My teeth won’t stop chattering.

I don’t know if it’s the hangover or the white dress, but I am a wreck.

Everest looks over my shoulder into the mirror. “You look gorgeous,” she says.

“I look crazy. You look gorgeous.”

She really does. The pale blue bridesmaid dress fits her like a glove, and the color is positively regal against her auburn hair. Her makeup is flawless. Graham hired the best artist in New York City and had her flown to this ballroom in the District. We’re like a boomerang the president won’t stop throwing, back and forth, back and forth.

I take a deep breath, but my hands shake harder. I bury my face in my palms. “I don’t think I can do this, Evie.”

She puts a hand on my shoulder. I wait for her to tell me that I don’t have to do this, that she’ll drive the getaway car right now, but instead she says, “Do you want me to go get him?”

I turn and meet her eyes. “You’d get Graham?”

She scoffs. “You think I care about some dumb wedding tradition? You’re freaking the hell out. And I’ve seen you two together. This last week—” Evie shakes her head. “Damn, girl. You’re in love.”

“You don’t think—” A sick panic rises in my throat. “You don’t think this is too fast? That we’re setting ourselves up for failure?”

“A man like that has requirements. Shit, he’s adjacent to the current administration. You know all of this has to revolve around that man’s schedule. For, you know, natural security purposes.”

“I’m in love with him.” It’s a thought that steadies me, but not as much as Graham’s presence in the room. “Can you find him?”

“Yes. Love you. Be right back.”

“Love you.”

Everest goes out the door of the bridal suite, and I can hear her giving orders to people outside. I have seven other bridesmaids—two college friends and all of Graham’s friends' wives. Not one of them so much as hesitated when I told them the president wanted a bigger display; they understood. “No, she’s not ready. Can everybody go down to the chapel? Our beautiful bride needs a few minutes.”

There’s a swell of conversation, of heels on hard floors, and then quiet.

I breathe in, and breathe out.

What am I so scared of? God, why is this so terrifying?

Beyond the fact that the President of the United States is the one giving me away. Beyond that. Because there’s no way I was going to invite my father to this. He was a man who made promises to a woman and then dragged her through the mud. He turned on her.

The way Graham could turn on me.

The door opens behind me and I shoot up from my chair.

Graham’s eyes light up. “Holy God. You look like an angel.”

“I feel insane.”

He comes to me and pulls me in close. Every breath I take is filled with him; his clean, spicy scent, the fabric of his new tuxedo. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m terrified.”

“My brother won’t bite.”

“I’m not terrified of him. I’m terrified of after.”

“Sweetness, I’ve already had you.”

“Oh, God,” I groan. “Not like that. Legally—”

Graham’s eyes are electric. He grips my jaw with his hand, lifting my face, and my body stills in his grasp. “Take that idea out of your mind,” he says, his voice calm and even. “If our wedding is a set of chains, I’d gladly wear them for the rest of my life.” My heart moves into overdrive. “I love you, Bellamy. If I haven’t said it before, then let me say it now. I love you.”

“I love you.” I whisper it into his face and see an opening there, the last of his shields coming down.

He takes in my trembling limbs. “This won’t do. You need to be the blushing, happy bride.”

“I’m trying, but—”

“Surrender.” I’m frozen in his hands; I’m not trying to move at all, but every inch of me shakes. “Give me your surrender.”

“I don’t have anything left.” The panic comes again, a wave I can’t get out from under. “I’ve given everything to you.”

Then Graham is in motion, his strong arms lifting me, dress and all, to the side of the room, to a low leather bench. “Hands and knees.”

“What?” My voice is a high squeak. “I’m in my dress—”

“Hands and knees, sweetness.” His hand on the back of my neck is sheer control. I scramble up onto the bench. “We don’t have much time.”

On my hands and knees in front of him, my body stops shaking.

Graham lifts my dress, tucking it up around my waist, and gives an appreciative grunt when he sees the matching lace panties. “Exquisite.” He tugs them down and off, then puts them in his pocket.

“I need those,” I protest.

“Quiet.”

I am still, voice and body, and he is in control. It’s an unbelievable relief.

Graham’s fingers stroke between my legs, gathering the wetness there, and I push back against him. “Stay still,” he commands, and it lights a fire between my legs, the effort of remaining in place. “Oh, you like that,” he murmurs. “I’m so glad I came prepared.”

Prepared for what? I want to ask, but I am silent at his command.

“You need to be centered,” Graham says, his fingers dipping into my superheated core. My pussy tries to keep them inside, trying for more, but he pulls them back out again.

And presses them higher, to my asshole.

It’s so shockingly filthy that I let out a strangled gasp, but his hand on the small of my back leaves no room for argument. “Relax.”

I arch my back and blush at the image I must be presenting. Wedding dress. Pure white. Ass in the air. His finger...there.

He works it inside, breaching my defenses, and I am reduced to nothing but nerves on fire. It’s a strange pressure, but my mind takes it and turns it to a dirty pleasure; scandalous, if anyone were to know.

“Good girl,” he says, and I shudder beneath him.

Then he withdraws the finger.

It’s replaced a moment later with something hard and cold.

My juices drip down the inside of my thigh, right onto the leather bench.

“Push back,” he orders.

I do.

It’s bigger than his finger, wider, and oh—oh—I have to stretch to get the thickest part inside.

Then it’s seated, pressing out against my walls, and I have never been more needy in my life.

Graham’s hand hovers in front of my face, and I take it and stand up.

He kisses me, hot and hard, then straightens up. He checks his clothes. He straightens his tie. I ache for him, and a silvery gratefulness spikes through every inch of me.

“That should keep your focus where it belongs, sweetness.” He goes for the door. “I’ll see you at the altar.”

I watch him until he’s gone. This man—this man who’s all heartbreak and command, all pain and pleasure, and realize he’s given me my first wedding gift. All I can think about now, with his toy between my cheeks, is him—my want for him, the way I need him to bend me over the first available piece of furniture and take me, as soon as possible. As his wife.

The door opens, and Everest pokes her head in. “You ready?”

“I—” Underneath my dress is the biggest scandal of my life. I’m red at the thought of it, but I can’t be red now. I’m going to be photographed. I take a deep breath in and let it back out, willing the heat to leave my face. “I’m ready.”

My wedding dress brushes against my naked flesh as I follow her out into the hall, and a hard reminder with every step that I already belong to Graham. This is only a performance for everyone else. God, he’s brilliant. With one stroke, he’s made this ours. He’s made me his.

My bridesmaids are in a bunch outside the chapel entrance, and they light up when they see me, even though they watched me get ready, helped me step into my dress.

And President Blackpool, in his dark tuxedo, arm extended.

I put my hand through the crook of his arm as the music begins, and he looks down at me.

“You’re too good for my brother,” he jokes.

“He’s too good for me,” I tell him, and then I go to meet my husband.