And then she rises onto her toes. Her lips brush mine.
Barely.
A ghost of a kiss.
Soft.
Warm.
Devastating.
The whispers grow louder and cameras snap but I barely recognize any of it. I’m too consumed and thrilled at her public show of affection. But before the kiss can deepen, she pulls back an inch, and for a brief second I see uncertainty in her eyes. “I—sorry—I”
I grip her waist, breath harsh. “Don’t apologize.”
Her hands curl into my jacket, trembling.
“Caden—”
“Kiss me,” I whisper.
She does.
And the world tilts.
The kiss is soft, slow, unbearably tender—nothing like the heat I expected. It’s almost worse. It feels like healing and breaking and drowning all at once.
When the room erupts into applause, and loud whistling rent the air, I pull back, forehead pressed to hers, breathing hard.
“Kamiyah,” I whisper, “this is going to complicate everything.”
Her voice is a shaky breath. “I know.”
Although it’s too late to turn back, I ask, “Do you still want this arrangement?” Because her aunt’s words about me manipulating her is a small seed of doubt, I want gone.
“Yes,” she whispers, without hesitation. “I want it even more now,” she says.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KAMIYAH
The ring catches the morning light as I twist it around my finger again—slowly, carefully—like if I handle it too quickly I might wake from some impossible dream. Five carats, flawless, cut in a way that makes it look almost unreal. Too beautiful. Too extravagant. Too much like a fairy tale meant for someone else.
I stare at it until my eyes blur.
Until my chest tightens.
Until my breath feels shallow.
This isn’t how I imagined my wedding day.
Not in a remote mountain chapel tucked behind rows of whispering pines.
Not in a dress my mother and I didn’t pick out.
And not with my hair pinned up by my own trembling hands in the reflection of a bathroom mirror no bigger than a lunch tray.
And certainly not without my mother gently fussing over my veil or my father waiting to walk me down the aisle.
