Mr. Bishop and Archer glance up from their phones as Gabriel abandons his drinking binge to stand and pull the man into an embrace, the two matched in height.
“Connor,” he grins, the first smile I’ve seen from him since the night I spent at his apartment. He looks so happy, it almost hurts to see.
My eyes flick to Archer, an expression on his face nearly like… longing? Does he wish he had that kind of relationship with his brothers? Gabriel said he’s always been too reserved for his own good.
“You left the project in capable hands?” Mr. Bishop asks his son, his eyes narrowing slightly. No hello, no glad you could make it for your brother’s wedding. Just business. I seriously don’t understand how Gabriel’s even related to him.
“It’s fine, Dad,” Connor assures him, walking around the table to clap him and Archer on the backs. “And you must be the lovely Serena,” he smiles warmly at her. “Welcome to the family.”
She startles slightly but appears pleased. Not one of these men has actually welcomed her, have they?
He shakes hands with Mr. Montague next, but comes up short when he gets to me. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are. I’m Connor Bishop, Gabriel’s brother.”
He holds a hand out to me, and I gladly accept his firm handshake. “Mackenzie Sweet. I’m the wedding planner.”
A server rushes in with an extra chair and takes his food and drink order, but Connor doesn’t appear to be the least bit concerned about catching up with everyone else with a soup and appetizer, insisting he can start with the entrée.
“Did you just fly in?” Gabriel asks, taking a seat again. “You cut it awfully close.”
“I couldn’t miss your wedding.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence as Gabriel gives him a tight-lipped smile, Serena focused on picking at her dish.
He gazes around the room, finally reading the mood right. This isn’t a joyous occasion.
“Tell us about the Philippines,” I blurt out. “Your work there must be fascinating.”
Connor grabs onto the lifeline I offer, the tension in the room relaxing as he regales us with stories about amusing cultural misunderstandings he’s had and how different life is there. At some point, Mr. Bishop excuses himself to take a phone call, but the only one who really seems to notice is Serena’s father, who watches him with suspicious eyes.
The main course and dessert come and go, and Serena makes her goodbyes after politely finishing her tiramisu, followed closely by Mr. Montague. Gabriel merely takes another long draw from his wine glass, but Connor gets up to walk her out. Archer watches from the end of the table silently, his gaze switching between the bride and groom, a frown on his face.
“I should get going too.” I stand, smoothing the front of my dress over my barely full stomach. For a four-course meal, it turned out to be awfully small portions.
“I’ll walk you out.” Gabriel tips his wine glass back to finish the last of it and gets up, not giving me a chance to decline. He walks around the table to help pull my chair out, pressing his hand against my lower back as he leads me out of the room.
Archer’s gaze follows us too, but I don’t make a show of removing Gabriel’s hand, not wanting to draw attention to it. Really, though, what is he thinking doing that in front of his brother?
I wait until we’re out the door of the private area before gently removing his palm. I already saw those pictures The Manhattan Herald posted of us online. If anyone in the main dining room of the restaurant captured a photo with him touching me, it would absolutely send the wrong message.
Or rather, the right one.
The lights of the Manhattan skyline twinkle through the floor to ceiling windows as we walk by the other diners, most glancing up at us. Is it just because it’s human nature to stare at others passing by, or do they recognize Gabriel?
We’re almost to the exit when a woman holds up her phone in our direction, indiscreetly snapping a shot. Yep, it’s because of Gabriel again. Hopefully this one doesn’t make it to The Manhattan Herald.
I jab the elevator button out in the hotel hallway, the two of us silent as we wait for it to reach the top floor.
“You look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.
I glance down at my purple dress. “You’ve seen me in this before.”
“I know, but you still look hot as fuck.”
My belly dips low, but I ignore his comment.
“I couldn’t stop thinking all night about getting a hotel room downstairs and peeling that dress off you.”
I clench my hands together tightly in front of me. So I won’t throttle or kiss him, I’m not sure. “You can’t say stuff like that to me anymore.”
“I can’t help how I feel,” he whispers as the elevator finally dings, the polished doors opening to reveal an empty car. Oh God, being alone in a confined space with him is not a good idea right now.
He ushers me in, not giving me a chance to back out and take the stairs. He doesn’t turn around like he should, continuing to face me as the doors close.
“Tell me not to do it,” he says as we begin our descent.
“What?” I glance up at the digital readout. Fifty-five floors to go.
“Tell me not to go through with it tomorrow.”
I meet his gaze, his eyes desperate with urgency, dark circles underneath. I swallow heavily, looking back up at the top of the elevator. Fifty-three floors. Shouldn’t this thing be faster? “I can’t do that.”
“Even though I love you?”
My hands find their way to each other again, gripping so tightly I’m afraid I might break a bone. “Gabriel, you’ve been drinking tonight. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.” He crowds in closer and I take a step back, hitting the railing along the edge of the elevator car. His cologne hits my nose, the scent teasing me, drawing me forward, but I stay firm. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you,” he continues, his voice dark, hypnotic. “Never been so completely under someone’s spell.” He leans down, his breath warm. “I’m in love with you.”
I clutch the railing behind me, closing my eyes in the wake of his intensity, the devotion on his face. He cups my cheek, his hand steady, and I can’t help my body’s response to lean into his touch. “I’m trying to protect you,” I whisper. “Protect both of us.”
“I don’t need protection. I just need you.”
He bends down further, his lips a breath away, waiting for me to make the final move.
But I won’t. Not when I can smell the wine on his breath. Not when I glance up and spy a camera in the top corner of the elevator, recording everything we’re doing. And definitely not when the car stops on the twenty-ninth floor to let in a group of hotel guests.
I step further back before the doors fully open, into a socially acceptable distance from him as four people pour in to take up all the remaining space. We’re silent as we head down, his thumb tapping heavily on his leg, mouth a grim slash across his face.
He lets the group exit first as we reach the ground floor and takes my arm in a loose hold as he guides me to a door on the right that says Business Center. Two empty tables with rows of computers stand in the middle of the room, with comfortable lounge seating placed against the walls and a printer over in the corner.
We’re alone, but that doesn’t mean someone couldn’t walk in at any moment. Then again, they’d have to get past Gabriel, who stands guard against the door, arms crossed across his chest so tightly his biceps flex.
No, not the biceps.
“Are you holding me captive?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “No, I’m continuing our conversation.”
I mimic his pose, though I’m sure the sight of me crossing my arms isn’t nearly so imposing. “What else is there to say?”
His brow furrows further down. “What’s there to say? How about you love me too? That you need me just as much?”
&nbs
p; “Gabriel,” I shout, suddenly at my wit’s end. “You are getting married tomorrow. We can’t continue this anymore.”
“It’s for show,” he growls, using the same argument again. “It’s not like it’s a real marriage.”
“In the eyes of the law, and most importantly, your father, that’s what it is.”
“I said I would call it off.”
“And I said I can’t let you do that.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
I look down at the floor so I won’t have to see his face for this next part. “I thought we’d stay friends, but-”
“No buts,” he interrupts in a hard voice.
“But I don’t think that’s possible,” I finish, gripping my arms tightly. “Maybe we shouldn’t see each other anymore.” It was one thing when he was calm and stopped by my apartment with dessert, but if every time will be like this, us fighting our attraction to each other - and in his case failing - I won’t be able to take it. I only have so much willpower.
“That’s not an option.” His voice is as low as I’ve ever heard it, nearly guttural. “You are the one good thing in my life. You make all the rest of this bearable. I can’t go through this knowing I’m losing you.”
I turn away, wiping at my eyes. “It’s what makes the most sense,” I whisper. “You keep your money and family, my business takes off.”
“Those things are more important to you than what we have?”
My knees wobble, the weight of this damn responsibility nearly overwhelming. Why do I have to be the bad guy here? I thought we were on the same page before, that he understood where I was coming from. That I’m being strong just as much for him as I am for me.
I’ve known him for a little over a month, I remind myself. I can’t change my whole life, my whole course of action, for someone else. Past Mackenzie would slap me silly if she knew all the blood, sweat, and tears she poured into Sweet Events would be thrown away for a guy.
Even if I do love him.
“Gabriel,” I say slowly, turning back toward him, refusing to meet his eye. “I want you to seriously consider what you’re proposing would do for our futures. How it would alter our lives. The repercussions. And besides all that, you had at least four glasses of wine at dinner. I watched you. I can’t trust you won’t have a change of heart in the morning, that you won’t be thinking clearly then.”
“The way I feel about you has never changed. And it’s never going to.” There’s a finality in his tone I’d find incredibly romantic under normal circumstances. He sounds so purposeful. Committed.
But I need to push him away, not draw him closer.
My fingernails dig into my arms where I’ve crossed them, and I focus on the pain of that rather than the turmoil churning inside me. “I’m not doubting that. But I thought we agreed-”
“No, you agreed. You were the one who said we had to stay apart.”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
His gaze weighs heavily on me, but I ignore it as best I can. “If that’s what you want,” he finally says, opening the door behind him and slamming it shut as he exits.
My arms drop, all the fight leaving me, and I stumble over to the lounge seating to sink down, letting the tears flow, the ache from holding them back so long easing.
My hands come around my middle, clutching my sides tightly as I tell myself over and over that what I did is for the best. It’s what I’ve planned to do this whole time. It’s not like I’m making some drastic decision. This is the way things are supposed to be.
But I can’t get his words out of my head. I’m in love with you. How can this man make my heart soar while simultaneously having me feel like the lowest worm? Is there anything worse than confessing your love to someone, only for them to reject you?
But if I had repeated those words of love to him, it would have been all over. There’s no way he would have left after that.
And sometimes, love isn’t enough. Love can’t keep a roof over my head, my business on track, pay off past debts. I’d be risking everything. And I… I can’t do that.
Even if the thought of never seeing him again leaves me gasping for breath. Never watching his gorgeous blue eyes that look upon me with such reverence. Never having his arms around me, safe and whole in his embrace. Never hearing his sweet words that feed my soul.
Good God, why am I torturing myself?
I stand and brush the last of the tears away from my face, mentally fortifying myself. The biggest wedding of my career is tomorrow and I’ve got work to do. I still need to double check my checklists. Need to run through the timeline again till I have it completely memorized. Need to work on suppressing my emotions so I don’t lose it when the minister announces Gabriel and Serena are husband and wife at last.
Tomorrow will be fine. It has to be.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Gabriel
I loop the strip of silver silk around my neck, executing a perfect bow tie, even better than the one Mackenzie tied for me all those weeks ago, and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
This is it. My shining hour.
Or more accurately, my darkest hour.
I’m marrying the wrong woman. Every beat of my heart, every fiber of my being knows it. But Mackenzie wouldn’t take the bait last night.
She was right that I had too much to drink, but that doesn’t mean everything I said wasn’t true. It was straight from the heart. And though I can’t say for sure, I have a feeling I would have voiced my love regardless of the alcohol.
But it seems my attempt at laying it all out on the line didn’t work.
I throw on my tux jacket and straighten it till it’s in place, buttoning it and heading out of the groom’s suite toward the ballroom where the ceremony is.
Staff from the chair rental company are setting up the silver Chiavari chairs we decided on, Mackenzie off in the distance directing a man where to position the final row. By the altar, her friend Diana loops fresh blue and silver flowers around a wire arch that will serve as a dramatic backdrop in our photos.
You know, the ones I’m going to display proudly on my mantle at home.
Right.
I watch Mackenzie, in her element making sure everyone is on task, everything is running smoothly, a well-oiled routine she has down pat. She doesn’t falter until she spots me, pausing slightly in her conversation with the harpist, before continuing.
I wait her out a few minutes more, her occasional glances proof she knows I’m here, but I bide my time. Her blue lacy dress that matches today’s theme flares out behind her as she finally spins in my direction, her heels clacking against the parquet floor before stopping in front of me, just out of reach.
“You don’t have to help set up,” she says smoothly, no hint of any nervousness in her voice. But the way she’s clutching her clipboard tightly to her chest tells a different story.
“That’s not why I came in here.”
“Do you want to talk about last night?”
Leave it to her to not beat around the bush. “I, um-” I stick my hands in my pockets, not exactly sure how to word this. “I’m sorry-”
She holds up a hand to stop me. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“I shouldn’t have put that pressure on you. And I don’t want you angry with me.”
“I’m not,” she whispers, her professional wedding planner mask slipping the slightest bit to reveal worried eyes. “If anything, I thought you’d be furious with me.”
“No, I-”
“Excuse me,” another voice interrupts, all grit. “If I could have a word?”
We turn in unison to find Tina, the hotel’s event manager, staring at Mackenzie, a feral smile on her face.
Mackenzie bites her lip and nods, resigned to her fate as she follows the woman out of the ballroom, avoiding eye contact with me. So our reckoning has come.
I hesitate for only a moment before following surreptitiously out into the hallway where Tina
has her cornered, away from prying eyes. “Did you think you’d get away with it?” she hisses, that awful grin still there. “That you could pull one over on me?”
“Excuse me?” Mackenzie replies, staying calm in the wake of the woman’s rising anger.
“I asked someone what the bride was doing not dressed yet and he laughed in my face. Said your name wasn’t Serena Montague. It’s Mackenzie Sweet, the wedding coordinator.” She steps closer in an attempt to intimidate, practically on top of her, but fuck that shit. She’s not pulling this on today of all days. Mackenzie’s already stressed enough as it is.
“You must be mistaken,” I tell her, inserting myself into the conversation. “She’s the wedding planner. She has been since the beginning.”
She whips around, eyes widening in outrage at my blatant reversal of what I told her weeks ago, but I don’t give her a chance to call me out. “And if you decide you want to make up lies about anything you think you saw, you’ll be hearing from my lawyers. Not only that, but I know everyone in this city. I can sing Haven’s praises to the right people, or I can badmouth you all over New York until you find yourself with no bookings and no job.”
She sputters something about who do you think you are, but I cut her off once more. “My family controls a social media giant. ThousandWords - you may have heard of it?” Her face slowly drains of color. Did she really not realize who the Bishops are? “And we have connections in every market sector. We can make or break you. So if you don’t want outrageous legal fees when I sue you for slander or risk losing your job, I suggest you walk away now.”
Her lips press together tightly until they’re barely visible, trembling with suppressed rage.
I step closer, towering over her, using the same tactic she just tried to use on Mackenzie. Yeah, I realize I’m acting like a bully, but I couldn’t care less. This is Mackenzie’s reputation potentially on the line.
Resisting the Billionaire Page 21
