Page 150 of The Wrong Groom

“But you… you didn’t have to do that.” She shakes her head as if trying to clear it. “If you were trying to protect me from Travis, this wasn’t… you didn’t need to…”

“No,” I say, taking a few steps toward her. “This has nothing to do with Travis, and nothing to do with your parents’ bullshit, either. This is about you, and the things you can achieve, if you’re given the chance.” I pause, then sink onto the couch beside her. She doesn’t shrink away, but the stunned expression hasn’t left her face.

“You…” She trails off, her voice unsure.

“I did this because I wanted to,” I tell her. “I want the world to see more of your light. I want you to make Vérité everything you’ve always wanted it to be.”

She doesn’t seem to know what to say. Her lips are slightly parted, and I can see the uncertainty in her eyes.

“It’s yours,” I murmur. “No matter what you decide, it’s yours.”

Whether she takes me back or not. Whether she stays in this house or not. Even if she decides to walk out of that door and I never see her again, Vérité is hers.

The realization starts to dawn on her face, my full meaning sinking in.

“Your family never deserved you,” I say, reaching to take her hands in mine. She doesn’t resist, doesn’t pull away. “And Travis wasn’t good enough for you—not by half. Neither am I, but at least I’m smart enough to know it. To give you what you deserve.” I lean down and press my lips to her knuckles, never breaking eye contact. “To worship you.”

Her throat works as she swallows. “Gabriel,” she whispers unsteadily, her eyes shining with tears.

“I mean it,” I breathe. I kiss her hand again, then let it fall. “And I’ll never stop trying to prove it to you.”

Chapter 48

Alexis

Two weeks later, Gabriel sits at my side in a conference room, the table before us strewn with papers. Opposite us, a lawyer and a business consultant, two of the men from Gabriel’s team, review the final documents before passing them in my direction. These are the papers that will officially transfer the key assets of Vérité into my hands.

It’s actually happening. I can hardly believe it as Gabriel’s lawyer sets a document before me, tapping the top of the paper as he says, “This is the last one. Intellectual property.”

I take a deep breath, my hands suddenly feeling clammy as I reach for the pen. How many times have I dreamed of this, of taking over Vérité and re-making it? Now I’m actually going to have the power to do it. The designs, the influence, the legacy. It’s all about to be mine.

Fleeting nerves flutter in my chest. I don’t know what it takes to be the owner of a company. I’ve never even been close to the actual decision-making at Vérité. What if that inexperience shows? What if I run it into the ground?

Gabriel seems to sense my hesitation. He places a steadying hand on my arm, and I glance over at him, meeting his gaze. His presence is grounding, his eyes full of warmth and pride.

“You’re ready for this,” he says. “You’ve been ready for a long time. I promise.”

I swallow hard. “But what if I’m not? What if I fuck it up?”

“You won’t,” he assures me. “And I’ll be there to help you the whole time. Anything you need.”

Despite how overwhelmed I feel, a small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. Over the past few weeks, Gabriel has been a nonstop presence, going out of his way at every turn to make my life better. His attention has been ceaseless, his care stubborn and persistent. I know he’s been doing this to grovel for my forgiveness, and it’s working. My defenses have been slipping, worn down by the constant evidence of his belief in me, in us.

I put the pen to the paper and sign.

Gabriel’s lawyer whisks the document away, tucking it into a manila folder. He offers me a professional smile and reaches to shake my hand. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” I gasp, barely able to get the words out. The lawyer packs away the folder into a briefcase, and the two men exit the room, leaving me alone with Gabriel.

For a long moment, I just sit there, unsure what to do with myself. I just took ownership of a company. Not just any company. My family’s company. The ship I’ve wanted to steer since I was a teenager.

Next to me, Gabriel is beaming, his excitement infectious. He reaches below the table and pulls something from his tote bag—a small champagne bottle, its top sealed with golden foil, and two plastic glasses with long stems.

“I can’t—” I start, but he winks at me.

“It’s sparkling grape juice,” he says. “Non-alcoholic. Don’t worry.”

I raise an eyebrow, relieved and amused in equal measure. “Seriously?”