Marrying the 'Crippled' Billionaire

The wedding

Georgia’s POV

A Month Later

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, feeling totally freaked out by what I was seeing. “Breathe, Georgia, breathe. Everything’s going to be okay,” I said to myself, trying to calm my nerves.

The wedding dress I had on was gorgeous—better than I expected, since Elena herself had picked the dress on my behalf. As I had expected, the dress covered every part of my body, showing very little skin, but I didn't mind since it still looked pretty good on me.

None of my family members were here with me, and from what I heard, they were already at the church. The only people with me were the makeup artists and a few other women that Elena had sent to me, just in case I needed help.

I already knew the next five years of my life were going to be a disaster, not because Micheal was bad or anything, but because his family was beyond trash. They were misogynistic, arrogant, rude, wicked, evil, seemingly occultic, and so self-absorbed. They were terrible people, but I had no choice but to marry into this family since my father had already sold me off to them, for whatever reason.

The only good thing was that I'd be getting out of it, thanks to my agreement with Micheal, who agreed to help me burn Henry, Fiona, my father, and Henrietta to the ground. I knew Micheal had the power of his last name, but what I wasn't sure of now was if he was anything like this family. He seemed indifferent at the moment and quite level-headed, with little or nothing to say most of the time, but I was still a little skeptical.

With a final glance in the mirror, I turned away, walking out the door and into my new life.

A driver was already waiting for me outside, and I got in the car with the help of one of the assistants.

We arrived at the church about fifteen minutes later, and I could feel my anxiety soaring through the roof. The church was packed, and before I even stepped out of the car, the cameras were already flashing. The guards managed to stop the reporters from coming close, and I walked in.

Before entering the main church, my father, George, walked up to me with a stoic expression on his face as he extended his hand out to me.

“The ceremony is about to begin; hurry up,” he hissed.

Without a word, I wrapped my hands around his, hating the fact that I had to be in such close proximity to my overbearing father, even though it was only going to be for about a minute.

The entrance song began, and I walked in with my father, trying not to look at the unfamiliar faces in the crowd, even though I could clearly hear their taunting whispers and feel their judgmental stares.

"She is definitely marrying him because of his status. I mean, look at her. She looks like an opportunist,” a woman at the back suddenly yelled, clearly making sure that I heard her.

I wanted to turn around to see who it was, but my father stopped me.

“Ignore them,” he instructed, and even though I wanted to, I couldn't help but notice how everyone seemed to be staring at me like I was out of place and like they were disgusted by me.

My breathing quickened, and I was finding it hard to focus on anything for a few long seconds. “Don't you dare embarrass me by fainting like some weakling; you hear me, Georgia?” my father warned, reminding me that I was indeed a sickly woman whose heart couldn't take this much pressure.

I closed my eyes, focusing on canceling out the noise around me and not letting their vile words get to me.

When I opened my eyes again, I was instantly met with the familiar blue eyes of the beautiful man who was waiting for me at the altar.

He stared at me with a smile plastered on his lips, almost as though he was trying to tell me to focus on him—only him.

The whispering, the music, and every sound in the room instantly faded, and after what felt like forever, I could finally breathe again.

Once we arrived at the altar, I let go of my father’s hand, not bothering to glance at or say anything to him. Instead, I continued on my way, not stopping until I stood in front of Micheal.

Then, the priest began the ceremony.

“We’re gathered here today to be a witness to the holy matrimony of Georgia Marie Flynn and Micheal Andres Romero.”

As the priest continued, everything finally dawned on me—the fact that this was all real and that I was actually going to get married to the man seated in front of me.

Unlike me, who was visibly nervous, Micheal looked the exact opposite. He seemed calm, almost like he didn’t care about what was happening and only wanted to be done with it.

“Georgia Marie Flynn,” the priest called, getting my attention. I tilted my head. “Do you take Micheal Andres Romero to be your lawfully wedded husband, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death do you part?”

I shifted my gaze back to Micheal before answering. “Yes, I do.”

“Micheal Andres Romero, do you take Georgia Marie Flynn to be your lawfully wedded wife, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death do you part?”

“Yes, I do,” he answered, his eyes never leaving mine.

The ring bearer came forward, approaching Micheal first. As Micheal took a ring, I extended my hand out, and he took my hand gently, putting the ring on my finger. And I did the same.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

We stared at each other for a split second, and as soon as I leaned in, he claimed my lips. He kissed me softly, and I found myself relaxing into the kiss.

The kiss barely lasted ten seconds, but it stunned me, and I found myself hating that he pulled away. If only he could be more than a good kisser.

Micheal and I left halfway through reception, deciding that we were both done with the charade and the fake smiling. Once we were seated in the car, I expected that we would be going back to the Romero mansion, but then Micheal informed me that we weren't going back to his parents' place.

“We’ll be going to my place instead,” he said.

I wanted to ask why, but didn’t bother since it was good for me anyway. The last thing I wanted was to spend my first night as a Romero with any other Romero that wasn't Micheal.

On arrival, he directed me to where his rooms were, and I helped push him to his room. The plan was to help him get into bed and maybe help with his clothes in case he needed my help before I left for another room.

Once I entered, I took a brief look around his room before heading to his closet to pick out comfortable clothes that he could change into.

As I walked into the closet, turning my back to him, I realized how much of a contrast this bedroom was to his bedroom back at the Romero house. This bedroom looked a lot more modern, while the Romero bedroom and house in general looked like rooms from the 1800s.

“I suppose you'd like to shower first,” I was saying until I felt something tap me, or rather, someone.

Frightened, I turned around to see who it was, and as soon as my eyes met those familiar blue orbs, my jaw dropped to the floor.

In front of me was none other than Micheal Romero, standing on his own two feet.

“Y...you can actually walk.” I stuttered in shock, stumbling back to the point of almost tripping, but he grabbed me by my waist, keeping me in place.

He closed the space between us with a devious smirk on his face as he stared at me.

“Remember what I said about not being a man who can make love to you? Well, after that kiss, I changed my mind.”