Page 3 of Bound in Matrimony (Belonging to Him Trilogy #3)

Chapter Three

Knox

I sign the last document with a practiced flourish, pushing it across the polished conference table to Richards, my head counsel.

He's been with me since the early days, one of the few people who's seen me crawl my way from nothing to everything.

"Is that all?" I ask, though we both know there's one matter we haven't addressed.

The most important one. Seraphina. My child.

My future secured in flesh and blood rather than digital assets and market shares.

Richards clears his throat, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. "There's the matter of your updated will and the trust for your child, sir."

"And?" I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled beneath my chin. The Manhattan skyline stretches behind me, a concrete kingdom I've conquered. But lately, it seems trivial compared to the territory I've claimed in Seraphina's heart.

"Well, the provisions for Ms. Vale and your unborn child are quite…generous." Richards chooses his words carefully, as he always does. Smart man. "However, from a legal standpoint, the protections would be significantly stronger if you were married."

I've known this, of course. Known it since the moment I placed my hand on Seraphina's still-flat stomach months ago and felt the seismic shift in my universe. Everything I've built, everything I own—it means nothing if not passed to my bloodline, secured for the woman who carries my child.

"The prenuptial agreement—" Richards begins.

"There won't be one." I cut him off, enjoying the rare sight of my unflappable lawyer looking genuinely shocked.

"Sir, with assets of your magnitude, that's highly inadvisable?—"

"Do I strike you as a man who makes inadvisable decisions, Richards?" My voice drops to the quiet register that makes board members squirm. "Seraphina gets everything. No conditions, no clauses, no prenup."

His expression remains professionally neutral, but I catch the slight widening of his eyes. In all the years he's known me, I've never been careless with what's mine. But he doesn't understand. Seraphina isn't a potential liability. She's an extension of myself.

"Very well." He makes a note. "When do you anticipate the wedding might take place? I can begin preparations for the legal transition of assets and?—"

"Three days."

Richards's pen stills on the paper. "I'm sorry?"

"Three days from now. Saturday." The decision crystallizes as I speak it aloud, feeling right in a way few things have. "Make the arrangements."

"Mr. Vance, planning a wedding in three days is?—"

"A simple matter of resources and will. I have an abundance of both." I stand, indicating our meeting is over. "Send the updated will to my private email for review. I want it executed before the wedding."

"Yes, sir." Richards gathers his papers, knowing better than to argue further. At the door, he pauses. "Congratulations, Mr. Vance."

I nod, already reaching for my phone as he leaves. Three days to plan a wedding worthy of Seraphina. Three days to make her irrevocably mine in the eyes of the law, as she already is in every way that matters.

The first call is to Elise, my events coordinator. Her sleek competence is why I keep her on permanent retainer.

"I need a wedding planned. This Saturday. Cost is irrelevant, excellence is mandatory."

To her credit, she doesn't gasp or protest. "Location preferences, sir?"

"The botanical garden. Buy it out for the day."

"Guest list?"

"Small. Intimate. I'll send you names." The truth is, I don't care who witnesses our union. It's not for them. It's for us—for the legal protection of my family, for the public declaration of what already exists between us.

"And the bride's preferences? Dress, flowers, menu?"

I pause, considering. Seraphina doesn't know yet. A flutter of something—not doubt, never doubt—passes through me. "She'll need options. The best. Arrange for designers to bring selections to the penthouse tomorrow."

Twenty minutes and a dozen calls later, the framework is in place.

The botanical garden secured with a donation large enough to make them rename a wing after us.

Three top chefs preparing menu tastings.

Designers scrambling to pull their most exclusive pieces.

Security protocols established. A private judge arranged.

It's efficient, methodical, exactly how I approach every project.

But as I step into the elevator to head home, I feel a different kind of tension coiling in my chest. Not the usual predatory anticipation of a deal closing, but something rarer.

Something I experienced when Seraphina first told me she was carrying my child.

Vulnerability.

I shake it off as the elevator rises to the penthouse. I'm Knox Vance. I don't do vulnerable. I see what I want, and I take it. And I want Seraphina Vale as my wife before our child is born.

She's in the nursery when I arrive home, one hand tracing the finished crib I assembled myself.

The late afternoon sun catches in her honey-blonde hair, turning it to molten gold.

My breath catches at the sight of her—this woman who's infiltrated every defense, who's carrying my legacy within her body.

"You're home early," she says, turning to me with a smile that still makes my heart stutter like some adolescent boy's.

I cross the room in four strides, cupping her face in my hands and kissing her with the hunger that never seems to abate, no matter how many times I claim her mouth. She melts against me, her rounded belly pressing between us, the physical reminder of what we've created together.

"What was that for?" she asks when I finally release her, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

"For being mine." I brush my thumb across her bottom lip, feeling the soft give of flesh that yields to me so sweetly. "We're getting married on Saturday."

She blinks, the statement taking a moment to register. "This Saturday? As in, three days from now?"

"Yes."

She searches my face, looking for signs of a joke or uncertainty. She finds neither.

"Knox, we can't plan a wedding in three days." Her hands rest on my chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of my shirt.

"It's already being planned." I cover her hands with mine, feeling the absence of a ring—a temporary condition I intend to remedy tomorrow. "Elise is handling the details. Designers will be here tomorrow with dress options. The garden is secured."

"The garden? What garden?" She pulls back slightly, her brows drawing together. "Knox, we haven't even discussed whether we want to get married."

"Haven't we?" I raise an eyebrow. "You're carrying my child. You live in my home. You sleep in my bed. You've given yourself to me in every way that matters. Marriage is simply the legal recognition of what already exists between us."

"That's not how most people approach marriage," she says, but there's a wavering in her voice that tells me she's not entirely opposed to the idea. Just the timeline.

"I'm not most people." I guide her to the window seat, sitting beside her, our bodies angled toward each other.

"Seraphina, I've built my empire by recognizing opportunities and seizing them without hesitation.

I knew the moment I saw you that you were mine, just as I knew the moment you told me about our child that you would be the mother of my legacy. "

"So I'm an opportunity?" A smile plays at the corner of her mouth, telling me she's not truly offended.

"You're a certainty." I take her hands again, rubbing my thumb over the bare ring finger that won't be naked much longer. "There's no scenario in my future that doesn't include you as my wife. Waiting serves no purpose."

She looks down at our joined hands, silent for a moment. I can almost see the thoughts racing behind those expressive green eyes—the pros and cons, the romantic notions she might have harbored about wedding planning, the practical considerations of our situation.

"Three days isn't enough time to plan a proper wedding," she finally says, but it's not a refusal. It's a negotiation.

"It is when money and influence remove all obstacles." I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against the soft skin of her neck. "What do you need to make it 'proper'? Tell me, and it's yours."

She laughs, a sound that still catches me off guard with its genuine delight. "You can't just throw money at a wedding and expect it to be perfect."

"Watch me."

She shakes her head, but I see the capitulation in her eyes before she speaks. "My parents?—"

"Will be flown in first class tomorrow. Already arranged."

"A dress?—"

"Designers arriving at noon with their finest options."

"Flowers—"

"The botanical garden has an in-house florist who's being handsomely compensated for her expertise and discretion."

Seraphina narrows her eyes at me. "You really planned this all out in, what, an hour?"

"Forty-seven minutes." I can't help the satisfaction that colors my tone. Efficiency has always been my hallmark.

"What about my input? My choices?" Her voice carries a hint of challenge, the spark that first drew me to her—the woman who wouldn't be intimidated by my reputation or wealth.

"Every detail will be presented for your approval." I lift her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. "But the date is non-negotiable, Seraphina."

"Why the rush?" Her eyes search mine. "Is it because of the baby? Because we don't need to get married just because I'm pregnant, Knox. This isn't the 1950s."

"The rush," I say, my voice dropping to the intimate tone I reserve only for her, "is because I've claimed you in every other way, and I want the world to know you're mine legally as well.

I want our child born into a union recognized by law.

I want the protection that marriage affords both of you. "

She swallows, her pulse visibly quickening at the base of her throat. "And what if I said I need more time?"

I stroke her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers.

"Then I would ask what you need time for.

To decide if you want me? We both know that's not a question.

To prepare emotionally? You've been mine since the first night I took you in my bed.

Time won't change what already exists between us, Seraphina. "

"You're very sure of yourself," she murmurs, but she's leaning into my touch.

"I'm sure of us." I draw her closer, my hand splaying possessively over her rounded belly. "Three days. Saturday at sunset. Say yes."

She sighs, a soft exhalation that carries the last of her resistance away. "You'd just make it happen even if I said no, wouldn't you?"

"I'd convince you." I brush my lips against her temple. "I can be very persuasive when something matters to me. And nothing has ever mattered more than making you my wife."

She turns her face up to mine, her eyes clear and direct. "Yes."

The single word sends a surge of triumph through me more potent than any business acquisition, any market conquest. I capture her mouth with mine, sealing her agreement with a kiss that promises everything—protection, possession, pleasure.

When I finally release her, she's breathless, her cheeks flushed. "I need to call my mother," she whispers. "She'll have a heart attack when she hears."

"She already knows." I stand, pulling Seraphina to her feet. "I called your parents before I called Elise. Your father has given his blessing."

She stares at me in astonishment. "You asked my father for permission?"

"Not permission." I correct her with a slight smile. "Notification. I was informing him of my intentions, not seeking his approval."

She laughs again, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

"No," I pull her against me, one hand tangling in her hair to tip her face up to mine. "I'm determined. And in three days, Seraphina Vale, you'll be Seraphina Vance. My wife. Mine in every way that exists."

She shivers slightly in my arms, and I know it's not from fear or reluctance. It's from the same certainty that burns in my blood—the knowledge that our union is inevitable, has been from the moment our eyes first met across her gallery.

"Three days," she whispers, and it sounds like a promise.