I Do

I couldn't breathe.

Standing at the altar, I couldn't get enough air. The suit was too tight. The cologne is too strong. The sun is too bright.

And Damien Cross was right there. Two feet away. Staring at me with those eyes.

Blue. Ice blue. The kind of blue that could freeze you solid.

He was taller than I'd expected. At least 6'2". Broad shoulders filling out a black suit that probably cost more than our house. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass. Dark hair perfectly styled. Every inch of him screamed power.

I wanted to run.

"Do you, Marcus Laurent," the officiant said, "take Damien Cross to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

My throat closed up. The words were stuck somewhere between my lungs and my mouth.

Say it. Just say it.

But my voice wouldn't work.

Damien's eyes narrowed. Just slightly. But I saw it.

He knew. He had to know. I wasn't fooling anyone.

"Mr. Laurent?" the officiant prompted.

I forced the words out. "I... I do."

My voice cracked. Broke in the middle like I was thirteen again.

Damien's expression didn't change. But something flickered behind those cold blue eyes.

Suspicion. Definitely suspicion.

"And do you, Damien Cross, take Marcus Laurent to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do." His voice was steady. Deep. No hesitation at all.

Of course not. This was just business to him. A contract. He probably signed billion-dollar deals without blinking.

"The rings," the officiant said.

Damien's best man handed him a small black box. Damien opened it. Pulled out a simple platinum band.

He reached for my hand.

I tried not to shake. Failed completely.

His fingers were warm when they touched mine. Strong. His hands were bigger than mine, rougher, like they'd actually worked for something despite all his money.

He slid the ring onto my finger.

It almost didn't make it. My hand was shaking so badly that the ring caught on my knuckle. I had to force my hand to stay still while he pushed it the rest of the way on.

"With this ring," Damien said, "I thee wed."

The metal felt heavy. Foreign. Like handcuffs.

My turn.

I took the other ring from the box. Had to use both hands to keep from dropping it.

Damien held out his hand. Steady. Waiting.

I slid the ring on. It fit perfectly. Of course it did. Everything about this was planned. Calculated. Nothing left to chance.

"With this ring," I whispered, "I thee wed."

The words tasted like ash.

"By the power vested in me," the officiant said, "I now pronounce you married. You may kiss."

My heart stopped.

Kiss. I had to kiss him. In front of everyone. My first kiss ever, and it was a lie in front of forty strangers.

Damien stepped closer. One hand came up to cup the back of my neck.

His palm was warm against my skin. His thumb pressed just below my ear.

He leaned in.

I froze. Completely froze. Didn't know what to do with my hands or my face or anything.

His lips touched mine. Soft. Brief. Barely a kiss at all.

But my entire body went electric.

Warm. His lips were warm. And gentle. Nothing like I'd imagined a first kiss would be.

He pulled back. The kiss lasted maybe two seconds.

But I couldn't stop staring at his mouth.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

I was attracted to him. To my fake husband. To the man I was lying to. To the billionaire who was going to destroy me when he found out the truth.

This was a disaster.

Everyone was clapping. Damien took my hand. Led me back down the aisle.

His hand completely covered mine. I could feel calluses on his palm. Did billionaires have calluses?

We reached the end of the aisle. The reception area was set up on the other side of the garden. Tables with white cloths. Flowers I couldn't name. Champagne glasses catching the sunlight.

"Smile," Damien said quietly. "We're supposed to look happy."

I tried. My face felt like plastic.

The photographer appeared. Started arranging us for photos.

"Closer," he said. "Put your arm around him, Mr. Cross."

Damien's hand settled on my lower back.

I jumped. Couldn't help it. The touch was too much. Too real.

Damien's fingers pressed a little harder. Not painful. Just... firm. Like he was trying to keep me from bolting.

Smart man.

"Look at each other," the photographer said.

I turned my head. Met Damien's eyes.

Up close, I could see they weren't just blue. There were flecks of gray in them. And something else. Something hard and cold that made my stomach drop.

He didn't trust me. I could see it written all over his face.

"Perfect," the photographer said. "Now kiss again."

Damien leaned in. This kiss was even shorter. More performance than anything real.

But my heart raced anyway.

The reception was torture.

We sat at the head table. Damien is on my right. My father is on my left.

Servers brought food. Chicken in some kind of sauce. Vegetables I didn't recognize. Everything tasted like cardboard.

I pushed food around my plate. Tried to look like I was eating.

"Eat," my father hissed under his breath. "You look sick."

I forced down a bite of chicken. It stuck in my throat.

Across the garden, I could see my mother. She was crying. Trying to hide it behind a napkin.

My father stood to give a toast.

"To my son Marcus and his new husband Damien. May this union bring prosperity to both our families."

Prosperity. Not happiness. Not love.

Just money.

Everyone raised their glasses. Drank.

Damien's hand found mine under the table. Squeezed once.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Relax," he said quietly. Only I could hear him. "You're shaking."

"I'm fine."

"You're not. You look like you're about to pass out."

I pulled my hand away. Tried to smile at the guests who were watching us.

More toasts. More champagne. More people congratulated us on a marriage that was nothing but lies.

My father kept watching me. Every time I looked up, his eyes were on me. His mouth moved silently. *Smile. Act normal.*

I smiled until my face hurt.

Finally, the photographer wanted more pictures. Just the two of us.

We stood in front of a rose bush. Damien's arm went around my waist again.

"Look at the camera," the photographer said.

I looked. Tried not to notice how Damien's body felt against mine. Solid. Warm. Real.

"Now just the two of you. Talk to each other. Be natural."

Natural. Right.

Damien turned to face me. One hand still on my waist. The other came up to my shoulder.

We were close. Too close. I could smell his cologne. Something expensive and dark. Cedar maybe. And underneath it, coffee and mint.

"You seem terrified," he said. His voice was low. Quiet enough that only I could hear.

My breath caught.

"I'm not..."

"You are. You've been shaking since you walked down the aisle." His thumb brushed against my shoulder. Just once. "It's just a business arrangement. Relax..."

He paused. His eyes locked on mine.

And then he said the name that wasn't mine.

"...Marcus."