Tenacious Billionaire BWWM Romance Series - Books 1 to 4

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

The arch was situated in open air near the ocean, where the breeze tufted the lilies that wound through the framework. There were dark wood chairs, with cream upholstery, laid out in neat rows. The guests chatted amongst themselves, some bursting with laughter, others subdued.

Michelle Van Heerden was nowhere to be seen. Neither was DeShawn.

Adalia let out a long, low sigh and stood in the doorway of the beach house, breathing in the sweet fragrance of baking chocolate buns. Trent’s favorite. This was their day, and no one could take that away from them.

Sylvester Montclair was at home, though she’d invited him to the wedding. He’d emailed her back – though it must’ve taken work given his aversion to technology – that regrettably he was unable to attend due to an unforeseen circumstance, namely that he was ill.

That was a load of crap. He didn’t want to be around her and that was that.

“Are you ready for this?” Mike stood beside her in his tux, dashing as only her brother could be.

“I’m beyond ready, Mike. I think I’ve been waiting for this my entire life.” She checked to be sure her hair was fine in the mirror above the walnut table in the hall. It was done up on top of her head, piled and cascading fashionably, with a single Casablanca lily tucked into the curls.

“You look breathtaking,” Jenny said, then handed her the bouquet and gave her a swift peck on the cheek. “Oh s**t, I’ve left a lipstick smudge. God forbid Trent thinks you’ve turned lesbian in the interim.”

Adalia laughed, and Jenny flourished a handkerchief and wiped the accusing shade of ruby red lipstick off her cheek.

“I’ve never seen a man more excited in my life. God, he’s practically on vibrate out there.” Jenny gestured toward the arch, and Adalia honed in on the man of her dreams. He was outfitted in a smart, tailored black suit and tie. He held onto his cuffs with his fingertips and jerked them every few seconds.

The pastor stood right behind him, going over his sermon or the words, or whatever it was he had to do in a small book with a leather cover. His lips moved as he read. Trent’s best man, a business associate she didn’t recognize, stood impassively by his side, checking the rose attached to his lapel intermittently.

Trent didn’t see her from where he stood, but the view she had was priceless. She took several mental images to be stored away until the day she died, so she could pull them out and dissect them at her leisure.

The wedding band struck up the march and Mike held out his arm to her. She took it with one last breath. She wouldn’t be Adalia Montclair for much longer. She relished the thought of becoming Mrs. Trent Dawson.

“You look beautiful, sister. I’m proud to walk you down the aisle today. You’ve become the woman you always wanted to be. Don’t ever doubt that,” Mike whispered, as they strolled out of the beach house and onto the cream carpet that led all the way up to Trent on the raised dais.

The guests turned to watch her ascent to Trent, smiles lighting their face. Some of the women dabbed at their eyes. There was her great aunt, over in the corner with an obscene hat perched atop and even more obscene perm. She was a good person, she’d tried to give Adalia money as a wedding gift, and far too much of that.

The flower girl walked ahead, flouncing along with a hop in between steps, tossing lilies left and right a little too enthusiastically. Jenny was just behind her in the open-backed pale pink bridesmaid dress Adalia had selected a week ago.

There hadn’t been much time to plan, though she’d done her best. There were lanterns positioned beside the chairs, as there would be in the gazebo positioned closer to the ocean.

Tears welled up, but she didn’t try to hold them back this time. Adalia didn’t sob, but the liquid rolled down her cheeks, ever so slowly, then dripped onto her décolletage.

She was in a white dress, with transparent lace sleeves and a V-cut that met a white satin bodice. She gripped the flowers in both hands and strolled toward him, wishing she’d get there faster.

Trent’s look wasn’t l**t or desire, but pure love. He shone from his need to be closer to her, illuminating the already sunny day. The waft of wind brought her that lily scent and she inhaled, appreciating it and the taste of sea salt on her lips, where it’d stuck to the pale pink lip gloss.

Finally, after what had to be hours, she halted in front of her groom.

Mike kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her arm once. “Always be strong, don’t ever sell out. Believe in who you are, Adalia. It will get you further than hard work.”

She blinked at him in consternation. What a strange thing to say when giving her away. She didn’t ask what he meant; she accepted it for what it was: Mike’s own brand of loving advice. Hard talk mixed with warmth.

Mike tilted toward Trent and she caught his words. “Look after her or you’ll have more than the weight of the law to deal with. You get me?”

Trent shook Mike’s hand, expression drawn with sincerity. “I’ll cherish her until the day I die, and even then.”

Mike nodded a last time and transferred Adalia’s hand to Trent’s. Together, they walked up the stairs of the dais and halted in front of the pastor. They turned to face each other, both grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re perfect,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips. He grazed her knuckles with a kiss.

“So are you,” she countered with a broad smile. She was sorely tempted to kiss him before they’d gotten close to the vows. Waves crashed onto the sands in the distance, brushing the shore in a soft hiss which soothed her.

“Are we ready to begin?” the pastor asked, soft enough that the congregation of guests couldn’t hear.

“Absolutely,” they replied in unison then smiled at each other again. He was so handsome she might actually cry all over again. Thank God she’d chosen the waterproof mascara. Jenny’s suggestion... that girl knew her too well.

“Very well, let us begin,” the pastor began, and the audience members straightened and shifted in their seats.

“Not so f*****g fast,” a voice rang out in the sea breeze and hush. Everyone froze then searched for the source as one. Adalia gritted her teeth. She knew that voice and so did Trent, judging from the way he stiffened.

“I don’t believe it,” Trent grunted, and fear twanged at the chords of her heart. He couldn’t blame her for this. He looked at her, then grabbed her by the arms and drew her into a protective hug. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right.”

“Bullshit, it ain’t gonna be nothin’ but f****d up,” DeShawn yelled, charging across the distance and up to the base of the dais.

“Get out of here. You’ve ruined enough weddings for one year,” Adalia said, using a commanding tone she’d perfected in the kitchen and in her relationship with Trent, not that it worked in the latter.

“Not before this asshole knows what you did,” DeShawn retorted. His do-rag was back on and those low-hanging jeans and sweat-stained tank top didn’t match anything in the area.

“I didn’t do anything,” Adalia snapped. “Now get out of here.”

“Yo, straight up, man to man, I f****d this b***h last night,” DeShawn said to Trent, and Adalia’s soul shriveled into a ball. She hadn’t been anywhere near DeShawn. Her last contact with him was when she’d phoned him in a moment of weakness.

“What?!” Adalia shrieked, and tried to tug away from Trent. She’d kill the bastard for doing this. This was supposed to be her special day!

“Yeah that’s right, she moaned like a b***h, too,” DeShawn sniffed and wiped his nose with his thumb.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Adalia said.

Trent looked down at her and she met his gaze. “Adalia, is this true?”

-To be continued in Book 3-