I’m stuck with him. For the company’s sake, we have a strict divorce clause. Whoever initiates the divorce… loses their shares to the other.
It would be complete capitulation.
I wouldn’t mind it, if he divorced me. I’d lose Maison Valmont’s giant coffers, but the company would be entirely mine. No man to dictate my moves. That’s my plan B. Annoy him into divorcing me, if need be.
Rafe signs the document first with quick, practiced movements. AnRand then a snarledM. He must sign things often, using his last name like a sword.
I sign my name next to his.
My hand shakes a little when I put it to paper. Paige Wilde. I write it slower than usual and make sure every letter is perfect. At the end of my name I draw a tiny heart.
I’ve never done that before. But I know he’s watching, and I’m betting on all of this bothering him. My lateness, myslowness. When I straighten up, my signature looks pristine next to his scrawled handwriting.
The clerk looks from the paper to us, standing side by side in front of her. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” She looks at Rafe. “You may now kiss the bride.”
“No, you may not,” I say at the same time Rafe mutters “No, thanks.”
Behind us, there’s a muffled chuckle. Rafe reaches for the wedding certificate and looks it over with hard eyes.
“It’s done,” he says.
No,I think.We’ve only just begun.
CHAPTER 2
PAIGE
And just like that, I’m married to the King of Luxury. The man who secretly bought shares for years through unnamed trusts and just recently exercised all of that power.
I’ve never handled the feeling of being caught particularly well.
I’m a runner. And I want to run now, standing there beside Raphaël Montclair in a tailored suit, talking in low tones to his lawyer and that man with the scarred eyebrow.
This whole thing took less than five minutes. Mather & Wilde is not my uncle’s anymore. My lawyer will notify him of the transfer of shares later today, and the company is safe.
I tug at the silk knot at my neck.
It’s hard to breathe. I hate it when that happens. Sitting in my emotions is my least favorite thing in the world. It’s why I work so hard to never sit still. It’s why I fake confidence at every turn. Sometimes, I even manage to fool myself.
I hope my parents would understand why I did this, if they were still here. They loved the company just as much as I do before their accident. And after their funeral, the company became my home.
Rafe is still talking to his friend. He hasn’t introduced me, and judging from their low, quick tones, it’s not necessarily a nice conversation.
Fantastic.
A young man steps up to us. He’s holding a professional camera in one hand and is wearing a too large suit jacket and a crooked smile. “Hi,” he tells me. “Ready when you both are.”
This addendum was part of the negotiations. Our wedding was to be profiled inThe New York Globe. A single page, complete with a few images and a note about thequiet, intimateceremony. Thank God they didn’t send a reporter, too, who could report just how much it resembled a battlefield.
“We’re ready,” I tell him, and turn to Rafe. “Shall we?”
His friend looks at me with eyes I can’t make out. He looks familiar, somehow. The kind of face I’ve probably seen in the media before.
Rafe nods. “Let’s get this over with.”
We follow behind the photographer, out of the small room and down a long corridor. He looks over his shoulder at us. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you,” I say.
