Chapter 10
TEN
Wes
It’s my wedding day.
That was my first thought when I woke up this morning before my alarm. My second thought was the same one that had kept me up for most of the night: the image of Lottie in my kitchen last night in those tiny shorts.
I got out of bed and headed straight to the gym.
The workout felt necessary after a long night of sexual frustration.
I pushed harder than necessary, added an extra set where I didn’t need one, extended my run a little longer than usual—all of it done with the hope of clearing my head and settling the restless energy that carried over from last night.
Physically, it worked. Mentally, it didn’t make much of a difference.
By the time I finished and headed upstairs to shower, I had already mapped out the rest of the morning—including meeting with Lottie to walk through the contract my lawyers drafted and getting her signature on it.
Lottie was already in the kitchen when I came down.
She was in joggers and a hoodie, everything covered up that hadn’t been the night before.
I thought back to the glimpse I got of the scar that runs down the center of her chest. It stayed with me, along with the way she reacted when I noticed it.
The shift in her posture, the immediate deflection, the way she redirected the conversation.
It was obvious she didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t push.
But to say I’m not curious would be a lie.
Breakfast was easy. Conversation with Lottie always is. She has a way of keeping things relaxed without even trying, everything around her settling like the surface of the water on a calm, clear day.
We talked about our childhoods, our siblings, the basics we’d need to know if anyone starts prying. Victoria made it clear this has to be believable, which means we need to know each other well enough to answer questions without thinking.
After a while, I shifted the conversation to the contract.
My lawyers had sent it through first thing this morning.
It was exactly what I expected—everything laid out in clear, specific terms. Lottie would live with me and in the meantime, I’d continue covering the expenses for her apartment.
She’d have a monthly allowance, and I would fully cover her father’s medical bills.
The arrangement would end one year from today, and at that point, her life would go back to the way it was before.
Lottie read it carefully. She asked a few direct questions where it mattered, but she didn’t focus on the parts that most people would, like the five thousand dollars I would deposit in her bank account every month for living expenses or the clause stating that the ring is hers to keep.
Instead, her focus was on the section that covered her father’s medical bills.
Every question she asked circled back to it—coverage, duration, what exactly was included, whether there were any limits buried in the wording.
That was the only part she cared about. She only signed it once she was satisfied with that.
With the paperwork out of the way, we’re free to get married.
I fasten the top button of my dress shirt, smoothing it over my chest before grabbing my suit jacket from the chair. One hour to go until the ceremony.
“Wes?”
I hear Lottie call my name from her room across the hall. Her door is closed when I reach it, so I knock.
“Come in,” she calls before I push open the door.
I stop in my tracks when I see her standing in front of the mirror, everything in me going still.
The dress falls straight to her knees, white silk that clings to her body in a way that’s understated and impossible to ignore at the same time.
The back is completely open, dipping low enough to show the length of her spine, her skin bare.
In the reflection, I can see it has a halter neckline, fabric sweeping up to cover her chest, leaving her shoulders bare.
Her hair is down, swept over one shoulder, and the look in her soft green eyes is so vulnerable it makes it hard to look anywhere else.
Lottie is holding the top of the dress together behind her neck, gripping the fabric trying to keep it in place.
“Can you—” she starts, then shifts slightly, turning just enough to give me a better angle. “Can you do the buttons for me?”
I stand in the doorway staring at her for a beat like I’ve forgotten how to function, then force myself to move toward her. Up close is worse. Or better, depending on how you look at it.
“Of course,” I say. “Although I’m not sure whoever made these buttons had my big hands in mind.”
She softly chuckles. “I have full confidence in you.”
I grin, moving to stand behind her until I’m an inch or so away from her back. She smells like peaches and sugar, and it hits me immediately.
“You look…” I start, and then stop, because whatever I was about to say isn’t enough.
“Like I’m about to get married?” she asks, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
My gaze doesn’t leave hers. “You look beautiful.”
I reach for the fabric, my fingers brushing the back of her neck as I start to fasten the buttons. I don’t miss the way her shoulders tighten or the way her breath catches. A faint ripple of goosebumps rise over her smooth skin.
I take my time with them, more deliberately than necessary, my hands steady even if my focus isn’t entirely where it should be. When I finish the last one, my hands pause, and our eyes meet in the mirror again and hold.
There’s a beat where neither of us moves, where the room feels quieter than it should. I’m aware of everything—the space between us, how she smells like freshly picked peaches in the summer, the fact that I’m only an inch away from her but it still feels too far.
“Will there be anyone there today?” she asks, breaking the spell between us. “At the courthouse, I mean?”
I shake my head. “Just us.”
She nods once, as if absorbing that detail. “Does anyone know about our wedding besides Victoria?”
“My brothers do,” I say. “And their wives, Landyn and Madeline. I arranged for us to all have dinner afterward at Wave and Wharf. They’ll meet us there. Figured you’d want Madeline with you.”
Something in her expression eases at that. “Yeah. Thank you.” She pauses. “That sounds nice.”
“Good, I’m glad,” I say, hesitating for a moment before adding, “There’s one more thing.”
She turns around to face me, eyes narrowing like she’s already wary. “What?”
“The press will likely be there,” I say. “Victoria tipped them off that we’ll be dining together. It shouldn’t be too bad, but just wanted to warn you.”
She exhales, but she seems to be okay with it. “Thanks.”
“So,” I continue, keeping my tone even, “we should talk about boundaries, what we’re comfortable with. How do you feel about… public displays of affection?”
Her brows lift. “What exactly are you imagining?”
“Nothing extreme,” I grin, loving the blush that has crept over her skin. “Holding your hand. Pulling you in close.”
“That’s fine,” she says easily. “I can handle that.”
My eyes flick down to her mouth and her ridiculously perfect, full lips. “Maybe more than that,” I add.
Her head tilts slightly. “Like what?”
“A kiss.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t reply at first. She just watches me, cheeks turning even brighter pink.
“I hadn’t really thought about that.”
I have. More than I should. It’s practically all I’ve been able to think about since the day I met her—since drinks with her, Madeline and Jesse at Remix last year.
“The first time I kiss you shouldn’t be in front of the press,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “If we leave it until then, it’s going to look exactly like what it is.”
Her eyes flicker between mine, searching. “And what’s that?”
“A first kiss,” I say simply.
A beat passes between us as I try to gauge her reaction, but her steady expression gives nothing away.
“I don’t think we can afford that,” I continue. “Not if this is supposed to hold up under scrutiny.”
She studies me for a second, then lets out a small breath. “You really think anyone’s going to notice?”
“Victoria thinks so,” I say. “And she knows what she’s doing.”
“So, what are you suggesting?”
I hold her gaze for a second before answering. “That we take the guesswork out of it.”
“You want to kiss me right now?”
I nod, trying to keep my pulse in check. “I think it would be a good idea.”
I give her a second—long enough that she could still pull back, still change her mind. She doesn’t. Instead, her lips part slightly, and she catches her bottom lip between her teeth in a way that tells me everything I need to know. “Okay.”
“Are you sure?” I ask quietly, my hand lifting without permission to her jaw, my thumb brushing softly along her chin.
She leans into the touch before she can stop herself. Her lips press together as she looks at me. “You’re really going to ask me that now?”
There’s a hint of a challenge there, a flicker of something sharper beneath the nerves. I smile. The back and forth between us—the push and pull—is such a fucking turn on. “Figured I’d give you the option.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t back away.
“Still waiting on an answer.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth this time—quick, but I catch it—before lifting back to my eyes.
“Just kiss me, Wes.”
That does it. She smells so good, and we’re so close, and all I can think about is kissing her and finding out what she tastes like.
I close what little distance is left between us, but I don’t rush it. I take my time, watching her, letting the moment stretch out—watching her breath, the way her chest rises and falls, the way she doesn’t move away.
My thumb sweeps over her cheek again as I tilt my head slightly, giving her one last second to stop me.
She doesn’t.
So, I do it.