Chapter One
Anya
Houston, Texas
“If one more person tells me I look like a princess, I’m taking off this dress and leaving naked.”
My best friend, Jules, nearly chokes on her champagne.
My mother doesn’t react.
She’s spent my entire life developing the ability to ignore statements she finds inconvenient, and apparently the possibility of her only daughter streaking through River Oaks qualifies.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
I close my eyes.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“You just did it.”
“I didn’t say princess.”
Behind me, Jules laughs.
The bridal consultant makes a valiant attempt to hide her smile while she kneels at my feet and gathers several yards of ivory silk into a more orderly pool around the pedestal.
I turn toward the three-way mirror again.
And immediately forget what I was going to say.
Oh.
The dress truly is beautiful.
Damn it.
Until tonight, I’d been convinced wedding-dress shopping was an elaborate scam designed to convince otherwise rational women that tulle possesses mystical powers.
Then I stepped into this.
The gown isn’t what I imagined I would choose, mostly because I never spent much time imagining myself in one.
It’s sleek rather than fussy, with a fitted bodice that somehow gives me curves I didn’t know I possessed and a long skirt that skims my hips before falling into a graceful train behind me.
Suddenly nervous, I smooth my palms over the fabric.
I look like a bride…the woman who will be walking down the aisle to make vows to Bennett Michaels, the handsome, attentive man who swept me off my feet with flowers, old-fashioned dates, and an absolute certainty about us that made it easy to believe I finally found the future and stability I wanted.
But for months, my wedding existed safely on the other side of the calendar, something I could think about later, after the next crisis at work, after the next trip Roman decided absolutely required my presence, after Knox finished whatever mysterious project had him disappearing for forty-eight hours at a time and returning with a bruise on his jaw and no interest in explaining it.
Then Bennett called to say an unexpected opening in his schedule meant we could marry sooner. Much sooner. He saw no reason to wait months to begin our life together.
The sentiment was wildly romantic.
The timing was wildly inconvenient.
Now everything is happening at once, and the boutique agreed to keep the store open late so that I had time to shop.
“You went quiet.” Jules moves closer to the pedestal, her champagne flute in hand, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
“I’m…” I wrinkle my nose as I study myself critically. “I’m thinking.”
“That’s always dangerous.”
“It’s how I earn a living.”
She grins. “Actually you earn your living by keeping two terrifyingly wealthy men from starting international incidents before lunch.”
My mother looks at us. “They aren’t terrifying.”
Jules slowly turns toward her. “Mrs. Ellis, I say this with tremendous respect… You only met them at one Christmas party.”
“And they were perfectly charming.”
I laugh before I can stop myself.
Roman Calder can be charming enough to persuade an angel to sell him a controlling interest in heaven.
Knox Tarrant usually doesn’t bother.
“They were charming because I threatened both of them with bodily harm if they upset you.”
My mother smiles. “They liked me.”
I sigh. Both of us know that’s not remotely what I said.
The consultant rises and moves around me, checking the fit at my waist. I hold still while she gently tugs the fabric into place.
Jules studies me again, her expression softening, the teasing gone for once. “This could be your dress.”
Is she right?
Critically I study my reflection.
I don’t look like a princess or like I’m heading to a pageant. Thank God.
I turn sideways, and for the first time this evening, the pressure in my chest eases.
This is all working out, despite my apprehension.
I’ve spent years arranging other people’s lives down to the minute.
I manage calendars that would make military strategists weep.
I know which whiskey Knox prefers after a bad day, which attorneys never get put through, and when Roman’s unnerving calm means a negotiation is about to become very unpleasant for the person sitting across from him.
Every day, I handle impossible things.
My small, intimate wedding should be easy.
“Do you want to see it with the veil?” The consultant reaches for a delicate length of ivory fabric.
Before I can say anything, my mother answers for me. “Of course.”
Then she steps behind me to help arrange it.
My phone is on the velvet sofa across the salon, mercifully silent.
I deliberately left it there.
For forty-three minutes, I have not checked email, reviewed a travel schedule, answered a message from legal, or dealt with either of my bosses.
It may be a personal record.
Maybe that’s what’s bothering me.
I’ve never dropped a bombshell—the wedding’s been moved up and I’m taking a week off for my honeymoon—and then put my phone down.
Nerves suddenly assail me again.
They’re not going to take this well.
Neither will care that I’m getting married. But they will care about who I’m saying yes to.
The first time I mentioned Bennett’s name in Roman’s presence, he went so still that I checked the room temperature because I was convinced the air-conditioning had kicked into overdrive.
Knox was worse.
He said nothing.
He just looked at me for a very long time, a muscle jumping in his temple.
Then he walked out.
Neither man has ever given me a reasonable explanation as to why Bennett inspires that level of hostility, and I stopped asking.
Their business attracts enemies the way porch lights attract moths.
I don’t involve myself in their grudges unless they land on my desk.
Mom finishes adjusting the veil.
When I look up, my breath catches. “Oh.”
Her hands settle gently on my shoulders, and there are tears swimming in her eyes. “My beautiful daughter.”
The nervousness inside me swells again.
Jules comes to stand beside us. “Your mom is right. You’re stunning.”
The bell over the boutique’s front door gives a soft, unexpected chime.
Since the store is closed, all three of us turn.
The consultant frowns and starts toward the front. “Probably someone saw the lights.”
Then she stops.
My entire body goes cold.
Roman Calder strides into the salon, Knox at his side.
For a disorienting moment, my brain refuses to understand what I’m seeing.
They belong in offices with dark glass and impossible views. On private aircraft. In boardrooms where grown men start sweating when Roman smiles too pleasantly.
They do not belong in a bridal boutique surrounded by champagne, flowers, satin sofas, and enough ivory fabric to outfit a royal wedding.
Yet here they are.
And something is wrong.
Very wrong.
Roman’s gaze locks on me and travels from the top of my veil slowly down.
Though he says nothing, Knox’s hands flex at his sides.
My skin heats beneath their scrutiny.
This is ridiculous.
They’ve seen me in evening gowns and short cocktail dresses, even a swimsuit once in Cabo when Roman called an emergency strategy meeting beside a pool.
I know precisely who and what Roman and Knox are and who I am in the relationship.
I’m their executive assistant—the woman who runs their lives.
But right now, the way they’re looking at me knocks everything slightly off balance.
Roman finally moves, walking toward me with a frightening lack of hurry.
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
Of every possible thing he could have said, that is so profoundly stupid that I simply stare at him.
Then I look down at myself and back up. “A hazmat suit.”
Jules makes a strangled sound into her champagne.
Roman does not blink, and suddenly my irritation spikes. “It’s a wedding dress.”
“I can see that.”
He comes closer. Too close, and the pedestal puts me almost at eye level with him.
Then Knox moves to stand beside him.
Somehow the room becomes smaller.
“How did you find me?” I ask.
Roman’s expression doesn’t change.
Knox lifts his phone.
Oh. Of course.
Because of our insane schedules and constant travel, we’ve shared our locations for years.
The realization barely has time to register before Roman locks his formidable gaze on me. “You’re not marrying Bennett Michaels.”
Something cold moves beneath my ribs.
This isn’t Roman objecting to my honeymoon or Knox being irritated because I hung up on them.
Anger flashes through me, chasing away some of the unease. “Whatever is happening between the three of you has nothing to do with me.”
“Actually it does.” Roman’s expression hardens. “You’re coming with us.”
Cold shock rolls through me, making me blink. This can’t possibly be happening.
Roman looks at Knox, and my heart jolts.
With a tight nod, Knox threads his arm around my waist and scoops me off the pedestal.
Stunned, I gasp.
My mother rushes forward, and Roman holds up a hand. “I apologize for the disruption, Mrs. Ellis.”
“Knox! Put me down!”
Ignoring me, he strides toward the door, my body pressed tightly against his.
Frantically I twist to look at Roman.
He gathers the train of my wedding gown so it doesn’t drag, and his face remains terrifyingly calm.
Mom hurries after us. “Where are you taking her?”
“She’ll call you.”
Then the bell jangles wildly as Knox pushes through the door.
Outside, a massive black SUV waits at the curb.
A driver opens the rear door, Knox deposits me in the center of the back seat, and Roman gets in beside me, blocking that exit.
Before I can scramble toward the opposite door, it opens, and Knox climbs in.
The driver slams it shut.
I’m trapped between them in yards of ivory silk, my heart pounding hard enough to hurt. “What the hell is going on here?”
Roman’s gaze drops to my wedding dress before returning to mine.
“You wanted a wedding, Anya.”
Something icy slides down my spine.
“You’re getting one.”
I stare at him.
“To us.”
The SUV pulls away from the curb.
Roman smiles. “Good thing you’re already dressed.”