Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Juliette
A Few Months Later
I zipped the last suitcase closed and sat back on my heels, breathing in the quiet hum of the house.
Our house.
The thought still caught me off guard sometimes, like I’d accidentally stepped into someone else’s life, someone who knew how to move through gleaming marble hallways and sleep beneath chandeliers without blinking. But this wasn’t someone else’s life. This was mine.
Ours.
The faint sound of Damian’s voice floated in from the next room, low and steady as he wrapped up a call. He’d been juggling details all morning—last-minute flight plans, real estate agents, a string of texts from Anthony checking in about the board meeting later this week.
I stood, smoothing the fabric of the simple silk slip dress I’d pulled from the back of my closet. It had been waiting for an occasion I couldn’t name until now. I laid it gently across the bed, next to the navy suit Damian had already set out.
Behind me, I heard his footsteps.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice softer now. Closer.
I turned to find him leaning in the doorway, his tie loose, his sleeves rolled back to his elbows. That small furrow in his brow was still there, the one that only appeared when something mattered more than he wanted to admit.
I smiled. “I’m sure. And I can’t wait to meet Mateo.”
He pushed off the doorframe, crossing to me in a few slow strides. His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing lightly over my cheekbones. “You’re sure you don’t want the whole thing? The flowers, the… whatever it is people do?”
I laughed softly, curling my fingers around his wrists. “I don’t need the whole thing. I just need you.”
The tension in his shoulders loosened at that, a breath escaping between parted lips. “Vegas it is,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “No backing out now. Besides, we don’t want to disappoint Mateo. He has already texted me twice today to check in on us.”
“I was never planning on it. I can’t wait to meet him.”
He pulled back with a grin, his eyes gleaming like they always did before he let his guard down completely. “Then we better not miss our flight.”
I nodded, grabbing my phone and turning toward my purse on the dresser. A text from Gabrielle waited, a string of emojis—champagne bottles, wedding rings, an over-the-top heart-eyed face.
Gabrielle: I LOVE this for you. Send me pics or I’ll disown you.
I snorted, typing back a quick promise with a laughing emoji before glancing at Damian, setting my phone down, and pressing a palm lightly to my stomach.
A faint swirl of nausea climbed up my throat—a side effect I’d come to recognize after weeks of hormone shots, pills, and appointments.
I breathed through it, counting backwards like the nurse had taught me, until it ebbed into nothing more than a dull queasiness.
Only a few more days until the transfer. Only a few more days until another try.
I wasn’t going to let it ruin today.
“Gabrielle sends her full approval. And threats,” I said.
He chuckled under his breath, reaching for his cufflinks. “Good. We’ll need all the approval we can get.”
I watched him for a moment as he buttoned his sleeves, the steady, unhurried confidence in every move. And beneath it, that same flicker I’d glimpsed the first time he’d told me he wanted more than just the games we’d played.
“You look happy,” I said quietly.
He paused, tilting his head toward me. “I am.”
A beat passed between us, warm and full.
And for the first time I realized my dreams were coming true. Not because of the mansion, or the jet waiting for us at the private terminal, or even the ring he’d slipped onto my finger at the gala a few months ago. It was him.
Always him.
“Come on,” Damian said, offering his hand. “Let’s go make this official.”
I slid my hand into his, letting his warmth steady me.
“We already are,” I murmured.
But still, my heart leapt as he led me toward the door.
Because sometimes ‘official’ wasn’t a formality.
It was a promise.
And this time, I wasn’t walking toward it alone.
A few hours later, I sank into the buttery leather seat inside the jet and watched as the city lights fell away beneath us, a glittering trail swallowed by the dark.
Damian sat across from me at first, scrolling through something on his phone, but the moment we leveled out, he tucked it away and came to sit beside me.
“Champagne?” he asked, his lips curving in that slow, knowing way that still undid me.
“Of course.” I grinned, leaning back as he signaled the attendant.
A chilled bottle appeared in minutes, the cork popping with a soft, satisfying thud. Damian poured two flutes, handing me one before settling into the seat beside mine, our knees brushing.
“To us,” he said, raising his glass.
I tipped mine toward his. “To us.”
The champagne was cold and bright on my tongue, bubbles rising in soft gold ribbons. I sipped slower than usual, wanting to experience every second of this special moment.
It wasn’t lost on me how wild this was. How unlikely.
A few months ago, we’d been circling each other like wary predators, pretending friendship could hold everything we refused to name. And now?
Now we were flying to Las Vegas. To get married.
“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” I admitted softly, tracing the rim of my glass with one finger. “A year ago, I would’ve laughed if anyone told me.”
Damian chuckled, low and warm beside me. “A year ago, I would’ve said hell no.”
I looked at him, amused. “Oh, really?”
“Marriage?” He shrugged, setting his glass on the table between us. “Didn’t think it was in the cards. Didn’t think I was built for it.”
I turned slightly, pulling one knee up onto the seat. “And now?”
He held my gaze, something gentle threading through his eyes. “Now I know better.”
A quiet hum passed between us, deeper than the engines beneath our feet. I leaned closer, resting my head against his shoulder, feeling his breath’s steady rise and fall beneath my cheek.
Outside the window, the desert stretched black and endless, sprinkled with distant lights. Somewhere far below, people were walking neon-lit streets, slipping rings onto strangers’ fingers in kitschy chapels while Elvis impersonators crooned old love songs.
I smiled faintly at the thought.
“Do you think we’ll get an Elvis?” I teased.
Damian snorted. “Not unless you secretly booked one.”
“I didn’t,” I promised, closing my eyes for a moment. “But a drive-thru chapel crossed my mind.”
His arm curled around my shoulders, his lips brushing my temple. “You could marry me in a gas station parking lot, and I’d still think I got lucky.”
I laughed, warmth blooming in my chest. “Well, good news—we’ve at least upgraded from the gas station.”
We sat like that for a while, champagne half-forgotten, the world shrinking to the soft hum of engines and the quiet between us. I didn’t know if it was the altitude or the champagne, but everything felt lighter. Brighter.
I pressed closer, my hand curling lightly around his shirtfront. “This still feels a little crazy,” I murmured.
Damian’s lips curved against my hair. “The best things usually are.”
I let my eyes flutter shut, his warmth steady beneath me, the stars blinking faintly outside the window. As the plane carried us forward, I realized something simple and profound: for once, I wasn’t bracing for the landing. I was ready for wherever we touched down.
Soon, the limo pulled up to a low, understated building tucked just off the strip, its stone facade softly lit beneath a canopy of string lights.
If you didn’t know it was a wedding chapel, you might’ve mistaken it for an art gallery or a boutique hotel.
No neon Elvis, no flashing signs. Just quiet elegance humming under the desert sky.
I stepped out first, smoothing the skirt of my cream silk dress, the same one I’d worn to an art gala last fall—simple, clean, something I already loved. Damian came around the car, adjusting his cufflinks, his charcoal suit pressed to perfection despite the long flight.
“Not bad,” I murmured, taking it all in. “Minimalist. You didn’t drag me into a Little White Chapel.”
He grinned. “Didn’t think you’d forgive me.”
“Good instincts.”
We walked up the chapel steps hand in hand, the hush of evening soft against the air.
Inside, the lighting was warm and low, flickering gently against stone walls the color of sun-warmed sand.
Pale roses and lavender blooms lined the aisle in slender glass vases.
It smelled faintly of candle wax and something older—like stillness, like grace.
It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t loud.
It was perfect.
A kind-eyed officiant greeted us at the front with a quiet smile, his robe simple, his presence calming. No music played. The silence wrapped around us like a blessing, cutting out the noise of the Strip just outside.
Damian’s fingers tightened around mine as we turned to face each other beneath the soft arch. His eyes met mine with a look that hit me low and deep—certainty, wonder, and just a little fear laced in the kind of love I still couldn’t believe was mine.
“You may begin your vows,” the officiant said gently.
Damian exhaled a slow, shaky breath. “I didn’t believe in lasting love.
Not really. I believed in logic. In control.
In staying at the edges of everything just far enough not to burn.
” His thumb traced over my knuckles. “Then you showed up. With your messy grace and your quiet strength, and I didn’t stand a chance. ”
My throat tightened. His voice was rough but steady.
“I spent so long valuing the wrong things. But I’d burn it all down to keep you. I promise to love you without condition, always to be there, to stand still when things get hard. To be a partner, a protector, and a fool for you when you need one. I love you, Juliette. And I’m never going anywhere.”
He pulled the ring from his pocket—a delicate band that shimmered like the inside of a shell—and held it between us with quiet reverence.
When it was my turn, I felt the words rush forward before I could even think to stop them.
“I didn’t grow up dreaming about weddings.
I didn’t believe in fairy tales or easy love.
But you, Damian, you were the surprise I never saw coming.
” My voice trembled, but I didn’t look away.
“You made space for me. You challenged me. And somewhere in all that fire, I found a home I didn’t know I needed. Our home.”
He blinked fast.
“I vow to keep choosing you. Even when it's messy. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. I promise to be brave with you. To believe in what we’re building. And to never—ever—let us go quiet when we should speak.”
He swallowed hard as I slid the matching band onto his finger. My hand was steady. My heart wasn’t.
The officiant’s voice softened with warmth. “By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He smiled. “You may kiss the bride.”
Damian cupped my face in his hands, leaning in like the moment was holy, not hurried. His lips met mine—slow, sure, unshakably real—and the world fell away.
Applause echoed softly from the officiant and chapel assistant, but I barely heard it. My pulse was louder. My breath. My joy.
When he finally pulled back, our foreheads touched, our fingers still linked.
“Mrs. Sinclair,” he whispered.
I smiled, breath catching. “Sounds good to me.”
And God, it did.
We didn’t go out on the town after our wedding. We didn’t need to. Instead, we found ourselves back in the hotel suite, standing barefoot on the plush carpet while the neon glow of the Strip spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows like a promise we’d already cashed in.
Damian popped the champagne with a quiet grin, catching the cork before it hit the ceiling. “Here’s to us,” he murmured, pouring into two sleek flutes.
I kicked off my heels and twirled once in the center of the room, my dress catching the light as I spun. “To us,” I echoed, breathless and giddy and a little dizzy in the best way.
He handed me my glass, his fingers brushing mine—a small touch, but it felt like the sealing of something bigger.
We clinked glasses gently, sipping, standing side by side at the window while the lights of Vegas blinked beneath us.
Damian’s arm slid around my waist, pulling me close. “Thank you for saying yes,” he said softly, his lips brushing the edge of my temple. “I don’t think I ever really believed I’d deserve this. Deserve you.”
I turned in his arms, tipping my chin up until our eyes met. “Well, tough luck,” I teased lightly, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re stuck with me now.”
We stood like that for a long moment, wrapped in quiet, the hum of the city pulsing below, the weight of the day settling soft and sure around us.
As I looked out at the glittering lights, I felt his heart steady against mine, and one simple truth rose to the surface, clear as the stars blinking high above the Strip: I’d never needed a wedding. I’d needed a man who made me feel like I didn’t have to stand alone anymore.
Damian’s voice broke gently into the silence, his fingers curling tighter around my waist. “Think you’ll be ready to leave for Malibu tomorrow to meet Mateo?”
I leaned into him, smiling against his chest. “Absolutely.”