I grab my bouquet, inhale the pine and roses, and take one final look in the mirror.
I’m not walking toward a fake husband.
I’m walking toward myrealone.
My heart, suddenly too full to contain, feels like it might burst.
Time to marry the love of my life.
TWELVE
Heath
I’ve satthrough my share of galas and business ceremonies, charity dinners and stiff family functions, but nothing,nothing, has ever come close to this.
Sienna walks toward me, and the world falls silent.
She’s glowing. Soft candlelight clings to her skin, the lace of her mother’s dress hugging curves I have sworn to worship for the rest of my life. Her eyes find mine, and the breath punches out of my chest.
She smiles.
I swear I feel it physically, like her happiness crawls under my ribs and settles directly around my heart, squeezing until I’m almost dizzy.
Jem brushes at her tears behind Sienna, and the town officiant clears his throat like he’s trying not to sniffle, too. We’re standing outside, pine trees dusted with snow, fairy lights strung between them. Winter air bites at my suit, but I don’t feel cold.
Sienna reaches me, slipping her hand into mine, and it feels like the rest of the universe steps back and gives us space.
“You’re sure?” she whispers, eyes shining.
“Never been surer about anything in my life.”
We turn toward the officiant.
It’s a blur of words, vows, promises, and rings sliding onto fingers that shake with emotion. When he says, “You may kiss your bride,” I don’t hesitate.
I cup her face and kiss her slowly. Reverently. Her lips tremble. Mine probably do, too.
My wife.
Myrealwife.
When we part, her cheeks are flushed, and I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in like oxygen.
Then, my grandmother steps forward.
“One more thing,” she says, digging in her oversized purse.
She hands me a folder thick with signatures, official seals, and numbers that could choke a man.
“Your inheritance,” she says simply.
I don’t bother to look. I turn to Sienna, take her hand, and place the folder in her palm.
Her brows knit. “Heath?”
“It’s yours,” I say. “All of it.”
She blinks. “I don’t—what?”
