This isn’t a real wedding, Cece.
That’s what I keep telling myself. Over and over, like a prayer.
It’s just business.
A deal.
An alliance.
A transaction sealed with a ceremony and some very expensive paperwork.
And yet, it doesn’t feel fake when Atlas reaches for my hand and curls his fingers around mine like he’s anchoring me or himself or both.
It doesn’t feel fake when his eyes catch mine and everything else—this yacht, this sea, this impossible sky—fades away.
Oh no.
I don’t want to want him.
But I do.
God help me, I do.
Because the heart doesn’t care about logistics.
Or prenups.
Or plots whispered in the dead of night.
The heart wants what the heart wants.
And mine?
It’s already tangled up in him.
In this real-life prince of a man with ice in his veins and lightning in his eyes. Who touches me like I’m sacred and looks at me like I’m already his.
Maybe I’m a fool.
Maybe I’m being used.
I know this whole marriage is just one more strategic move in a chess game I don’t understand. But maybe—just maybe—I don’t care.
Because as much as I hate the idea of being someone's pawn, the truth is, I’ve never felt more seen than I do with him.
And right now, standing barefoot on this dock, in a dress too soft for war and too pretty for regret, I realize something terrifying.
I’m not just falling for him.
I already have.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever climb back out.
Too late to run now, Cece.
I barely feel the waves beneath my feet as Atlas leads me down the main deck, his hand warm and firm on the small of my back.
We pass crew members and guards as we make our way toward the open-air aft deck where the ceremony is already prepared.
