Page 96 of Resisting the Billionaire

Gabriel

Iloop the strip of silver silk around my neck, executing a perfect bow tie, even better than the one Mackenzie tied for me all those weeks ago, and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

This is it. My shining hour.

Or more accurately, my darkest hour.

I’m marrying the wrong woman. Every beat of my heart, every fiber of my being knows it. But Mackenzie wouldn’t take the bait last night.

She was right that I had too much to drink, but that doesn’t mean everything I said wasn’t true. It was straight from the heart. And though I can’t say for sure, I have a feeling I would have voiced my love regardless of the alcohol.

But it seems my attempt at laying it all out on the line didn’t work.

I throw on my tux jacket and straighten it till it’s in place, buttoning it and heading out of the groom’s suite toward the ballroom where the ceremony is.

Staff from the chair rental company are setting up the silver Chiavari chairs we decided on, Mackenzie off in the distance directing a man where to position the final row. By the altar, her friend Diana loops fresh blue and silver flowers around a wire arch that will serve as a dramatic backdrop in our photos.

You know, the ones I’m going to display proudly on my mantle at home.

Right.

I watch Mackenzie, in her element making sure everyone is on task, everything is running smoothly, a well-oiled routine she has down pat. She doesn’t falter until she spots me, pausing slightly in her conversation with the harpist, before continuing.

I wait her out a few minutes more, her occasional glances proof she knows I’m here, but I bide my time. Her blue lacy dress that matches today’s theme flares out behind her as she finally spins in my direction, her heels clacking against the parquet floor before stopping in front of me, just out of reach.

“You don’t have to help set up,” she says smoothly, no hint of any nervousness in her voice. But the way she’s clutching her clipboard tightly to her chest tells a different story.

“That’s not why I came in here.”

“Do you want to talk about last night?”

Leave it to her to not beat around the bush. “I, um-” I stick my hands in my pockets, not exactly sure how to word this. “I’m sorry-”

She holds up a hand to stop me. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I shouldn’t have put that pressure on you. And I don’t want you angry with me.”

“I’m not,” she whispers, her professional wedding planner mask slipping the slightest bit to reveal worried eyes. “If anything, I thought you’d be furious with me.”

“No, I-”

“Excuse me,” another voice interrupts, all grit. “If I could have a word?”

We turn in unison to find Tina, the hotel’s event manager, staring at Mackenzie, a feral smile on her face.

Mackenzie bites her lip and nods, resigned to her fate as she follows the woman out of the ballroom, avoiding eye contact with me. So our reckoning has come.

I hesitate for only a moment before following surreptitiously out into the hallway where Tina has her cornered, away from prying eyes. “Did you think you’d get away with it?” she hisses, that awful grin still there. “That you could pull one over on me?”

“Excuse me?” Mackenzie replies, staying calm in the wake of the woman’s rising anger.

“I asked someone what the bride was doing not dressed yet and he laughed in my face. Said your name wasn’t Serena Montague. It’s Mackenzie Sweet, the wedding coordinator.” She steps closer in an attempt to intimidate, practically on top of her, but fuck that shit. She’s not pulling this on today of all days. Mackenzie’s already stressed enough as it is.

“You must be mistaken,” I tell her, inserting myself into the conversation. “She’s the wedding planner. She has been since the beginning.”

She whips around, eyes widening in outrage at my blatant reversal of what I told her weeks ago, but I don’t give her a chance to call me out. “And if you decide you want to make up lies about anything you think you saw, you’ll be hearing from my lawyers. Not only that, but I know everyone in this city. I can sing Haven’s praises to the right people, or I can badmouth you all over New York until you find yourself with no bookings and no job.”

She sputters something aboutwho do you think you are, but I cut her off once more. “My family controls a social media giant. ThousandWords - you may have heard of it?” Her face slowly drains of color. Did she really not realize who the Bishops are? “And we have connections in every market sector. We can make or break you. So if you don’t want outrageous legal fees when I sue you for slander or risk losing your job, I suggest you walk away now.”

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