Page 31 of The Contract Marriage

Liam’s answers couldn’t be more resolute. They’re an anchor—reassuring me that everything will be fine, that he’s on my side.

Gerald turns to me. My heart starts pounding. “Do you take Liam Kingswood to be your spouse?”

My mouth dries, but I manage to keep my voice steady. “I do.”

“Do you promise to love, honor, and respect Liam Kingswood for as long as you both shall live?”

I look at Liam, study his strong, sensitive features. Our eyes lock. “I do.” The moment the words leave my mouth, my heart pounds with finality. For better or for worse, Liam’s my husband for six months after the birth of our first child. I clench my hands around the bouquet to hide the tremors.

Gerald signals Liam with his eyes. “These rings are symbols of the vows you’ve made here today.”

Liam pulls out a pair of platinum bands, simple and elegant, designed not to compete with the red diamond. But they’re solid enough to make a statement: we are in a committed relationship.

“This ring is the symbol of the vow I made here today.” He slides the slimmer one onto my finger.

I take the other one, warm from his body heat, and turn it a little. A simple engraving winks from the inside: Always yours. My breath catches, and my eyes fly to his face. He looks back at me like nothing’s wrong. My palm prickles. What does my ring say?

Jeremiah coughs quietly, jerking my focus back to the present. “This ring is the symbol of the vow I made here today,” I say shakily, then place the ring on his finger.

This is it. No turning back. Now it’s full speed ahead, all the way until justice is served.

“By the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you married.” Gerald smiles. “You may kiss your bride.”

My nerve endings prickle—in apprehension or something else. Anxiety winds through me, and I clench my hands even tighter around the bouquet.

It’s just a kiss. You have to do more than kiss to make a baby.

I try to steady my heart, which feels like it’s about to break free and tumble around inside my chest. Then, holding the white dahlias like a shield between us, I turn to him, my mouth slightly parted.

A lopsided grin tugs at his mouth before he bends down. He doesn’t devour me like I half expect. His mouth is dry and soft, his tongue flicking over me briefly for a taste. But my heart jolts like he’s sent an electric shock through my body.

He pulls back, then places another one—tenderly—on my forehead. The air catches in my throat, and I can’t breathe. He looks down at me like he’s holding the most precious treasure in his hands. Butterflies suddenly swarm in my belly. I blink up at him in confusion. How can such a chaste kiss on my forehead feel so intimate?

The sound of the iron wall around my heart cracking echoes through my entire being. Shivers spread down my spine, and I clench my jaw, determined to master myself. I can’t afford to be carefree and get swept up in the make-believe. Although marrying Liam is a major step and it needs to look real to everyone, I still have a few more moves left to execute. Hugh won’t surrender without a fight. Deena and Brielle won’t kneel without kicking and screaming first.

Gerald brings out our marriage license. I sign it first, my hand stable, then watch as Liam signs his name in a bold scrawl.

“That was short but lovely. But why are we here if you have a confidential marriage license?” Jeremiah says.

“Just because I want privacy doesn’t mean I don’t want important people at the wedding,” I say. Hugh will try to contest the validity of the marriage, probably calling me crazy or addicted to drugs or alcohol or of unsound mind since Mom and Pochi died. After all, I’ve accused Deena and Brielle of murdering Mom, then called Brielle a “dog killer.”

But… Good luck, parasite. Both Prescott and Jeremiah Huxley bore witness to this ceremony. He’ll never be able to claim that the marriage was a sham to kick him off the trust, not with these formidable attorneys and the unassailable reputation and power of Huxley & Webber behind them. It’s no accident I asked Prescott to attend today.

However, I’m getting the feeling that even if I’d picked two homeless people off the street as witnesses, Liam would never allow Hugh to trash our marriage.

Chapter Twelve

Olivia

“Here. Pictures since you didn’t even arrange for a photographer. What would you do without me? Legal advice, and now free photography? Truly, your cup runneth over.” Jeremiah sends pictures from the ceremony to both our phones. “And speaking of cups, don’t forget that bottle of Dom you owe me.”

Liam looks at his phone, then grins. “I’ll make it two.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

I check her photos. She captured us staring at each other in the middle of exchanging vows, the ring going on my finger, the ring going on his finger, and the kiss shots. The first one isn’t bad, but the one to my forehead is a heavy punch to the armor around my emotions.

It’s good that I didn’t get to see his expression—I probably would’ve fled in panic. Liam was glowing, like he was out digging in his garden and just uncovered the Holy Grail. I’m not the kind of prize he should be that happy about. And he wouldn’t be, if he could see the festering wounds underneath my mask.