Page 20 of Resisting the Billionaire

“See ya, Archie.”

I catch enough of his profile to see his lips thin. He hates being called that.

“Bye, Gabey.”

My mouth stretches in a broad grin that I hide from him as I make my way to the door, secretly enjoying him calling me the name Connor used when he was little.

Maybe there’s hope for Archer yet.

“So isthis where the wedding will be?”

I gaze at the marble columns lining the center of the cavernous space, imagining Mackenzie’s blue and silver flowers wrapped around the bases, a runner serving as an aisle stretching up the length of the room toward the end where Serena and I will presumably be… married.

I swallow down the bile that rises, wishing I had a Tums or something. Maybe I’m developing acid reflux disease.

“Most likely not,” Mackenzie says, joining me in the center of the ballroom. “I’m still holding out hope for the Manhattan Haven Hotel. They bought out some other building and did a huge renovation. It’s supposed to bethehottest place to get married this year, even more than The Plaza, but I couldn’t make an appointment to even view it until two weeks from now.”

“And you waved that fancy Bishop name in front of them?”

“Of course I did,” she snorts. “It was the only reason I was able to squeeze us in to begin with.”

Up ahead, Serena wanders through the columns, a ghostly presence haunting the place with her light blonde hair and white dress.

“We’re just doing our due diligence in case Haven doesn’t work out,” Mackenzie continues. “So what do you think of this one?”

“Eh,” I shrug, glancing around at the formal interior. “It’s better than that church.”

“You mean St. Patrick’s Cathedral? F. Scott Fitzgerald was married there.”

“And look how that turned out. No, that was too fussy. Same with this place.”

She diplomatically doesn’t complain, but simply says, “Well, we need somewhere that can hold at least four hundred guests.”

Jesus Christ. Four hundred? Dad’s turning this into a circus. “Well, this whatever hotel you want will probably be fine.”

“If we can get it,” she murmurs. “Serena,” she calls out louder. “I have to take a picture of you two.”

“What?” she asks, drifting back toward us.

“Mr. Bishop wants photos of you both doing wedding things to post online.”

“Um, okay.” She seems to shrink in on herself and I mentally sigh, walking up next to her to slip my arm around her waist.

She immediately stiffens, recoiling at my touch. “Wh- What are you doing?” She gapes at me like I just groped her.

I back off, holding my hands up in front of me. “It was for the photo. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.” I glance at Mackenzie for confirmation. I’m not totally in the wrong here, right?

She watches Serena, a line between her brows. “You realize Gabriel will be your husband,” she says kindly. “He’ll have to touch you at some point.”

Serena’s bottom lip trembles, her gaze darting back and forth between the two of us, as if we’re ganging up on her.

“I won’t put my hand on you again today,” I tell her, approaching slowly. “I’ll just stand here next to you and Mackenzie will take a candid shot of us by the column.”

She nods hesitantly, turning her body, mouth firm now.

I stand by her side, watching Mackenzie out of the corner of my eye hold up her iPhone and snap a pic. Now, if it was her I was marrying, I bet there would have been no problem sliding my hand around her waist, tugging her into my side, her gardenia-laced scent surrounding me. She’d angle herself toward me, reaching up to tug my head down, my lips meeting hers in a hot-

“Gabriel?”

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