Page 4 of Three Billionaire Grooms and Not the Right Bride

“Whoa, are you okay? Please tell me everything is okay?”

“Everything is okay. It’s so peachy fine. In fact, there isn’t a peach that could be finer.” I look at myself in the mirror and mouth, ‘What is wrong with you?’ I truly don’t know anymore.

I have to tell Aunt Heather what’s really going on. No, I can’t. Mrs. Neal will have me quartered and fed to her pet alligator in her backyard. That is not to say I know for a fact she has a pet alligator she feeds her enemies to on a daily basis, but I can’t unsee her without one now.

I do not want to be her alligator’s lunch.

Besides, this is me going the extra mile for my client. It’s what Aunt Heather wants. What her business motto is, for crying out loud. I’m supposed to magically make all disasters disappear.

“Seriously, everything is perfect. Tatiana is so beautiful,” I say, looking at myself and grimacing. “And we’re just about set to go and get her married.”

I am going to hell for lying to sweet Aunt Heather. After weighing the pros—I get to pay off Jimmy and Mars—I might as well just keep going.

I also have to resign as a wedding event planner. It’s just not for me. Who knows what will happen the next time I do one? I can’t get married again.

No, this was a once-off thing. Aunt Heather was feeling a little under the weather, and she thought she could help me out with my finances. I really, really should quit. I’ll tell her afterward.

Aunt Heather says goodbye, and I stare at myself in the mirror again before concealing my face with the veil. It’s folded twice so my features are even more obscure. Mrs. Neal, terror that she is, does think of everything.

I can do this. And when I’m done with this farce and pay off my dad’s debts, I’m going to book myself a holiday. I deserve it, dammit, for all this emotional upheaval. I’ll go somewhere sunny, an island, and I’ll sip drinks with umbrellas and get a tan and eat everything off the menus. Then I’ll relook at my life again.

Maybe I should go back to college and finish my degree and get an office job. Nothing too glamorous. Just one where I can buy an apartment and a car and have enough left over to book myself holidays. I love holidays. It had been my favorite childhood memory. Okay, so things are looking up.

A rap on the door halts all my thoughts. It’s the uncle. Here to walk me down the aisle. No, not me, Tatiana. Does he know? No, Mrs. Neal would not have told a soul. Besides, I think she was banking on the poor man’s bad eyesight since he jovially called me Tatiana.

Here goes nothing.

“Ready?” he asks. I just nod enthusiastically because hell yeah, my new life awaits.

With my arm linked around the older man’s, he escorts me to the reception area, and soon I’m one step away from the aisle.

The entire room is a dream, from the thirty-foot ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers and draped with swaths of gold cloth down to the marble floors, laden with resin-covered petals. Floral arrangements in all sizes decorate the perimeter of the room. On either side are gold-encrusted chairs already occupied by the most distinguished-looking people ever.

And then there’s the altar. Aunt Heather’s vision surpasses everything. It’s a fantasy of flowers and gold ropes strewn here and there. I could never in my wildest dreams pull this off.

Obviously I’ve seen the space before, but I’m so newly engrossed I forget I’m the stand-in bride.

I make the ghastly mistake of looking up ahead. Even with my eyesight frosted under the gauze of the veil, I’m immediately overwhelmed at the sight of the three men standing at the altar.

They’ve turned my way the instant I entered, and now I can’t breathe.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

Chapter Four

Hadley

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Edison Dunn, Cristian Harvey, and Dayton Watson are purely magnificent demigods.

Collectively over six feet three, there is no mistaking that their custom-made suits were tailored to caress every inch of their glorious physiques.

There is no questioning that their bodies are ripped to mouth-watering proportions, not with the way the fabric lovingly pulls across their broad shoulders and wide chests, then accentuates the utter leanness of their stomachs down to their thighs. Holy muscle moly.

A shift in my gaze upward really screws me over. My heart tumbles about my chest as if I’d put it into a dryer. To match their Adonis bodies, their faces are just masterpieces of male beauty.

Dark eyes—blue, green, and brown—stare back at me. Jaws so chiseled I’m sure they would cut the tip of my finger if I stroked them.