“I do,” he says, his voice rough.
I stifle a sigh of relief as the officiant turns to me.Suddenly, this rushed wedding that should lead us into a fake marriage feels way too real.I become aware of every detail.Like the way the chapel’s lighting catches in the princess-cut diamond on my left hand.After we checked in at the Bellagio, Shelby insisted on taking me to the hotel’s Tiffany’s store.He bought this beautiful ring I’m admiring now.I remember the judgmental look the saleswoman gave me at the bridal boutique when I tried on this white dress.I run a hand over the silk fabric that clings to my hips, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles.
“And do you, Serena Marie DiLorenzo, take Shelby James Boyle to be your lawful husband?”
I open my mouth, and nothing comes out.Time freezes as I hesitate.I could still walk away.I could decide that the risk isn’t worth it, that protecting my heart is more important than escaping Father’s control.
But then I take a good look at Shelby.I spot the tension in his face, the vulnerability he’s trying so hard to hide.I see the real man behind the tall walls he’s built to protect himself.He’s terrified of failing the people he cares about.He’s built fortified walls, just like mine, that prevent anyone from reaching him.Despite those protections, Shelby agreed to marry me.From now on, he’ll be legally bound to me, even though he knows it could destroy him if this goes wrong.
He’s as terrified as I am.
The knowledge settles something restless in my chest.
Still holding Shelby’s stare, I reply in a firm voice, “I do.”
“I pronounce you husband and wife.”The officiant wraps the ceremony up without changing his tone.
And just like that, it’s done.Legally binding.Real.I’m married to Shelby Boyle.The marriage certificate the officiant slides across the table for me to sign feels like a lifeline.I can only hope it won’t turn into a noose for either of us.
I sign my name carefully.Serena Marie DiLorenzo will soon be something else, though we haven’t discussed whether I’ll take his name.The pen trembles slightly in my hand, the only outward sign of the storm raging in my mind and chest.
Shelby signs next, his handwriting sharp and precise, each letter deliberate.
And then we’re walking out of the chapel into the overwhelming sensory assault of Las Vegas at night.The Strip spreads out before us in all its garish glory.Neon lights and noise.And the desperate energy of people trying to escape their lives, even if just for a weekend.
We don’t speak as Shelby guides me back to the Bellagio.His hand on the small of my back is possessive and warm, and every nerve ending in my body is acutely aware of his touch.
The luxury hotel is not subtle.Its massive casino and lobby might disorient a person.We move through the crowds like ghosts, my hand in his, and I feel the weight of the wedding ring like it’s branded my skin.
The ride in the private elevator to the top floor is silent.I’m hyperaware of Shelby’s presence beside me.His warmth radiates from his body, tempting all my senses.There’s also palpable tension thrumming through him, crackling the air around us.His shoulders are so broad they stretch the suit’s seams.Raw power and animal magnetism exude from him in waves.I clench my free hand to keep from running my fingers through his hair and pulling him into a mind-numbing kiss.
God, I want him so fucking much.The unbridled thought makes my pulse hitch, but it doesn’t surprise me.My sister was right.I’ve been keeping tabs on Shelby Boyle for years and secretly enjoying every second of it.
When the elevator doors open on our floor, I’m reminded that Shelby booked the honeymoon suite.Of course he did.Because we need to sell this.We need anyone who might be watching, anyone who might report back to Father, to believe that this is a real marriage.That we’re not faking it.
Except, now that the papers are signed, this doesn’t seem fake anymore.And there’s nothing fake about the way my heart is hammering as he opens the suite door.
The room is opulent, with a massive king-size bed dominating the space.Two walls are made of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the Strip and the famous hotel fountain.The indirect lighting is designed to help guests relax, and a bottle of champagne is chilling in an ice bucket on the table.
Everything about this room screams romance and passion.All of a sudden, I can’t breathe.
Shelby closes the door behind us, and the sound of the lock clicking feels impossibly loud.He leans against it and holds my gaze.
I don’t look away as I remind myself that I’ve spent years building walls to protect myself.In the last couple of days, I built a narrative in which this marriage is purely strategic, allowing us to maintain emotional distance.I’ve told myself that I can do this without letting him in, without letting myself fall.
The truth is that I’ve been lying to myself for ages.I want Shelby Boyle.I’ve wanted him for as long as I can remember.But he’s always been off-limits, an enforcer for an Irish family, my brother’s best friend.
I press a hand to my chest in a vain attempt to slow my heart.It’s just dawned on me that I might have proposed this crazy arrangement as an excuse to be tied to Shelby.In that case, I should make the best of the time we have together.
Shelby pushes off the door, taking a couple of steps forward.“We should talk about—“ he starts, but I’m already moving.
I close the distance between us to silence him with a kiss.
It’s not gentle.It’s not a hello or a celebration.It’s raw and desperate and everything I’ve been trying not to feel since the moment he agreed to this insane plan.His hands come up to frame my face, his fingers threading through my carefully styled hair with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Serena—“ His voice is hoarse, uncertain.
