Page 47 of The Marriage Clause

Fearless is not the word I would use.

Compelled by desperate circumstances, maybe.

Everly gives me a nudge. That’s my cue to sell it.

"Well… the heart wants what it wants."

Everly doesn’t love it. I can see it on her face, but I’m relieved I’m working out the kinks here instead of tonight the Everett’s investor friends.

Kissing him in front of a crowd was one thing, but now articulating how in love I am with Everett will need some rehearsed words.

We spend the next hour in a swirl of fabric and mirrors and Trinity muttering things like "too sweet," "too vengeful," and "too bridal in the wrong century."

One gown almost gets me.

It’s fitted and soft.

I look at myself and half recognize the woman in the mirror.

Then Trinity says, "Not enough."

My stomach drops.

But her eyes are bright.

"It’s close," she says. "It tells me who you are. Now I can build the version that tells them who you’re becoming."

That should probably sound inspiring.

Instead it makes my pulse jump.

Because I don’t entirely know who I’m becoming either.

When I finally say yes to trusting her, she smiles like she’s just been handed a challenge she’s been craving for years.

As Everly walks me back out, she says, "The board wants visibility on everything. Vendors. Contracts. Plans. We’re not just building a wedding, Aria. We’re building evidence. I’m trying to give them so much that they drown in it."

Evidence.

Not romance or joy.

She’s creating "proof".

The penthouse looks like a department store exploded inside it by the time I get back.

Designer racks. Garment bags. Shoes lined up in rows. Handbags displayed like modern art.

Lana, Everly’s stylist, smiles when she sees me.

Then she says, "Oh… you’re going to be easy. You’re gorgeous, and Everly was spot on for sizing. Are you ready?"

I freeze.

I stand in the middle of a living room full of clothes worth more than everything I own and think about Dad at Brookhaven.

About bills.

About routines.