhattan Herald.

I jab the elevator button out in the hotel hallway, the two of us silent as we wait for it to reach the top floor.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.

I glance down at my purple dress. “You’ve seen me in this before.”

“I know, but you still look hot as fuck.”

My belly dips low, but I ignore his comment.

“I couldn’t stop thinking all night about getting a hotel room downstairs and peeling that dress off you.”

I clench my hands together tightly in front of me. So I won’t throttle or kiss him, I’m not sure. “You can’t say stuff like that to me anymore.”

“I can’t help how I feel,” he whispers as the elevator finally dings, the polished doors opening to reveal an empty car. Oh God, being alone in a confined space with him is not a good idea right now.

He ushers me in, not giving me a chance to back out and take the stairs. He doesn’t turn around like he should, continuing to face me as the doors close.

“Tell me not to do it,” he says as we begin our descent.

“What?” I glance up at the digital readout. Fifty-five floors to go.

“Tell me not to go through with it tomorrow.”

I meet his gaze, his eyes desperate with urgency, dark circles underneath. I swallow heavily, looking back up at the top of the elevator. Fifty-three floors. Shouldn’t this thing be faster? “I can’t do that.”

“Even though I love you?”

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