Total pages in book: 190
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
“Not too late,” he reiterated.
“Dad, you promised me earlier that you wouldn’t again try to change my mind.”
“And I’m not,” he said, widening his eyes in innocence. “I’m just pointing out that the option is there.”
“Well, it’s not an option I want to take.” I smoothed a hand down the side of my floor-length, sleeveless dress—an ivory satin, it boasted a V neck and also a few embellishments in the back straps. It was as elegant as it was stunning. “Let’s get moving.”
My arm linked through his, I urged him toward the doors. Tall with beautiful carvings, they suited the stately building so well. It was like something from a Jane Austen novel. Magnificent, regal, and timeless.
Dane shoved open a door and we walked inside the room where rows upon rows of padded chairs were lined up. The guests stood, but I didn’t glance at them. I immediately fixed my attention on Dax, who stood at the altar looking good enough to goddamn eat in his dark suit complete with a gold cravat and waistcoat.
His lips tipped up on one side as we locked eyes. There was so much in that hint of a smile—pride, satisfaction, male appreciation, a dare to come closer.
My grip flexing on my bouquet of white roses, I walked toward him, my gaze clinging to his. I didn’t want to look at the guests. Didn’t want to chance that I’d catch anyone pulling faces or whatever.
Having practiced walking in them many times over the past week, I didn’t teeter as I strolled down the aisle in my ivory high heels. The diamanté ankle-straps had annoyed me the first time I wore them, but they no longer chafed.
Dane leaned into me. “You look beautiful, by the way,” he said, his voice too low to carry to others. “Way too good for Mercier.”
I felt my eyelid twitch. “Would you consider anyone good enough for me?” I asked just as quietly.
“No,” he grunted. “But you’d be better off with someone who—”
“You promised.”
“I’m not attempting to change your mind, I’m merely making a point.”
“Stick that point up your ass and let. It. Go.”
A few footsteps later, we finally reached Dax. The music stopped, and there seemed to be a boom of silence. I went to stand beside him … but my dad didn’t let go of my arm.
Unimpressed, I widened my eyes at Dane. His mouth set into a harsh slash, and he shot my fiancé a foul glare. I heard a male snicker that I was pretty sure came from Drey.
From her seat in the front row, my mom exchanged an eye roll with me and then cleared her throat loud. At that, Dane let out a displeased grunt, reluctantly released me, and finally stepped back.
A pinch of amusement dancing in Dax’s eyes, he took my hand in his. As one, we turned to face the priest. Rather than release my hand, he tightened his hold—not to the point where it hurt or felt uncomfortable. No, it was a firm grip that screamed “there’s no backing out now.”
He really didn’t need to suspect I would. Because as the officiant began to speak, I realized with a start that I harbored absolutely no doubts or uncertainties about marrying the man beside me.
We might not be loved-up, might not even be an actual couple, but that didn’t seem so important right then. I felt at peace with my decision; felt I’d chosen the right path for me, even if it wasn’t a path that many others would properly understand. I didn’t feel even the slightest bit nervous about this at all.
Maybe it was just because I was finally in control of this aspect of my life. Or maybe someone had slipped me a Xanax or something.
As the priest talked, I snuck the occasional, superfast glance at Dax. Most often, he was looking at the officiant. On other occasions, our gazes momentarily clashed.
When it came time for us to say our vows, he turned to fully face me. It wasn’t his words I latched onto—I knew he couldn’t truthfully mean all of them, more specifically the whole “to love and to cherish” part. I focused on the intensity in his gaze and the seriousness of his tone; mentally heard his promise to stick by all that we had agreed on during our talks.
I recited my own vows in much the same way, conveying that same message to him. He must have received it loud and clear, because a flash of something warm and a little smug washed across his face.
I switched my gaze back to the priest as he once more began to speak. It wasn’t long later that the part arrived where he appealed for anyone who objected to the wedding to speak up. I tensed, not trusting that someone wouldn’t say something.