Page 131 of Bound To Be Mine

We clinked glasses and sipped our wine, standing in her new closet like it was the most natural thing in the world. I supposed, for us, it was.

We ordered in and then went to bed early. I honestly couldn’t wait to be in bed with her. It wasn’t just about sex. It was being able to hold her. Smell her. Listen to her soft breathing.

The next morning, I found her at the vanity putting on makeup. She’d chosen a navy dress—professional but not stuffy—paired with heels that gave her an extra inch of confidence she didn’t actually need. Her hair fell in loose waves, and the bold lip was a statement. She looked stunning. She looked like she belonged.

“You look beautiful,” I said, catching her eyes in the mirror. I leaned down and kissed her neck. “We have to go. We don’t want to be late.”

The car was waiting at the curb. I could feel the tension radiating off her the moment we settled into the backseat. She was anxious. I knew her well enough by now to read it in the set of her jaw, the stillness of her hands.

“Breathe,” I said, squeezing her hand.

“I am breathing.”

“You’re holding your breath.”

She exhaled slowly and made a visible effort to relax her shoulders. I kept her hand in mine for the rest of the ride.

The elevator doors opened into the sleek reception area, and I watched her take it in—really take it in—this time as someone who belonged here.

“Good morning, Mr. Blackwell,” the receptionist said. Then she smiled at Mandy. “Mrs. Blackwell. Welcome.”

I felt Mandy tense slightly beside me. Mrs. Blackwell. She’d get used to it. I hoped she would. I liked her carrying my name. Call me alpha, but it felt like I had truly claimed her.

I led her down the hallway lined with framed photos—fashion shows, magazine covers, decades of Blackwell history pressed behind glass. I caught her glancing at the ones with a younger version of me and resisted the urge to steer her past them.

The conference room was already full. Cleo and Callum jumped up to embrace her the moment she walked in. She immediately relaxed.

Adrian, Dash, Sebastian, and Bernadette were already seated. Elizabeth came in just behind us, looking slightly frantic, which was her natural state before any major presentation.

Adrian called the room to order and the lights dimmed. The Blackwell Occasions logo appeared on the screen and the presentation began.

The numbers were extraordinary. Thousands of pre-orders before an official launch. Features in Vogue, Martha Stewart Weddings, The Knot. Inquiries from Neiman Marcus, Nordstrom, and Bergdorf Goodman.

“Holy shit,” Mandy breathed beside me when the pre-order slide came up.

I squeezed her hand under the table. I’d known the numbers were good. Seeing her react to them made them feel real in a different way.

When Adrian turned the room’s attention to the retail expansion and her role in it, I watched her sit up straighter. She’d been nervous in the car, and now she was composed. That was her. She could do that.

The meeting wrapped, Sebastian ordered enough food to feed a small country, and Dash materialized champagne from somewhere. The formal atmosphere dissolved fast. That was how it always went with this family—business to chaos in under ten minutes.

“Where’s Bucky?” Mandy asked.

“With Adrian’s mom,” Elizabeth said. “She insisted.”

“Mom’s obsessed,” Adrian said, though he couldn’t quite suppress a smile.

Lunch arrived in thirty minutes, something expensive and impossible to book, but the Blackwell name had its uses. We spread out around the conference table and it stopped feeling like a meeting and started feeling like a Sunday dinner.

“So,” Dash said, pointing his fork at Mandy. “How does it feel to be officially part of the family business?”

“Terrifying and exciting in equal measure,” she admitted.

“That’s the Blackwell way,” Sebastian said.

I watched her laugh and settle into the conversation. She fit. She’d asked me once, early on, whether she’d ever feel like she belonged here. I hadn’t known how to answer then.

I had my answer now.