Chapter 8 #2
And then she was there, right in front of him.
Her mother turned to him, her expression soft as she offered Evie’s hand.
James reached out, his fingers brushing Evie’s as he accepted, his touch deliberate, lingering.
Her hand felt so small and warm in his, and for a moment, he almost forgot there was an audience.
She looked up at him, her dark eyes shining with something he couldn’t quite name, and his breath hitched. He wanted to kiss her. Wanted it so badly that it took everything he had to keep his expression steady, to play the part of the composed groom.
But his body betrayed him in subtle ways—his grip on her hand tightening slightly, his heart racing in his chest, his lips curving into an unbidden smile.
“You’re stunning,” he whispered, his voice low and meant for her ears alone.
The ceremony unfolded around him, the priest’s voice rising and falling with practiced cadence, but James barely registered the words. It was strange—unsettling, even—how right this all felt.
For a man like him, who had spent most of his life chasing the next thrill, who thrived on control and calculated risk, the quiet gravity of standing here with Evie should have felt foreign. Wrong. Yet, it didn’t.
Her hand in his, warm and steady, grounded him in a way that made his chest tighten. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He wasn’t supposed to be swept up in the moment, to let himself imagine, even for a second, that this was real.
But as he glanced at Evie—her lashes brushing her cheeks, her lips curving into the faintest smile as she listened to the vows—it was impossible not to be drawn in.
The sunlight played against her skin, rich and radiant, and he couldn’t stop himself from marveling at how effortlessly she stole his breath.
There was a calm in her presence that felt like a balm against the chaos of his usual life.
A calm that made him wonder, for the first time, if maybe he’d been missing something all along.
And then the words broke through his haze, the priest’s voice ringing clear: “You may now kiss the bride.”
James turned to her, his heart pounding harder than it should have been.
He’d kissed her before—plenty of times, in front of cameras, in private moments that blurred the lines between duty and desire.
But this time was different. This time, it wasn’t just part of the performance.
Or maybe it was, but it didn’t feel that way.
He bent down slowly, his free hand moving to cradle her cheek. Her gaze lifted to meet his eyes, wide and uncertain, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to vanish. His thumb brushed against her skin, soft and warm beneath his touch, and the pull toward her was magnetic, irresistible.
When their lips met, it wasn’t like their other kisses. It wasn’t practiced or rehearsed—wasn’t meant to satisfy an audience or check off a box. It was slow and searching, unguarded in a way that made something deep inside him twist.
Her lips parted slightly, and for a second, he forgot to breathe. The sweetness of her, the way she seemed to melt into him, sent a jolt through him that was both exhilarating and terrifying.
And then he felt it—the pull away. Subtle at first but unmistakable. She wasn’t pulling back physically; no, she was still there, still meeting him, her lips soft and yielding. But emotionally, something in her shifted as if a wall had come back up, reminding him of what this was. What it wasn’t.
It wasn’t real.
James knew it in that moment, and it hit him like a punch to the gut. That’s why this kiss felt different. That’s why it left an ache instead of the usual thrill. Because somewhere along the way, he’d let himself want it to mean something. And it didn’t—not for her.
He hated himself for the surge of longing that followed, for the way his hand lingered against her cheek as he pulled back, reluctant to let the moment end. The crowd erupted into cheers, their applause a stark reminder of the farce they were playing.
“Do you think the media will love these pictures too?” she asked, her voice low for only him to hear and read the subtle, hidden notes in them.
James straightened, plastering on a smile for the guests, but inside, he felt hollow.
His hand slipped back into hers as they turned to face the crowd, and he forced himself to hold onto the act.
Yet, as they stepped down the aisle together, his chest burned with the bitter realization that the only person he was fooling was himself.
*****
The grand castle had fallen silent, its stone corridors and vast halls now bathed in the soft glow of moonlight.
The muffled sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below was the only noise that broke the stillness, a soothing rhythm that seemed to echo through the walls.
In the largest suite, the bridal chamber, James stood near one of the tall arched windows, staring out at the night sky, his hands in his pockets.
The room was opulent, a mix of old-world charm and modern luxury. A massive canopy bed draped with gauzy white curtains dominated the space, while antique furnishings added a touch of regal splendor. A crackling fireplace cast flickering golden light across the room, making the shadows dance.
Evie stepped out of the en suite bathroom, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression caught somewhere between annoyance and discomfort. She was wearing a short white satin slip, its delicate straps barely clinging to her shoulders.