Billionaire Ever After

Wulfram von Hannover:

Wulf watched Theophile Valencia pull Lizbeth out of her chair, speak to her quietly, and take her out of the suite. If Wulf were worried about her safety in the slightest, he would have gone after them, but he believed that Lizbeth and Valencia were about to have a full and frank discussion about the state of their relationship, sooner or later. His acid glare had been meant for Wulf.

Surely Valencia was professional enough to show up at the wedding for which he had been contracted. Wulf felt one of his eyebrows lower.

Rae laid a hand on his arm, and any inclination to glower faded away.

She whispered, “Are you all right?”

“Certainly.”

“You look like you lost a friend.”

“Perhaps.” He was thinking about Lizbeth. “I think Lizbeth has gained a suitor, and I may have lost a far more valuable commodity, a competent lawyer.”

“Oh, stop.” She smacked his arm on the bicep. Goading Reagan was far too amusing for him. He glanced at her sidelong, out of the corners of his eyes, and the expression in Rae’s big, gorgeous brown eyes changed from playful to sultry.

Across the breakfast table, Georgiana’s dark brown eyes widened at Rae slapping him. She reached up and tugged her own long, brown braid that draped over her shoulder, still staring at him.

Her stare lanced through him, ripping open his life for casual perusal.

Reagan must have already told them everything, who he was, what he was, what had happened to him as a child.

Wulf allowed a small, wry smile at Georgiana, his little friend Georgie, whom he had known for several years now but who knew him for the first time. He inclined his head toward her, an acknowledgment for them both.

Georgiana glanced away and frayed the end of her braid, as uncomfortable as he had ever seen her, far more disquieted than the few times she had come to him for help. She said, “You never told me that you were Wulf von Hannover.”

“I couldn’t,” he said as gently as he could.

“Yeah. I can see that.”

Yes, they all had secrets, didn’t they? Wulf had populated the Devilhouse with people burying something about themselves because people with their own secrets didn’t pry. He had known who Elizaveta Pajari was as soon as he had seen her name on her application. Georgiana Johnson had taken a little longer, until the background check had revealed her birth name, but he had already offered her a job by that point and would not renege, not when he had seen how hard she was trying to build a new life for herself. He also tended to hire people striving to move past what they kept secret.

Wulf glanced toward the bedroom. “Rae, may I discuss something with you, privately?”

“Uh, sure?” She walked ahead of him, and Wulf watched the sway of her hips, still entranced.

He closed the door behind them and had her in his arms and up against the wall an instant later, kissing her. His lips slid over hers, and he could feel her breath in his mouth.

“Wulf!’ she whispered against his lips. “Georgie’s out there.”

Her protestations were more alluring to him than even her body, soft against his. He wanted to splay his hand over her stomach, just to see if he could feel any softness there. His hands flexed against her back instead, pushing her against himself.

A thump echoed through the walls of the suite, a door closing.

“Georgiana went to find her own room,” he said. “So you told them everything?”

“I didn’t get a chance to. I recited your name, and that it was it. I didn’t have time to get to the rest before Mr. Valencia grabbed Lizzy and yanked her out. Is she okay?”

“They’re fine.” Georgiana must have placed him by his name, as she was a sharp young woman. Wulf’s mouth found Rae’s smooth neck. “You should dress for the wedding. I thought you might need help.”

Her hands ran up his back, and his heart beat faster in his chest.

She said, “The ceremony isn’t for three hours.”

He smiled, his lips opening to breathe against the pulse in her throat.

Lizzy Pajori:

Lizzy followed the wedding party into a large office, staying near the back of the crowd with Georgie.

Rae’s civil wedding was held in a law office downtown in one of the skyscrapers of Paris, which was evidently unusual. There was much bustling and hand-shaking when a tall man with frost at his temples arrived, and Wulf-The-Dom and Rae were introduced to the Mayor of Paris. Rae looked composed and sweet, even though Lizzy knew her expression meant that she was shy and overwhelmed.

At the wedding, Lizzy watched Wulf-The-Dom.

He was as polished as smooth alabaster, shaking the mayor’s hand, going through pleasantries, introducing Theo, who produced documents like the Certificat de Coutume, a Certificat de Celibat, some long-form birth certificates that he had translated into French, and some other paperwork that he made leap out of his briefcase with a snap of his fingertips. Through the whole thing, Theo spoke lilting, confident French that Lizzy couldn’t understand a word of. She preferred it when he spoke Spanish. At least she could pick up some of that.

The guy standing next to Wulf-The-Dom, his best man, looked familiar, but Lizzy couldn’t place him. He wasn’t a movie star or anything, too inbred-British looking, and well—Lizzy glanced at the guy’s thin blond hair and tried not to think ungenerous thoughts.

Wulf-The-Dom’s face seemed younger.

He had never looked old, but she had pegged him for his middle thirties, maybe. Certainly an adult.

Now, his small smile—so blissful, so easy—made him look younger. Late twenties, maybe. Maybe only a few years older than herself.

He moved differently, too. His posture had always been ramrod straight, but he had seemed stiff, like he was holding himself together with a hefty measure of control.

His shoulders, while still broad, seemed a fraction of an inch lower, and his chest seemed to move more easily when he breathed.

He seemed whole for the first time, like he wasn’t struggling to not turn away.

Not that all that had any bearing on Lizzy’s situation. Wulf-The-Dom had been hiding that he was spectacularly loaded and evidently connected to powerful people if he could summon the Mayor of Paris to officiate at his wedding with a day’s notice. Jeez.

Lizzy was hiding failure that she never wanted to relive.

It was different.

So different.