Page 46 of The Marriage Clause

"Aria! Over here!"

"Is this Everett Kauffman’s fiancée?"

"Smile for us!"

The doorman steps in front of me. The driver takes my arm firmly and gets me into the car before I can even fully process what’s happening.

I didn’t get a text from Everly’s team or Jeremy so this must have been real paps and not the planted ones.

By the time the door shuts, my heart is hammering against my ribs hard enough to bruise.

"I’m sorry about that," the driver says as we pull away. "We thought this entrance was still clear."

I stare out the window, pulse still racing. "I didn’t know they’d know my name."

"The first Kauffman heir getting married is big news," he says carefully.

I believe him.

I hate that I do.

The bridal studio looks like a concrete bunker from the outside.

Inside, it’s a jewel box.

Silk. Lace. Chandeliers. Sketches pinned to corkboards. Half-finished gowns on mannequins with seams glittering in the light. It's what I imagine a mad genius would look like if he liked sequins and tulle and made wedding dresses instead of hats.

Everly is waiting just inside the door, luminous and delighted and entirely too pleased with herself.

"There she is," she says, linking her arm through mine. "Our bride."

"I got chased by cameras," I blurt.

Her smile slips for a fraction of a second. "Already?"

I nod.

"We’ll tighten security," she says. "And tonight’s dinner will help. Once the press gets a cleaner narrative, some of them will back off."

Some.

Wonderful.

Then she says, "Lana is bringing several dresses, clutches and heels for you. She’s working with the family jeweler. He’s going to lend us a few pieces for tonight as well. I told her that you need a knock-out piece."

I blink. "Knock out piece, rented jewelry. Doesn’t this seem like too much?"

"Aria, this is your debut as a future Kauffman. Think of it as your bar mitzvah, your quinceañera, debutant ball… but on steroids with a lot more zeros… billions to be exact."

That is somehow more alarming than the paparazzi.

"I thought this was a dinner with investors?"

"Sure… it is. But we just hijacked it and now we’re turning it into you and Everett’s hard launch."

I’m about to ask more questions when the designer, Trinity, walks out. She’s exactly what I expected that a woman who creates wedding gowns for the very rich would be—eccentric, sharp, and just this side of theatrical.

She hugs Everly, turns to me, and says, "So you’re the fearless woman marrying Everett Kauffman."