Page 120 of The Unwilling Bride
He smiles. And I’m struck by the fact that, while he looks similar in age to me, he has a few years on me. The experience of those years is reflected in his words when he tilts his head. “I’m saying, it won’t protect you from yourself.”
Wise words.
And he’s right. It really is up to me how I play this. The contract is a guideline. It’s a useful reminder. I can make this marriage whatever I want…within the lines of the contract.
"How’s the bridegroom?" Gideon prowls into the room.
"Irritated that you lot are here," I say honestly. I love my brothers, but they can be intense when they gang up on me.
"As you should be." Beckett walks in behind Gideon. “You know the trick to a happy marriage?”
I sigh. “This should be good.”
“Every morning, you wake up and decide not to be an idiot.”
“Profound." Tristan smirks.
“I’m serious." Beckett’s features echo his words. "You choose her. Again. And again. Even when she’s annoying you.”
"I’ll keep that in mind." It’s not bad advice. If I were getting married for real. Which I’m not.
"How’re you feeling?" Gideon surveys my features.
"I’m good." I roll my shoulders and shake out my hands.
It feels like I’m going into battle, if I’m being honest. My stomach feels like I’ve swallowed an anchor. My chest feels cold. Too cold. I slide my hand inside my pants pocket, where my fingers brush up against the hair tie. I’m instantly soothed.
"This is a big step. I hope you’re prepared to be loyal to only one woman for the rest of your life." Gideon’s tone is half serious, half joking.
I don’t have any reservations about being with one woman for the rest of my life. Not when it’s her.
We’ll be occupying different rooms, so sex won't be featured at all… So long as I get to see her everyday over the breakfast table, I don’t want any other woman in my life.
Just as long as my emotions aren’t involved, of course.
"Gentlemen—"
I look up to find a bespectacled man who I recognize as the registrar’s clerk beaming at us from the entrance to the room.
Finally, fuck.
"—We’re ready for you."
33
Harper
I wait outside the double doors that lead into the ceremony chamber. I have a small bouquet of flowers Briar brought for me.
I asked her to walk with me down the aisle to where the officiant will be waiting with James.
Freya is my unofficial flower girl. Or in this case, my goth girl.
She’s dressed in black from head to toe. Black lace dress, black tights, black boots that thud softly against the floor as she walks. Even the ribbon tying back her dark hair is black. The only concession to the occasion is the small basket she’s carrying.
Instead of petals, she insisted on filling it with dark red rosebuds.
“Regular flowers are boring,” she informed me earlier with the weary authority of a ten-year-old who has already judged the world and found it largely disappointing.
