CHAPTER TWENTY ONE #3
“Apology accepted.” She steps closer, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Honestly, it was worth the trip to see you finally put Daddy Dearest in his place. And I hate to say it, but getting dumped at the altar? Huge strategic advantage for me. I give it forty-eight hours before someone from Monaco proposes. Goodbye, Bryce, and good luck.”
She glides away without a backward glance.
I turn around and catch sight of Petra approaching Gavin.
Her black leather jacket is half-zipped, and dark scuffs mark the hem of a once-delicate lace dress.
Her lipstick’s faded, mascara smudged, and my God…
She looks like a badass angel who strolled through hell in combat boots and kicked the devil right in the nuts.
I’m so far gone for this girl.
“Bro,” she starts, “I’m sor—”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” he says. “You were right about Fiona, and I didn’t trust your instincts. I never should have dated someone who was cruel to you. You tried to warn me; this is my fault, not yours.”
She exhales, shoulders loosening, a flicker of warmth in her eyes.
“I got so obsessed with proving I belonged,” he continues. “As if marrying a Whitfield would somehow erase the fact that I used to deliver pizzas to pay Mom’s electric bill.”
“You don’t need some crusty old family tree to validate you. News flash, genius—you built an empire from nothing. You’re the reason Mom doesn’t work three jobs anymore.”
From the front row, Lois Brinkman watches her children, pressing a tissue to her eyes, her face radiating with pride.
“I’ve spent so long trying to be your dad, I forgot to be your brother.”
“I just wanted you to be proud of me,” Petra whispers. “I thought if I could play the part of reliable office girl , I wouldn’t be seen as a failure anymore.”
“Let me make this clear: I’m proud of you exactly as you are—stubborn, brilliant, and a little unhinged. Whatever path you choose, I’ve got your back. And if you need tuition money, consider it done.”
“Oh, shut up and hug me before I start ugly crying,” Petra demands, throwing her arms around his neck.
He catches her and lifts her off the ground. “Love you, Wildcat.”
“Love you more, big bro.”
When they separate, Gavin’s eyes are locked on me. His expression is something I’m all too familiar with—calculating, targeted, and ready to engage in a hostile negotiation.
“Now for you—”
“I know I lied,” I say, raising my hands. “About Petra, about leaving the company. I’ve been living a double life, and you deserved better. But I’m not sorry I love her. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
His hazel-green eyes—so much like Petra’s—studies my face. The gears in his mind are turning, weighing my sincerity.
Finally, he shakes his head. “Don’t waste your breath on me, Sterling. She’s the one holding the verdict.”
He steps aside, patting my arm—a silent touch of forgiveness.
Petra stands there, arms crossed, hip cocked.
“B, you cannot be serious. You just survived a Sterling family implosion, nearly got into a fistfight with your father, and proposed in the middle of a felony arrest. You might be concussed. Maybe we save the emotional declarations for when you’re not drunk on rebellion and adrenaline? ”
After everything, she’s thinking I’ll change my mind. That this is some temporary breakdown.
“The adrenaline didn’t prompt my proposal, Pip. It simply gave me the balls to voice it out loud.”
“Pump the brakes there, billionaire boy. You said it yourself—it’s not even legal. There’s no marriage license. No prenup. Your father’s probably halfway to convincing a judge you’re having a full psychotic break.”
“Screw the prenup—If I hurt you ever again, you can have it all. I want to marry you, Petra. I’ll do anything to make you mine. I’ll crawl through broken glass to make it happen.”
“So you’re telling me you’d live in my sketchy-ass neighborhood? Where dudes are barbecuing over barrels and the rats have side hustles? ”
My sterile mansion flashes through my mind—twenty thousand square feet of loneliness wrapped in Italian marble. Then I picture her tiny apartment with its duct-taped shower curtain blinds, cookie dough stash in the freezer, and laundry piled on the floor.
“Pip, I’d pitch a tent on your sidewalk if you were sharing it with me.
Whatever it takes to earn the right to wake up next to you.
I’ll drive that death trap you call a car.
I’ll eat boxed mac and cheese every night until I die of powdered cheese poisoning.
I’ll fight cockroaches the size of cats. Bare-handed. Shirtless, if that helps.”
A tiny laugh slips out before she locks it down again.
I reach out and cup her cheek. “If you’re there, I’m home.”
She exhales sharply, like I’ve taken the wind right out of her. Her eyes are waging war again—hope battling fear, dreams duking it out with doubt.
“Do you know why I called you Pip when we were kids?”
She huffs. “Because I was an annoying little gremlin and you couldn’t remember my real name?”
I chuckle. “‘Pip’ means something small. And there you were, this fierce little tornado barely reaching my chest, all elbows and attitude, stomping around in those adorable boots like you were ten feet tall.”
She watches me, guarded but waiting.
“Everyone else looked at you and saw trouble: a scrappy loudmouth from the wrong side of Beverly Hills. But I saw a force of nature trapped in a pocket-sized package. You’d get in the face of guys who could bench press you, tell off teachers who tried to shame you, and defend kids who couldn’t defend themselves.
And I’d think, How the hell does someone that small contain so much fire? ”
Her breathing stutters, and vulnerability flickers in her gorgeous eyes .
“I fell in love with that fire. That defiance. That mouth that never stops running. Every stubborn inch of you, Petra. You’re the storm I never saw coming.”
“This isn’t how it goes for girls like me. I’m not the princess in this story—I’m the sarcastic friend who gets the best one-liners from the sidelines. I don’t get chosen.”
“You’re the only girl worth choosing. My life is nothing without you in it. Let me stand beside you. Love you. Support you… and sometimes piss you off a little just to keep things interesting.”
Her lower lip trembles, but she’s still holding back. I turn to face the three hundred witnesses and make my declaration.
“I love this woman. And if she’ll have me, I choose her over every single one of you. And that includes you, Mother.”
A collective gasp ripples through the crowd. Judith Sterling-Holloway’s bejeweled hand flies to her mouth.
I drop to one knee, pulling out the ruby ring. The afternoon sun catches the stone, sending crimson fire dancing across Petra’s stunned face.
“I love you. I realize now I always have. Ever since that first kiss you were brave enough to give me. You’ve always been the brave one.”
A pulse ticks in my neck. My hand shakes a little as I extend the ring, my gaze fixed on her shiny eyes.
“You’ve loved me your whole life. Let me love you for the rest of mine. Marry me, Pip. Please.”
“Yes.”
I surge to my feet, ready to seal this moment with a kiss that’ll knock us both sideways.
“Slow down there, B,” she laughs, dodging me. “Gotta get hitched first.”
She starts unzipping her jacket.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking all bridal-like in my white dress,” she says, like it’s obvious.
“Keep it on, and the boots,” I say firmly, catching her wrist. “They’re a part of you, and this is how I want to remember you in fifty years.”
I’ll tell her about my vivid fantasies later, the ones where she’s wearing nothing but that jacket and those boots.
“Ahem.” Nigel’s British accent interrupts my inappropriate thoughts. “If the bride and groom would kindly assume their positions, we can proceed.”
Petra whips around to face Hana. “Will you be my maid of honor?”
She gasps. “Me? Are you sure?”
“You tased a felon in stilettos and didn’t flinch. I’m proud as hell to call you my friend for life.”
Hana launches herself at Petra, wrapping her in a hug. “Thank you for showing me how to be a badass.”
“You always were. You just needed to set her free. And now the world better watch out.”
Hana pulls back, tears welling up in her eyes. “You’re getting the love story. The real thing.” She pauses, biting her lip. “Do you think… maybe there’s one out there for me too?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Petra’s response is immediate and fierce. They hug tightly.
Christ, watching her build people up like this—it’s her superpower.
Nigel clears his throat. “Perhaps we might resume our conversation after the ceremony?”
“One more thing!” Petra says, dropping to her knees to face our Maltese hostess. “Miss Muffy, would you please do me the honor of being my bridesmaid?”
The fluffball barks only once—posh, dignified.
“Miss Von Cashmere accepts with great enthusiasm,” Nigel translates, deadpan.
He produces a cookie from his jacket, handing it to Petra with ceremonial care. She feeds it to Miss Muffy then straightens the tiny tiara perched between the dog’s ears.
Then Petra’s face goes pale. “Wait. STOP. This is all wrong!”
My stomach drops.
“I can’t get married without Cam and Katie! My best friends! They’re supposed to be here! We promised—no matter what—we’d be at each other’s weddings!” Petra spins toward Hana. “Can I borrow your phone? Emergency bride situation!”
Relief floods through me.
Hana hands over her phone without question, and Pip mutters while she types: “It’s Petra. EMERGENCY brIDESMAID SUMMONS! I’m getting married in approximately five minutes. FaceTime now, or forever hold your peace.”
Seconds later, two split screens explode onto the phone. One blonde, one brunette. Both screaming.
“MARRIED?!” they shout in unison.
Petra holds the phone high and says, “No time for emotional speeches or backstories. Cam, Katie—this is Hana. She took down Fiona; she’s a legend, and you’re gonna adore her. Hana, meet my ride-or-die besties. ”
Virtual squeals. Rapid-fire hellos. Then Petra angles the phone toward me, and I find myself face-to-face with two women who’ve clearly been hearing about me for ages.
“Ladies, meet my future husband, Bryce Sterling. B, these girls are why I got through college without a criminal record.”
“Hi, I’m Katie. Hurt her, and I have very detailed spreadsheets for hiding bodies,” the blonde friend says.
“Camila Morales,” the brunette adds cheerfully. “I’m a videographer who knows how to destroy somebody with a single viral video. Whatever Petra needs.”
“More threats later!” Petra laughs. “Right now, I need my girls! I’m getting married!”
A collective squeal erupts—loud enough to be heard from space.
Sebastian’s fashion army converges on Petra at the tent entrance—a swarm of concealer, curling wands, and emergency dress repairs. Within heartbeats, she’s transformed into a vision of dangerous elegance.
The piano starts the processional, and Petra is a goddamn knockout walking toward me on Gavin’s arm. She looks like holy chaos—white dress, leather jacket, combat boots, and that red-lipped smile. That lethal, I-know-you-want-me smile. And I do.
This is the moment I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Because for the first time, I know she’s mine.
“I’m putting my trust in you,” Gavin says as they step up to meet me.
“I won’t let her down,” I promise.
“Then let’s make it official, brother,” he says, gently guiding her hand into my palm .
Everything after that dissolves into fragments: Petra’s eyes never leaving mine as we exchange vows. Her laugh when the ring slides onto her finger—two sizes too big.
Her voice breaks slightly on the word “forever.” My vision blurs when she says, “I do,” finally hearing the words that make it real: “husband and wife.”
… sort of, pending paperwork.
The instant my lips touch hers, every civilized instinct I possess is obliterated. I sweep Petra off her feet, her startled laugh ringing out as I sprint down the aisle clutching my prize.
I carry her past the shocked billionaires, past the scattered flower petals, through the wreckage of what was supposed to be someone else’s perfect day. We burst through the tent flaps into the Mexican sunshine, and I don’t stop until we’re alone in a secluded corner of the villa.
I press her against the sun-warmed wall, growling into her neck. She giggles, grabs my face, and pulls me into a kiss full of joy. We’re laughing, breathless, drunk on each other. I’m ready to consummate this marriage right here, right now.
“Whoa there, Moneybags. Pace yourself! We’ve got a whole lifetime now.”
Suddenly, her eyes go huge. “Oh shit, oh fuck—your inheritance! YOU LEFT YOUR BILLIONAIRE BANK ACCOUNT FOR ME? I can’t believe you did that!”
I set her down carefully, my hands on her waist. “Pip, yes, I left Sterling Industries. But I won’t start our marriage with a lie, so I have a confession. I’m still a billionaire. I have trust funds. Plural. My assets have assets. ”
“Well, if you think you’re locking me up in some Beverly Hills mansion, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“I will only ever tie you up with your consent,” I say, loving the way her pupils dilate. “We’ll make our home wherever you want. But if it’s your apartment, I’m buying you a proper marriage bed. Because I’m going to fuck you like it’s my job.”
She leaps into my arms, her lips crashing into mine, her red lipstick smearing across my face. God, I love the way she claims me.
“Ow! What’s in your pocket, B? Is that a rocket launcher, or are you just happy to marry me?”
I burst out laughing and set her down. Digging into my pants pocket, I pull out her lipstick-sized taser, waggling it like a trophy. “Gotta keep Mrs. Sterling armed and dangerous.”
Her face transforms into pure horror. “Bryce! The safety’s off! Don’t grab it like—”
BZZZZZAP!
Every neuron in my body throws up. My teeth chatter like wind-up toys. My balls write a formal resignation.
I collapse into the grass like an Armani-fried corndog.
“GLARBLE-WARBLE-BLITZKRIEG!”
Nigel approaches with Miss Muffy tucked under his arm. They peer down with polite concern. “Shall I arrange for the reception to commence indoors whilst Mr. Sterling regains basic motor function?”
“Nah, he’ll be fine. Just give him a minute.” Petra crouches beside me, patting my cheek. “This is basically foreplay for us.”
“WIFE! FNNNGH-GLLLUUURRBB-BOOBIES.”
“Welcome to married life, Moneybags. Better buckle up… This is just day one.”
Despite my electrical fog, I’m completely smitten. Petra Sterling—my wife, my chaos, my forever.
Worth every volt.