Page 28 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Liam

I’m not ready for this. It may have started off as fake, but after last night, I’m not so sure anymore.

I haven’t shared that part of my past with anyone, but something about her invited me to confide in her.

I followed my instincts and poured my guts out to her.

To her credit, she didn’t seem disgusted.

If anything, the empathy in her eyes was my undoing.

I told her everything about the time I’d been held captive.

And afterwards, I felt strangely lighter.

I wasn’t lying to her when I said this would affect how we could be together.

Something shifted between us last night. It started with the sex two nights ago—which was earth shattering. I’ve never felt this close to a woman, this connected during the act, and for that reason, I haven’t actually come inside her yet.

Considering we parted on not so good terms after, I didn’t expect to spend another night with her.

Certainly not one in which I’d share so much with her.

But my instinct led me to confide, so I didn’t stop myself.

We’ve turned a corner. We’ve reached a space where I’ve never been with anyone else.

Question is, what am I going to do about it?

"How you doin’, bro?" Weston, who’s also my best man, slaps my shoulder.

Why does my brother always sound like a player in an American sitcom, despite his British accent?

"You hangin’ in there? Soon you’ll be a married man, and your nerves will be a thing of the past." He smirks.

"I don’t get nervous, brother." I run my fingers under my collar.

"So why are you sweating?"

"I’m not sweating." I pull out my handkerchief and mop my forehead.

He arches an eyebrow, but mercifully, stays quiet.

"Here." Hunter, my other groomsman, pulls out a flask of whiskey and hands it over. I accept it gratefully, and chug a few mouthfuls. The liquor burns a path down my throat and sets off an explosion of heat in my stomach. Hunter offers it to Weston—who refuses—then takes a mouthful himself.

"Interesting you felt the need for sustenance." I smirk at him. "Does it have anything to do with a certain dark-haired bridesmaid who’s sending you death threats with her eyes?"

Hunter arches a shoulder. "No idea who you’re talking about."

"Ahhhh…" Weston makes a satisfied noise. "So, Hunter and Zara—"

"Nothing. Hunter and Zara, nothing." Hunter scowls at me.

"Now you’ve done it. Once this wanker" —he stabs his finger in Weston’s direction— "gets an idea into his head about a possible match for one of us unmarried folk, he doesn’t let go of it.

" He pockets his flask and widens his stance. "Why don’t you married folks let us bachelors enjoy our single status? I’m on my own and extremely happy about it. "

Weston opens his mouth again, and Hunter raises his hand. "No, really. I am not interested in the ball and chain anytime soon. I have a campaign to run, which leaves me no time for any relationship.”

"Think about how your candidacy would benefit with a girlfriend or wife on your arm. Also, it’s because she doesn’t hesitate to go toe-to-toe with you that you’re so evenly matched. Bet she’ll take you down a peg or two and teach you the meaning of love."

"Love?" He blinks. "How the hell did this conversation turn toward love?"

"We’re at a wedding ceremony. Logically, thoughts of love and happily-ever-after are all that anyone here should be talking about," Sinclair, my third groomsman points out.

"Not everyone," Hunter scoffs. "Also, FYI, you don’t need to be in love to get married."

Weston’s gaze widens. "Do you actually believe that?"

"Ask your brother."

Weston turns to me. "Go on then, brother of mine, tell him he’s wrong. Tell asswipe here you love your wife-to-be, and that’s why you’re marrying her."

I purse my lips. "So this is what happens to alphaholes when they get married? They lose their balls?"

"Don’t change the topic." Weston narrows his gaze. "Unless—" He scans my features and understanding dawns on his own. "You poor, poor man. So that’s what this is about. Is that why Lila left you—because you didn’t love her?"

I stay quiet.

"And that’s why Isla agreed to marry you, hmm? You struck a deal with her, I presume? Something along the lines of ‘you help me get my inheritance’ and ‘I’ll help get your wedding planning company on the map’?"

"Shut the fuck up," I snap.

Thankfully, this entire circus isn’t in a church, which is the only consolation.

It’s being held on the lawn by the beach.

Our close family and friends have already gathered on either side of the flower petal strewn aisle.

On the far end, Declan, who is recording this event in his role as our ‘celebrity photographer’ holds up his thumb.

In addition, the professional photographer and videographer are in attendance. They’ll be sharing exclusive snippets, subsequent to our approval, with the influencers and the media.

I spot the rest of the Seven who confirmed their attendance, with their wives. On the other side of the aisle, Michael is seated with Karma. He has his arm around his wife, but his attention is on Sinclair, who scowls back at him.

In front of them are my mother, my sister Kirsten, and her husband and kids.

Next to them are Isla’s mother and brother.

Their Great Dane Tiny is on a leash. Even from this distance, I can tell his gaze is fixed on the conservatory where the post-wedding reception is going to be held.

It can’t be because of the glasses of champagne that are, no doubt, being poured in readiness for the dinner that will follow soon.

Jeez, does that dog have a problem, or what?

"Liam, what’s he talking about?" Hunter’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Ignore the twat; his mind is full of romantic fantasies. It’s what happens when you’re pussy-whipped."

Weston laughs. "Typical defense mechanism. When you don’t have a rejoinder, strike out at your opponent so you can distract them. FYI, bro, it ain’t flying with me."

"Go fuck yourself," I grumble.

Behind me, the official who’ll be conducting the wedding shifts his weight. Clearly, when he agreed to solemnize the marriage, he didn’t expect such colorful language to be used. Not that it matters, considering he’s going to be handsomely compensated for his efforts.

Then the strains of LadyBird by Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazlewood begin to play.

Amelie steps onto the flower-strewn path and the crowd grows silent. As she walks up the aisle, she beams at Weston.

My brother, for his part, has eyes only for her.

Amelie tilts her chin up and puckers her lips at him.

My brother puckers up his lips right back at her.

I think I just threw up in my mouth. They’ve been married a few months, but the two still act like they’re on their honeymoon.

If he thinks I’m going to turn into a googly-eyed, douche-canoe like him then he’s sadly mistaken.

Amelie comes to a halt on the opposite side of the aisle.

Summer steps onto the aisle and approaches us.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Sinclair says softly from his position in line behind me.

Summer glides over to stand on the opposite side of us and beside Amelie, and then it’s Zara’s turn.

Next to me, Hunter stiffens. I shoot him a sideways glance to find him following her progress.

His jaw is stiff, and a nerve throbs at his temple.

I turn to find she has her head held high, and she glances right past him to the officiant.

She flashes him a smile, then walks past us to take her position next to Summer.

Hunter curls his fingers into fists at his sides, as if to stop himself from using them on something or someone. Or from reaching out to pull her into his side.

The hair on the back of my neck rises. A thrill runs down my spine. Even before I turn, I know she’s walking up the aisle.