By His Vow: Chapter 54

My cell buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it, fully aware of who it is as I tighten my tie and take a step back, looking myself up and down.

Forcing thoughts—guilt—over not having my mom here today, I focus on the task at hand.

I’m getting fucking married today.

To Tatum Warner.

I shake my head, a soft smile playing on my lips.

Not in a million years could I have predicted this, but standing here knowing that in less than thirty minutes I’ll be sliding another ring onto her finger and making her mine, I can’t help but feel that everything is falling into place.

I’d thought I’d be panicking, mourning the loss of my previous life. But I’m not. Not once have I missed it.

Watching Kieran, and then Kian flirting with random women last night, all I could think about was how much more fulfilling it would be to throw Tatum onto the bed and fuck her senseless instead of some nameless, faceless woman who only wants to fuck us to boost her social status and follower count.

Those…transactions are empty.

Sure, there’s pleasure, but I can admit to myself that it’s nowhere near as earth-shattering as sinking inside Tatum.

Fuck, her pussy is spectacular. Hell, so is her mouth, her hands, her everything.

My cock stirs in my slacks. Fuck, I need to slide into her tight heat almost more than I need to drag in my next breath.

She’s holding out to punish me. I get it. But fuck…it’s working.

I lift my hand to comb my fingers through my hair but stop just before I make contact.

Fuck, I’m antsy. I need to do something. Order someone around, shout at someone, fuck my girl.

As if someone hears my thoughts, there’s a knock on my suite door before the lock disengages and deep male voices fill the air.

“Do you reckon he did a runner in the middle of the night? Too much of a pussy for the ball and chain?” Kieran jokes.

“Nah, he’s already too pussy-whipped for that. I bet the motherfucker snuck into her suite last night to remind her why marrying him is such a good idea. Ow. The fuck, man?”

“Stop talking about KC fucking my sister,” Miles complains.

“Boys,” Dad chastises.

“I didn’t say anything about fucking. They probably pulled up Disney+ and watched Beauty and the Beast to remind Tate that there is always hope that KC might not always be an ugly motherfucker.”

A laugh punches from my chest as I listen to them bicker.

Giving myself one final look, I turn toward the door and walk out to find my boys.

“Ah, here he is,” Dad says, watching as I move across the room.

We’re all wearing matching suits, and I have to say, we look fucking good.

“How are you feeling?” Kian asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Yeah, good. Ready to get this done.”

“Bro,” Kieran says, backhanding Miles in the chest. “Lil sis is so lucky—you hear that enthusiasm?”

“Fuck off,” Miles grunts, long over the mocking about Tatum.

“Here,” Kian says, holding out a full bottle of Macallan between us. “Hair of the dog?”

I stare at it, my stomach swirling from the amount of it we drank last night.

“No,” I state. “I want to go into this with a clear head.”

He nods once before twisting the top and swallowing down a shot, then handing it to Kieran, who offers it to Miles.

He eagerly takes it and swallows down a couple of shots before slamming it back into the center of Kieran’s massive chest.

“Okay, I need to go and get Tate,” he says, his eyes locked on mine.

I nod.

“We’ll see you down there,” Kian says, clapping Miles on the shoulder.

As I watch him leave, an unnecessary and unwanted belt of nerves hits me.

What if she changes her mind at the last minute?

What if she’s already run?

I’ve no idea where the thoughts come from, or why I allow them to fester, but now that they’ve made themselves known, the initial fluttering in my stomach only gets worse.

“You okay, Bro? You look like you’re about to hurl,” Kian says.

“Probably just realized that he’s about to be related to Miles,” Kieran points out.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Dad says, stepping closer to steal my attention. I guess he should be the one to understand how I’m feeling—he’s been married more times than I care to count. It’s like a hobby or some shit at this point. I’m just unsure if he’s collecting the brides or the rings. Or something else entirely. The whole thing seems like a lot of effort when each one only ends in divorce in a few short months or years. I guess he’s keeping our lawyers busy.

Squaring my shoulders, I look him dead in the eyes. “I’m not worried. It’s the first day of a whole new start for all of us.”

Dad smiles, pride washing through his features as he stares back at me.

“Right, well. Shall we get this show on the road then?” he asks, refusing to say the words that are balancing on the tip of his tongue.

It’s fine. I’m used to imagining praise from him at this point.

The second we get down to the grand ballroom where the service is taking place, Dad slips off to find Jackie and greet several associates he invited.

Tatum and I kept our invitation list relatively modest, only wanting our closest family and friends here, but Dad—unsurprisingly—had other ideas. And thanks to him, our small, intimate wedding has taken on a life of its own to allow him to show off.

It’s not necessary, everyone already knows that he’s one of the wealthiest men in the state, but he’s never one to miss an opportunity to show off.

“This is fucking bizarre, man,” Kian says after Kieran has wandered off in favor of a woman in a short pink dress I’ve never seen before in my life.

“You’re telling me,” I mutter as we walk down the aisle together.

Our guests turn to look at me. Every single one smiles widely as I approach the front.

The only person I notice who doesn’t turn around is Helena, Tatum’s mom. Instead, she sits in the front row with an empty seat beside her with her head down.

“It’ll be you one day,” I point out, ripping my eyes away from her to focus on my brother again. She wants attention, and she’s going to be disappointed if she thinks she’s going to get any from me. Don’t get me wrong, she’s not a bad person. But watching how she’s failed to support both Miles and Tatum over the past few weeks means I have very little time for her.

Slowly, all the seats in the rows before us fill with people, and Mia, our wedding planner, emerges from behind a huge decorative tree to the side of me, barking orders into a headpiece and clutching a clipboard like it’s the oxygen she needs to breathe.

“Oh good, you’re already here,” she says, staring up at me with a frantic look in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat as my fear of Tatum changing her mind comes back to me.

“Oh, n-nothing. The flowers were a little late. And then there was a kitchen issue. Nothing to worry about,” she says, suddenly producing two buttonholes from out of nowhere. Without asking for permission, she immediately begins putting them into place on our jackets before stepping back and admiring us.

“Very good. Your bride should be leaving her room in less than ten minutes. She looks incredible. You’re a very lucky man.”

My heart stutters again but for a very different reason.

I’ve no idea what kind of dress Tatum has. Sure, I can use my imagination based on the kind of things I’ve seen her wear in the past. But something tells me that she isn’t going to be that predictable. She’s probably chosen something out of left field like a black dress to mourn her life as a single girl or something. It’s exactly the kind of thing my little brat would do.

A smile tugs at my lips as I think of her putting her middle finger up to the world and doing this her own way just to try and grasp some kind of control over the situation.

“Fucking hell,” Kian whispers. “You’re really fucking gone for her, aren’t you?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” I mutter, my smirk still firmly in place.

“I was right earlier, wasn’t I? You totally let yourself into her suite last night.”

I shrug one shoulder, neither confirming nor denying. “I don’t kiss and tell, Bro.’

“Oh, fuck off, don’t you.” He scoffs.

“How was your night? You look a little too well-rested for it to have been any good,” I tease.

“That would be because it was so good. I slept like a fucking baby after she was done with me. Don’t even remember her leaving.”

“Said like a true gentleman,” I tease.

“Pfft, because you’re so much better.”

I smile but don’t respond. I fucking wish I’d passed out after an epic night of fucking my wife last night, but alas, I was forced to resort to my own hand. Again.

With only a minute until Tatum is scheduled to arrive, everyone is in place. Kian stands beside me and the officiant before us, patiently waiting to do his job.

“You ready for this?” Kian whispers.

“I was born ready, asshole.”

Suddenly, the music changes and my heart jumps into my throat.

Kian moves beside me, turning to look as Tatum and Miles enter the room.

Soft gasps of delight fill the air, and I squeeze my eyes closed in preparation for seeing her.

“Damn,” Kian mutters. “You lucky motherfucker.”

My fists curl at my sides, my short nails digging into my palms.

I told myself that I wouldn’t look back, that I’d wait for her to get here. I’ve heard the whole thing about women not looking at the bride and instead the groom so that they can experience the moment he sees his woman and the look on his face. Honestly, that is what’s terrifying me the most about this whole thing. If I were to turn around, what would everyone see on my face?

My heart pounds harder, and despite my better judgment, my need to see her gets the better of me.

Without permission from my brain, my body turns, and the second my eyes lock on her, I swear the world around me stops spinning.