“You’re embarrassing me. Don’t think I haven’t seen the headlines you’ve caused,” he hisses through clenched teeth while still smiling, and suddenly I feel cold. With the shouting behind me and Henry beside me, I climb the stairs stiffly, though I want nothing more than to run and hide.
So much for “enjoying this day.”
The church’s double doors stand open and the organ begins to play. Every row is filled, and I see the guests rise as they all stare at me.
My ears are ringing and the shouts echo in my head, causing me to falter for a moment. But Henry squeezes my arm roughly, and I keep going. Step by step. I fix my gaze straight ahead, and my eyes meet gray ones that captivate me, support me, and draw me closer. They look at me with awe.
Nicolas.
I forget Henry. Forget the people. I hold on to him, to his gaze. He’s here. I can do this. I can do this.
And when he reaches out his hand to me, when it closes firmly, securely, and unbelievably gently around mine, when his thumb soothes my racing pulse at my wrist, I feel a small hope that everything might still turn out alright.
When Amelia’s brother storms out with a smug look, I tense up automatically. I can’t stand this guy, but what I hate even more is how he treats Amelia. It’s been rubbing me the wrong way since the very beginning, and I decide to put him under a bit more scrutiny.
But first, I have to survive my own wedding.
Sarah is sitting in the third row, her gaze practically piercing me. Annoyed, I turn away and look at my father in the front row, where Mum and Lizzy are also taking their seats. My heart pounds hard in my chest because I’m nervous. But when I hear the shouts echoing from outside into the church, a merciless rage rises inside me.
“Slut.”
“I hate you.”
“You don’t deserve Nicolas.”
The insults are scattered but still cut through the crowd, and I know my Goldilocks hears every one of them. I know they all hit their mark.
Impatiently, I stare at the entrance, holding myself back from rushing forward to grab her, to protect her from these assholes until she finally appears on her brother’s arm.
I can’t breathe, and my mind goes blank. The world outside fades away—there is only Amelia. All I can do is stare at her. I keep staring and staring. My throat is dry and swallowing feels impossible. My pulse races faster than I ever expected. I can’t believe it, but this woman is truly mine.
“Holy shit,” Cedric mouths almost without sound, and fuck, he’s right. I exhale the breath I’d been holding because damn, she’s breathtaking. That dress, her delicate shoulders, she… just wow.
Mine.
Amelia belongs to me. But when I see how pale she is, how stiff she walks beside her brother, the frantic look in her eyes, I tense up again.
Look at me, Goldilocks, come on, look at me, I silently urge her and as if she’s heard me, her blue eyes land on mine.
The noise around me fades as I focus solely on my wife—yes, my wife—who seems to cling to my gaze. My whole body tingles, and admiration washes over me.
Mine.
Amelia straightens, and I see the relief on her beautiful face as she finally reaches me. I take the last steps toward her, and her brother deliberately stops in front of me, throwing me an arrogant look that I’m more than happy to return. Raising an eyebrow, I meet his gaze, and he reads the clear warning in my eyes.
“Don’t fuck with me, asshole, or we’ll have a problem,”it says plainly. He swallows hard and releases Amelia. I hold out my hand to her, almost sighing with relief when she lays hers in mine—delicate, hesitant, and damn cold. She looks at me with wide eyes.
Mine.
She is so beautiful. And so completely mine.
I ignore that arrogant jerk of a brother and pull her toward me with a sharp tug, making her gasp in surprise. Then she smiles, shy and reserved, but she smiles. And it’s only for me.
“Hey,” I whisper and gently nudge her nose with mine. Fuck protocol, fuck my father, fuck the guests. Amelia is the only one that matters. I let everyone know.
Her cheeks regain that pretty rosy color and her smile widens at my gesture.
“Hey,” she murmurs back and I can’t resist kissing the corner of her mouth briefly. A discreet throat-clearing pulls us back to reality, and I glance toward the altar, where Father Benedict is watching us with an amused smile.
