Page 135 of Billionaire Romance

15

Sinclair

I fidget with the hem of the dress.

“Relax, Sinclair. You look gorgeous.” Margot catches my eye in the mirror of the dressing room and winks. “Ankor won’t know what hit him.”

I watch my reflection as I chew on my lower lip, clearly still unable to shake my nerves, despite the fact that a little part of me knows she’s right—I do look amazing in this dress. It’s white, simple but sleek and elegant, a flow of silk that falls from my shoulders and hugs my curves just enough to hint that they’re there, before it cascades down from my hips, ending just above the strappy, glittery sandals I chose today. Around my wrist is a bracelet Ankor’s mother leant me, something both borrowed and blue, since it’s dripping with sapphire gems that wink in the overhead lights.

Between that, and the beautiful curled updo Margot managed to do on my hair, not to mention my simple makeup with just a hint of pink to my lips and a faint shadow of smoke around my eyes, I look incredible. I feel incredible, being here, about to do this. About to tie myself to Ankor for the rest of our lives.

But there’s still just the tiniest hint of worry trailing me. After all, ever since the press caught a glimpse of the ring on my finger, they’ve been hounding us worse than ever. Tailing Ankor’s and my every step, trying to catch an idea of what we’re planning for the wedding.

Luckily, I think we managed to get one step ahead of them, coming here.

I take a deep breath of the warm, muggy tropical air, and straighten my shoulders. “Okay,” I tell Margot. “I’m ready.”

She hooks her arm through mine and leads me toward the steps.

We made it to the top before the butterflies return, for an entirely different reason now. We didn’t invite many people—just Ankor’s immediate family, and a few of the staff—most of whom seemed a lot less surprised than I think Ankor expected them to, to find out that their pool boy was somebody else in hiding. I wonder if a few of them always suspected. His car isn’t exactly incognito, after all.

Still, it’s a strange sensation to descend the main staircase of the resort I once ran away to, with all eyes on me.

Margot goes first, as my maid of honor, a simple bouquet in hand. We weren’t even going to go with flowers, but the hotel florist insisted on making us some.

I raise mine to my lips and breathe in the perfume of the passion flowers in my own bouquet. Then, the scent still lingering in my senses, I start to walk.

I catch a glimpse of Ankor’s old students clustered by the wall. Mrs. Jenkins winks at me, and even Ms. Humbolt waves, though I know she’d still love to be able to flirt with Ankor instead if she could.

Ankor’s parents are in the front row, heads turned toward mine. His mother daubs at tears on her cheeks, and his father is smiling so widely it’s a wonder his jaw doesn’t ache from it.

But then my gaze reaches the front of the room, and my stomach drops out from beneath me, and I forget about everyone else. I forget the audience, his family, our friends. I forget about the press, or any worries I had about them somehow finding out about today and ruining it.

They can’t. Nobody could ruin this.

Because there’s Ankor. Waiting beside the altar and the chaplain the resort loaned us, staring at me as I start down the aisle, looking at me like I’m the sun and it’s the first time he’s ever stepped outside in his life.

I know how he feels. I’m looking at him the same way right now.

My stomach does a flip, and I tighten my grip on the passion flowers in my grasp—the perfect symbol for us, the perfect reminder—then keep walking, slow and steady, gaze fixed on my fiancé’s.

On my future husband’s.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” The chaplain keeps talking. We read his speech ahead of time, and both approved. It’s sweet, a talk about how love endures and overcomes any obstacle. About how it brings hidden things to light.

It was perfect. But I’m glad I read it ahead of time, because I couldn’t possibly pay attention now. Not with Ankor looking at me like that, his gaze roaming over my dress, his eyes searing hot.

You look incredible, he mouths, slowly, so I can read every word on his lips. Just looking at them move reminds me of everything he does to me with that mouth, and it sets my face on fire, sends a pulse of desire through my body, and makes me tighten my grip on the flowers again.

I want to be holding him instead.

Soon I will be. Soon, we’ll never have to let go again.

“Do you, Sinclair, take Marco Ankor Helmtree to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

My breath catches in my throat. “I do,” I whisper.

“And do you, Marco Ankor Helmtree, take Sinclair to be your wife, from now until the end of your days?”

“I do,” he replies, and I can’t look anywhere but at those searing eyes of his, fixed on me, pinning me in place. Making my heart beat so fast I feel like I could fly right now.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the chaplain says, somewhere in the distance, but I hardly even hear it. I’m already falling into Ankor.

Our lips meet, hot and hard and fast. I sink against him, melt into him, my lips parting beneath his as he kisses me deeply, one arm hooked around the small of my back, the other tracing up to cup my cheek, brushing a single curl of my hairdo that escaped behind my ear.

It’s only when we finally, finally break apart that I even register the cheering and clapping from the rest of the room. We got married in a little side room off the main section of the resort complex, with a stunning view out over the ocean. The resort insisted on catering for us, and as I twine my fingers through Ankor’s and we start down the aisle, unable to look at anyone but each other really, I can already catch the scent of the delicious food wafting in through the double doors at the back of the makeshift chapel into the reception area.

He squeezes my fingers, and I squeeze back, leaning into him. Soon, the rest of our friends and family will close in. This will turn into celebrations, cheering and toasting and drinking to one another and our story. But for now, for this moment, as we process down the aisle, our hands entwined… It’s just me and him. Only me and Ankor in the whole wide world.

And right now? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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