Chapter 1
How to Marry a Billionaire
Mandy
It’s the night before our wedding.
The cold December air nips at my cheeks as Seymour and I huddle together on the dock at midnight. Our warm breath creates little clouds that drift up and disappear into the darkness. Even through my thick winter coat and woolen hat, the chill seeps in, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
The lake stretches out before us, a dark expanse broken only by ripples of moonlight. In our gloved hands, mugs of hot cocoa steam in the winter air.
The rehearsal dinner at Lakeside Inn had been perfect. Exactly what I wanted.
Seymour had offered to fly us anywhere in the world, suggested elaborate destination weddings in exotic locations.
He would have chartered private jets for our friends and family without hesitation.
But I wanted something intimate, something that felt like us, so I chose the inn.
He agreed immediately, no questions asked.
Because that’s just the kind of man he is.
Over these months, I’ve learned there are some rules—or guidelines really—when it comes to marrying a billionaire.
Especially a sexy, heart-stopping handsome one like Seymour.
First, you can’t fall for the money. They’re particularly sensitive about that.
Like everyone else, they want to be loved for who they are, not for the number in their bank account.
Second, billionaires—at least this one—tend to have trust issues because of their wealth.
It requires patience, time spent carefully building trust between you.
Looking back, I realize it probably helped that I started off despising him.
My initial hostility proved I wasn’t after his money, though now I cringe remembering how unfairly I judged him before really knowing him.
That’s the third rule. Recognize your own biases against wealthy men.
Fourth, sometimes you have to let them take care of you. When they choose to shower you with thoughtful gifts, things you need and some you didn’t know you needed, just accept them with grace.
And last, if they ever bring you to their private boathouse and suggest skinny dipping at midnight. Definitely accept.
My toes are starting to go numb despite my thick socks and winter boots. We should head in soon. Beauty sleep and all that. But I’m not quite ready to let go of this moment. The lake is frozen and beautiful in a stark, naked sort of way.
“You know, Mr. Black,” I say, shifting closer to his warmth, “now that we’re about to be married, we should set some rules.”
He turns to me with that devastatingly sexy smirk playing at his lips. Even now, after all this time, it makes my heart skip. “Oh really? What kind of rules?”
“I know how you love rules, so I’ve thought of a few.” I take a sip of cocoa. “Kisses goodnight every night for the rest of our lives. Even when we’re grumpy. Even when we’re not in the mood.”
His green eyes soften as he watches me. “Love it.”
“Coffee together every morning. A way to connect at the start of each day.” I want our marriage to stay strong, to grow deeper with time. “And date nights. At least once a week.”
“I object,” he says, his voice serious.
My stomach drops for a split second before I catch the gleam in his eye. “What?”
“I want two date nights a week.”
Warmth floods through me that has nothing to do with the cocoa. He always knows exactly what to say, what matters most to me.
“And,” I continue, snuggling closer despite our bulky winter clothes, “every couple weeks a swim in the jacuzzi tub together, with wine and romantic music and candles.” I’ve already spotted the perfect tub in the master bath of his house. Our house now.
“I knew there was a reason I fell for you,” he says, his voice dropping to that low, husky tone that makes me shiver. “How about every summer, our midnight swims across the lake?”
“Absolutely.” That first swim was terrifying and completely unlike me, but it brought back my inspiration and planted the first seeds of trust between us. Looking back, I realize that’s the night I started falling for Seymour, even if I didn’t know it yet.
I’ve been somewhat playful with these rules, but this next one matters deeply. “Let’s always be honest with each other. I’m sure we’ll disagree sometimes, but let’s promise to always talk it through instead of going to bed angry or hurt.”
“I like that.” His arms tighten around me. “It’s not something I ever had growing up or saw with my parents. I want that for us.”
There’s one more thing I need to say, though my heart pounds just thinking about it. I bite my lip, take another sip of cocoa, anything to stall for a few more seconds.
“What is it? Talk to me.” His voice is gentle, encouraging.
“I’m totally willing to sign a prenup.”
He sucks in a sharp breath. “Come here. Sit on my lap.”
I set down my cocoa and settle onto his legs, though between our puffy coats and snow pants, it’s not quite as romantic as usual.
Once I’m settled in his arms, he says firmly, “No way. Thanks for offering, but everything that is mine is yours.” He pauses, then adds softly near my ear, “Even our future babies.”
A small gasp escapes me, then I relax into him. Babies? I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but the image feels right. I’ve watched him with Jerry in art class, seen his natural instincts with children. He’ll be an amazing father. “How about we enjoy a couple years together first?”
“Sounds like a plan.” Then he leans in closer, whispering decidedly naughty things about his own rules for our first night as husband and wife.
I smirk, even as heat floods my cheeks. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Christmas Eve has arrived in a swirl of gentle snowflakes.
I stand outside the small stone chapel, my heart full to bursting.
The building only holds regular services in summer months, but Seymour arranged everything perfectly.
Large space heaters keep the interior cozy and warm despite the winter chill.
The falling snow catches the light from the chapel windows, creating a magical glow.
My wedding dress, Grace’s masterpiece, feels perfectly weighted against my skin.
The delicate lace sleeves protect against the cold while still looking ethereal.
I know already that I’ll paint this night.
The stars peeking through clouds, the way my dress trails behind me in the fresh powder.
The whole scene takes my breath away.
My dad approaches, looking dapper in his tuxedo. His eyes are suspiciously bright as he offers his arm. “Ready?”
I can only nod, too overcome with emotion to speak. Together, we step into the chapel.
The interior is a winter wonderland. Evergreen garlands wind along the pews, dotted with tiny white lights. Candles flicker in every window, their warm glow reflecting off the stained glass. Poinsettias in varying sizes add bursts of deep red throughout the space.
But it’s the faces that bring tears to my eyes.
All our friends gathered here to celebrate with us.
Scott and Grace beam from their seats, while Miles has his arm around a glowing Barrie.
Harris sits with Ivy, and I can’t wait to hang out more with Seymour’s best friend and his wife.
Julie sits with Stephen and Lilly, all of them wearing wide smiles.
These people who supported us, who helped us through the darkness to find this light.
Finally, my gaze finds Seymour waiting at the altar, and my breath catches. The sight of him in his perfectly tailored tuxedo makes my heart race. His smile is radiant, full of joy and love, and his eyes never leave mine as I walk toward him.
Before God and our dearest friends, we proclaim our love. No vows could fully capture what he means to me, all he’s done, how deeply I love him. But our closest friends understand. They witnessed our journey firsthand.
The pastor guides us through our vows as we hold hands, still lost in each other’s eyes. In his gaze I see our future. Memories yet to be made, adventures still to come, a love that will only grow stronger. His hand squeezes mine gently, and I know he feels it too.
“You may kiss the bride,” the pastor says again, and I smile. What can I say? I’m traditional at heart.
Seymour pulls me close, then dips me back in a proper movie-worthy kiss that makes our guests cheer and whistle.
And that’s how you marry a billionaire.
Thank you so much reading!