Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Sienna
I’ve never felt more nervous in my entire life.
My palms won’t stop sweating. My stomach is a tight, fluttery mess. My knees are jelly, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’m going to faint, vomit, or spontaneously combust in the next five minutes.
Possibly all three.
It’s my wedding day.
My fake wedding day.
Except it doesn’t feel fake. Not after last night. Not after the way Heath touched me, the way he looked at me. The way he whispered my name like it was a prayer and a promise.
I’m screwed. So unbelievably screwed. I don’t know how to pretend this is just a deal anymore. I don’t know how to be near him without wanting things I shouldn’t want.
I swallow hard and stare at myself in the mirror, nerves trembling through me.
My mom’s dress is heavier than I remember. Satin and lace, all vintage romance and soft ivory dreams. My grandma kept it perfectly preserved after my mom passed. I remember pulling the box down from the closet the week after she died, touching the gown like it was holy.
And now I’m wearing it.
Instead of joy, a pang of melancholy settles in my heart—bittersweet and sharp.
“I wish you were here,” I whisper, voice thick. “Both of you. All of you.”
I smooth my hands over the bodice and reach for the tiny pearl shoes tucked in the box beside the dress. A lump rises in my throat as I slide them on. They’re snug, but they fit, like they were waiting for me.
Like this moment was always meant to be mine.
Jem sniffles behind me. “You look like a fairy-tale princess.”
I smile weakly at her reflection, clutching the bouquet she arranged for me, white roses and pine, little sprigs of red berries tucked in like tiny Christmas secrets. “Thank you.”
“It’s going to be perfect.” Jem adjusts my veil even though I told her twelve times not to touch it. “And hey, if any of his family gives you trouble, I’ll trip them during the vows. Blood doesn’t stain lace too badly.”
A shaky laugh escapes me. “You’re terrifying.”
“I love you,” she replies sweetly.
Before I can answer, the bedroom door creaks open. I spin, eyes widening when I see broad shoulders, a dark suit, and familiar green eyes stepping inside.
“Heath!” I squeak, rushing to block his view like I can physically stop him. “You can’t be in here!”
He doesn’t even pretend to stop. He just keeps walking toward me like a man possessed. “I can see you whenever the hell I want to,” he rumbles.
My pulse does a stupid little flip. “That’s not how weddings work. You’re not supposed to see me.”
His gaze sweeps me head to toe and back again, slow enough I feel my skin heat beneath it. His Adam’s apple bobs. “Too late.”
I don’t breathe. I don’t blink. The world narrows to his eyes and the promise in them—something hot, fierce, and unguarded.
“You changed your mind?” I whisper, terrified to hear the answer. “About the wedding?”
“No.” His voice is rough. Certain. “But I can’t do it this way.”
The bottom falls out of my stomach. I grip the skirt of my dress to steady myself. “Wh- what do you mean?”
He steps closer, big hands curling at his sides like he's holding himself back from touching me. “I can’t pretend this is fake anymore.”
I blink. My heart somersaults. “Heath—”
“This started as a deal,” he says, voice low and wrecked, “but it hasn’t been fake since the first damn day.”
Everything inside me tilts, trembles, and melts.
“I wasn’t looking for love.” His breath shudders. “But I found it anyway. I love you, Sienna.”
The world goes quiet. Holy-quiet. Heart-stopping, breath-stealing quiet.
He looks at me like I’m the only person who exists.
“I want to be your real husband,” he says hoarsely. “Not the one in a contract. Not the one you pretend with. Yours. For real.” He inhales as if the next words cost him everything. “But if you’re not ready, I’ll wait. I’ll earn it. I’ll earn you.”
Tears burn hot behind my eyes. “What about your inheritance?”
He shakes his head. “Screw it. Your love is worth more than my revenge.”
A breath punches out of me. I don’t think. I just move, stepping into him, clutching his lapels like I might fly away if I don’t hold on.
“I’m ready,” I whisper, tears slipping down my cheeks. “I love you, too.”
He lets out a sound—part relief, part curse, part something so raw that it makes my knees tremble.
Then his mouth is on mine.
It’s not slow. It’s not gentle. It’s everything. Hands fisting in satin, lips urgent, breath shared. His forehead presses to mine, his voice shaking.
“Mine,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Yes,” I breathe, smiling through tears. “Yours.”
A throat clears aggressively behind us.
Jem.
She’s glaring, hands on her hips, veil in one hand like a threatening prop. I don’t even remember the veil falling off; I was so absorbed in my soon-to-be husband.
“Absolutely not. That goes on pause until you’re legally bound. I did not spend forty minutes steaming that veil for you to wrinkle the dress before the aisle,” she says, all affronted maid of honor bossiness.
Heath emits a growl as he forces himself to step back. I sway a little; he steadies me with one last soft brush of his fingers against my cheek.
“I’ll see you at the end of the aisle,” he murmurs, voice thick.
“Yes,” I breathe. “You will.”
He leaves reluctantly, glancing back twice before disappearing down the hall.
As soon as he’s gone, I turn to Jem, my face splitting into a smile so big it actually hurts.
“He loves me,” I whisper, stunned and glowing. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”
Jem wipes her eyes like she’s the bride. “Damn straight it is.”
I grab my bouquet, inhale the pine and roses, and take one final look in the mirror.
I’m not walking toward a fake husband.
I’m walking toward my real one.
My heart, suddenly too full to contain, feels like it might burst.
Time to marry the love of my life.