Paris
IT WAS THE final stop of our whirlwind engagement on our road to a temporary marriage.
The San Francisco Court House. Somehow Christian had pulled his political strings and arranged for us to have the late ceremony.
The building was beautiful, all lit up with its gold peaks and grandeur. I almost felt like Cinderella going to a ball.
“Tyler.” I stopped him opening the door.
“Yeah?”
“Tell me this isn’t a mistake.”
“It isn’t, Paris. Mistakes are accidents. This is intentional. Something we want,” he told me and then stepped out of the Mercedes, buttoning his coat like a movie star at an awards show.
Or maybe like Prince Charming.
He smoothed the lines of his tailored suit and smiled down at me as I slid across the seat. The suit was designer and fit his body to perfection. Then again, everything fit him to perfection. He was tall, six-two, broad-shouldered, and visibly fit with a smile that made every girl in the room want to drop to her knees.
With his strong profile, sharp cheekbones and beautiful brown hair, he commanded attention everywhere he went, and right now he was commanding mine.
He held out his hand for me to take and when I did, I had to swallow past the lump of emotion that had formed in my throat. In a matter of minutes, he was going to be my husband.
My.
Husband.
Mine.
Temporary or not.
Still mine for a little while.
San Francisco’s high-society pages were waiting, and they took snapshots of us as we strode up the stairs toward the big double doors.
In truth, they were there for the gossip. The fact that a mere six hours ago, I was set to wed Henri LeBlanc. The Henri LeBlanc of France. Billionaire heir with a secret. Tyler shielded me from them by putting his arm around me. I felt safe in that moment.
He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Promise me one thing—not to leave this marriage, or me, without talking to me, first.”
I looked up in complete seriousness and responded with, “Only if you promise not to hurt me.”
He nodded.
I nodded.
A vow that very well could break us both.
As soon as we stepped onto the marble floor, he took my hand. “This way.”
The rest of ‘the wedding party’ went left, and he was leading me to the right. I eyed him suspiciously. “I’m not fucking you in the coat closet.”
He laughed and growled. “Damn.”
And I laughed at that.
Up the beautiful staircase and down a narrow hallway there was a bride’s room.
This place really was spectacular and the polar opposite of the St. Helena Court House in every way.
Without even knocking, he pushed open the door. Thank God it was empty. And it didn’t get past me that he locked it once we were both inside.
It also didn’t get by me that my heart was pounding so wildly it felt like it was about to take flight.
On the marble counter was another bag. Bigger than the last. “What’s that?”
He sank into a chair near the makeup counter and angled one leg over the other in a casual pose. It was as if he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
I raised a brow. “Waiting to get your shoes shined?”
“Funny.” He jerked his chin to the bag. “Open it,” he said, the tone of his voice making goose bumps rise on my skin.
I stared back at him, eyes wide. “What is it?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Open it and find out.”
There was something about this moment that felt defined before it happened, and I considered walking out the door.
But I couldn’t.
Okay, wouldn’t.
I peeked in the tissue and pulled the hanger from the wrap and gasped. I couldn’t even draw a breath. I was light-headed from the champagne and awed by what was in front of me.
I stuttered over my words as I stared at the ivory-colored simple dress made of satin that fell just below the knee. It was a seventies slip dress and totally me. “It’s . . . it’s . . . it’s beautiful,” I awed.
The chagrin on his face really was priceless. “Knew you’d like it. Saw it at the vintage store the other day when you were trying on the gold dress and had the sales girl stow it away.”
I held it up to me. Whirling around in it like a giddy girl. My stomach flip-flopped when I looked in the mirror.
The dress was definitely wow worthy.
“Goldie Hawn wore it to the Academy Awards or that’s what the sales girl told me.”
I blinked, my heart fluttering and my fingers itching to try it on. “I love it. It’s perfect,” I exclaimed.
One half of his mouth turned up. “Put it on.”
I could have gone into one of the bathroom stalls and closed the door, but I didn’t. Instead, I slowly pulled down the straps of my gold dress and let it fall before bending to pick it up.
Tyler’s pupils flared with a raw hunger that ignited his features in the most primal way. “I hope you’ll do that again for me when we get back to your place.”
A shiver worked up my spine. “Refer to the contract, please,” I said as I stepped into the beautiful dress.
“You mean, #25. Husband and wife shall maintain separate sleeping quarters?” he asked huskily.
Slowly, I pulled the dress up my body. “That’s the one.”
His gaze was liquid fire. “My dear wife-to-be, separate sleeping quarters has nothing to do with sex. We could fuck right here, right now. Just say the word.”
The air around us swirled electric, and the tension grew even thicker. “Tyler,” I breathed and then stopped, biting my lip like that Jane Whitmore schoolgirl all over again.
His blue eyes searched mine. They were so intense that I started to worry what he thought he saw, and I had to look away. Whatever it was, he said nothing about it and got to his feet, instead. Then he extended his hand. “Come on, let’s get married.”
With my nipples hard as steel peaks, they were pressing against the satin material of my new dress, and protruding in a very obvious fashion. I was seriously considering telling him to just take me right here so we could breathe.
This time I reached for him. “Why did you do all this?”
The shrug he gave me wasn’t filled with dirty charm or indifference. It was more genuine—warmhearted and truly uncertain. “I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to do. I guess I wanted to make your wedding day perfect.”
I gave him a small, shy smile. “Well, you have.”
Something in my chained-up heart was changing, the hatred and anger fading more every day, no—every minute, I spent with him. It was like he had the key and was slowly unlocking it, freeing that beating organ I’d jailed long ago.
I trotted beside him to the ceremony room, and at exactly seven fifty-five we said, “I do.”
At that moment, a mellowness had fallen over me, and when I looked up at him, I actually thought things could go beyond temporary. That they might just work out.
That he had changed.
Lifting on my toes, I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Thank you for this day. I feel like a princess.”
He bent and softly kissed my lips. “Good. Remember that tomorrow when we’re going round-for-round at the office.”
My words, yes, but it wasn’t until then that I realized just how true they were going to be. That it was him versus me. Highway 128 or California Jane for the win.
And just like that, I was Cinderella at the stroke of midnight . . .
Or maybe I was Beauty and he was the Beast.