“I assume you’ve seen the article,” I say. Might as well get straight to business.
“I have.”
Again, that neutral voice. His expression is so blank, we might as well be talking about the weather. Doesn’t it worry him that the deal behind our marriage is now public? Is he bothered that Peppermint called him a heartless, power-hungry villain? Does he actually give a damn about any of this?
“Peppermint wrote some pretty nasty things about you,” I say, watching his expression.
He shrugs. “I’m used to being cast as the villain. It’s nothing new. My team is working on getting the post taken down as we speak. It’s unlikely any other outlets will pick it up. Between thePages and Sequel PR teams, our publicists know how to keep papers under their thumbs. If it pops up on any forums, they’ll find a way to scrub it. They’re meticulous about keeping the truth under wraps.”
“Then how did Peppermint find out about us in the first place?”
His lips turn down ever-so-slightly, the first indication that he cares about any of this. “There must be a leak. It might be at Sequel or at my lawyer’s office. We’ll find it and plug it, but it might take some time. Hopefully, we can isolate it before she writes anything about the contract.”
I swallow. Maybe this is par for the course for James—he’s a massively public figure, a billionaire bachelor whose name has headlined tabloids for years. For me, though, this is a massive change. I don’t expect James to hug me and rub my back, but I wish he’d saysomethingreassuring.
He must pick up on my silent message, because he says, “Don’t worry.”
That’s it. Those are my fiancé’s words of comfort. He doesn’t even bother hiding how completely indifferent he is toward me, even on the morning of our wedding.
“Right,” I mutter. “I won’t.”
He lifts his wrist, glancing down at his Chopard watch. “I should leave you to get ready.”
“Wait.” I take a breath. There are so many things out of my control today, so much I can’t anticipate. I’d like to at least confirm what to expect tonight. “I took an ovulation test this morning to confirm. So are we still…going ahead with everything, after the wedding?”
It’s the most polite way I can think of to say,we’re still having sex, right?
“Of course.” He inclines his head. “I would never shirk my marital duties.”
“Of course,” I repeat in a deep voice, mocking his seriousness. Seriously, who says “shirk” out loud in the twenty-first century?
To his credit, his full lips quirk up in a small smile. That’s all I get from him before he strides out the door.
8
JAMES
The wedding officiant is a sour-looking man in his mid-sixties, chosen by Victor. His expression is utterly bored, like he’s officiated hundreds of weddings, and this one is nothing special. That’s probably true, actually.
He’s the one waiting for me at the end of the aisle. That’s nothing new—in fact, that’s how all traditional weddings go. The groom walks down the aisle first, meeting the officiant. It might be tradition, but it reminds me that my marriage is really about another man, one who’s just as uninvested in the happiness of this union.
I shake my head, getting the thought of Victor out of it. This ceremony will be short and sweet, a formality to get out of the way. Romance doesn’t matter.
Classical music plays over the speakers, and I’m not surprised to see Nate walking down toward me first. I told the guys that they could fight it out between themselves for the order they’d walk down the aisle in, with Ryan coming last as best man. Of course terse, grumpy Nate didn’t invest himself in jockeying for first place, happily exempting himself from the argument and standing the furthest away from me.
Luke comes next, frowning and clearly unhappy to have lost out to Beau. It brings a smile to my lips—the first one of the day.
Waking up to the Toronto Tea post wasn’t how I hoped to spend my wedding day. I trust my team to quash the story—they’re the best at what they do, or I wouldn’t have hired them. Still, it casts an unwelcome shadow on the day. Someone we trusted is selling our secrets, and I intend to find out who.
Beau’s next to walk down the aisle, wearing a satisfied smile as he walks through the sparsely filled audience. Since the guests won’t be photographed, it didn’t matter much who we invited. The seats are filled with assistants, mostly, the team who spent the last week working to make this wedding happen. At least they get to watch their handiwork come to life.
Ryan’s the final man up the aisle. He pulls faces at me as he walks, trying to make me laugh. I appreciate the levity, but I don’t crack a smile, just to annoy him.
The bridesmaids are next, Cat, Pippa, and Brinley. Each of the women wear simple sage green dresses, elegant and tasteful. Their bouquets are plain white, matching the pile of flowers behind me. When Pippa makes her way down the aisle, I can’t resist glancing back at Ryan. He’s staring at her with pure awe on his face, and I wonder how long he’ll last before proposing himself.
The music shifts into the traditional wedding march, and everyone stands as Maura appears in the doorway, Victor standing at her side. The single photographer angles his camera, ready to snap at the right time. He’s been specifically instructed only to shoot once Maura reaches the front, to make sure our wedding looks intimate rather than empty.
Maura herself looks luminous in ivory silk, a slim-fitting, elegant gown that gathers at her neck and waist. Instead of a veil, pearl clips hold back her auburn hair. She’s beautiful, but she doesn’t smile. In fact, her expression is grave, full of the sameworry I saw in her face this morning when we discussed the Toronto Tea article.
