The Convenient Wife (A BWWM Steamy Marriage of Convenience Romance) (19 page)

Dorian
was right. The botanical gardens really were beautiful this time of year.

Never,
not even in my wildest dreams, could I have imagined a ceremony as lavish as
this. And it was being held for
me,
Georgia Devereaux, the girl who’d never been considered special by anybody but
her daddy.

Until
Dorian Lambert came along.

The
old, sprawling branches of the oak trees above us were dripping with crystals
and Spanish moss. Antique lanterns lined either side of the runner flanked by
gorgeous, silver chairs with plush, purple cushions. Every one of them was
filled with someone I knew and loved. Even some of Dorian’s extended family had
shown up, the ones who didn’t care much for his mother or the late Mr. Lambert,
Sr.

My
father squeezed my arm as we slowly walked. “You got this,” he whispered and I
clutched my bouquet of violet lilies and baby’s breath all the tighter. “This
is gonna be the best day of your life. Maybe even mine.”

I
smiled, trying not to hold my breath as everyone eyed me in my designer gown.
It was covered in intricate beading—a far cry from the dress I’d worn on my
wedding day the first time around. But the only stare I cared about was
Dorian’s. His bright blue eyes picked me out from all the way down the aisle,
and when he smiled, I could see tears shimmering in his gaze.

I
beamed despite my anxiety.
That
was
exactly the kind of look I’d been hoping for.

At the
end of the aisle, I turned toward my father and kissed him on his grizzled
cheek. Daddy chuckled a little and kissed me back, then pulled away to look
into my eyes.

“I’m
proud of you, Georgia,” he said, and suddenly Dorian wasn’t the only one who
was going to cry. “Now, go up there and marry the man of your dreams. And try
not to ruin your makeup.”

I
laughed. “Yes, Daddy,” I said, turning toward my husband.

Dorian
was wearing an expertly tailored gray suit with a violet tie underneath. Ollie
was standing beside him, his best man and best friend.

Ollie
had pouted a little when Dorian told him there wouldn’t be a bachelors party,
but he got over it.
I haven’t been a
bachelor in a long time,
Dorian said to me, winking conspiratorially.

I loved
that man more than words could say.

As I
took my place beside him and handed off my bouquet, Dorian took my hands in his
and gazed down at me with all the love in the world. “You look
incredible,
Gigi Devereaux,” he
whispered to me, voice shaking, grip tight.

I
grinned at him. “I think I’m going to like being Gigi Lambert again,” I said,
and he smiled even wider, kissing my forehead.

“Not
yet, you two,” the priest joked, and the people around us laughed as Dorian
rubbed his neck sheepishly and cleared his throat.

“Right.
Sorry.” He was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Let’s get this show on the
road!”

I
barely heard a word the priest said. I was lost in Dorian’s eyes, in the
knowledge that what we had was special, everlasting. I could see the future in
his gaze: our happiness, our children, our life full of adventure and wonder
every morning that we woke up in each other’s arms. I’d never dreamed any of
this was possible for a girl like me, but here we were, the two of us, madly in
love.

No,
I thought, my hand drifting to
my belly and the very small bump that rested there,
the three of us.

When I
look back on that day now, I don’t remember saying “I do.” That was something
I’d said before, totally not worthy of committing to memory. What I remember is
Dorian kissing me like there was no tomorrow, like we were the last damn people
on Earth.

I was
Dorian Lambert’s wife—his
convenient
wife—and the woman he’d spend all of eternity with. And I couldn’t have been
happier.