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Gio turns to me and her features soften. “I realize we don’t know each other but I’m privileged to be here on your special day.”
“I can do with all the support I can get.” I curve my lips and paste on my trademark smile. My fake smile. The one which convinces everyone that everything is fine with me. Everyone but me... And Knight. He’s the only one who can look through my false cheer. The only one who demands I be honest with him, when he himself never is. The only man who knows the real me asked me to marry him. In a way, this should be a perfect match; only, it isn’t. Because it’s all fake. His proposal, his reason for asking me to be his wife. All of it is as fake as my smile. I straighten my lips. Perhaps if I hadn’t pretended everything was fine things wouldn’t have come to this stage?
“Good thing Rachel booked the largest room in city hall to accommodate everyone,” Mira chirps.
“Eh?” I blink.
“This is the only room in the place which can accommodate up to fifty people, it was smart thinking on Rachel’s part to have booked it given the number of people attending your wedding has increased,” she explains.
Solene turns to Giorgina. "When did you get in from LA?"
"This morning. I flew in with Knight."
"You did?" I frown.
She tilts her head. "It was coincidence that we were leaving around the same time. Also, I can’t say no to flying private. Beats commercial, any day," she sniffs.
I narrow my gaze. "You and Knight—"
"—have never met before. I’m here because I lost a bet to Rick, who insisted I accompany him to your wedding. Not that I have anything againstyou."
"You’re against weddings?"
She looks at me with respect. "You catch on fast."
Except when it comes to Sir Bosshole, apparently. I should have cut my losses and found a way to pay off the money I owe him. Instead, I seem to be caught deeper in the web he’s spun around me. It’s almost like he’s trying every way possible to bind me to him and make it difficult for me to escape him. Including not using a condom when he fucked me. Did he do that on purpose?I blink.Nah, not possible. He wouldn’t have, would he? On the other hand, what if he did it subconsciously? What if he really does care about me but can't admit it, even to himself?
"Oh, hold on, I have something for you." Giorgina dips into her handbag, then comes up with a brooch. "It belonged to my grandmother, who had a very happy marriage—unlike my own mother. And since I’m never going to get married, I thought you should have it." She nods in the direction of my dress. “May I?”
I nod. She pins it to the front of my dress.
"Oh, it’s beautiful." I touch the piece, which is in the shape of a feather—and studded with tiny blue stones.
"It goes with your bouquet." She nods toward the bunch I’m clutching.
"It does!" I exclaim.
"It was meant to be," she says in a pleased tone, “and—"
"Ladies, we’re very late." A harried woman in an emerald-green dress hustles in. Rachel’s been a godsend. She worked with Isla on the weddings of the Seven, and the experience shows. She made sure to consult me at every turn, putting together the wedding ceremony and the reception afterward. I told her to do as she pleased, but she insisted on having my input. And now, I’m grateful for it.What if the only wedding in my life is this fake wedding? What if I never find the man who’s supposed to be the one? What if Sir is the one?The band around my chest begins to tighten again, and my head spins. This time, it’s Gio who grips my shoulders. "Woman, you need to go out there and show him he can’t get the better of you."
I swallow.
"You can’t let these men overpower you. You need to show him you have the firepower in you to stand toe-to-toe with him. You need to hold your own and make him respect you. You need to draw the line—here, now, this moment—and show him he’s underestimated you."
I glance between her eyes. Apparently, it took a stranger to read between the lines and realize not everything is as it seems on the surface. It took someone who doesn’t know me to call me on my bluff and tell me I need to stand my ground. To find the courage to go through with this without losing face. To believe in myself. I draw in a shuddering breath, then nod.
"Good.” Her features light up. “Ready to make this wedding your bitch?"
47
Knight
"You’re a bitch," Rick glares at me.
I raise my glass at him then toss back the contents. The whiskey slides down my throat and hits my stomach, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. I slap the empty glass onto the counter of the bar at the 7A Club. It’s midnight, but inside the club, it’s buzzing, men seated in comfortable armchairs with snifters of whiskey in front of them, and half-smoked cigars building ash in between their fingers. The air is thick with the scent of tobacco smoke. No, you’re not allowed to smoke inside, but the douchebag billionaires around me have found a way around the rules. I grab the bottle of whiskey that the bartender helpfully left me and top myself up.
"So you’re getting drunk on your wedding night, is that it?"
