Chapter 29

ZAINAB

“This is a fancy fuckin’ wedding.”

My head spins around at the sound of my brother’s voice, making the makeup artist curse under her breath.

She gives me a strained smile and gently turns my face back toward her, although I can tell from her eyes that she wants to grab my jaw and yank it.

“Faisal! You wore the tux. Thank you.”

He gives me a spin in the mirror’s reflection. I admire my brother, looking all smart with his hair coiffed and, thankfully, no thick gold chain around his neck.

“Scrub up nice, don’t I?” he responds with a cheeky grin. “You look beaut, sis.”

“Thank you, although I don’t think I’m ready yet,” I reply, throwing a curious-yet-terrified look at my makeup artist.

“Not yet,” she mutters tightly.

Sensing the mood, Faisal raises his hands in surrender.

“Very well, I’ll get out. I’ll see you downstairs, yeah?”

“Yes, see you downstairs,” I confirm, smiling.

He leaves, and the silence returns.

While this woman might be known for her magic skills with makeup, she has a rather terrifying bedside manner.

I remain still and upright for the rest of the time she is fixing my face.

My heart aches as I think of my mum. She should be here, getting ready with me and making me smile.

But there’s a whole host of guests downstairs, waiting for me to come down. My father has really gone over the top on this wedding.

He hired out an entire country manor in the Surrey Hills. It’s a stunning venue, very exclusive, and very bloody expensive.

All of the guest rooms have been filled with people I barely know.

There are family members from Bahrain that I’ve never met, a ton of my father’s business associates (excluding the perv) who I’ve met and forgotten, my brother’s friends, and some of my work colleagues.

My boss is really the only person I wanted here, which is a bit strange I know, but we have a good relationship.

I am also really pleased that Griff invited two of his military friends from America.

~Griff.~

My stomach explodes with butterflies at the knowledge that I am marrying him today.

Today is the one-year anniversary of us meeting and moving in together.

It’s been a whole year since I had my world turned upside down—when I had to face the disappointment of losing Reagan, the anger of being told someone new was going to ~move into~ my flat, and then my surprise at finding my new bodyguard to be gorgeous and moody.

Griff proposed at Christmas, just four months after we’d met.

It sounds crazy fast to some people, and I’m sure I would judge if it wasn’t my relationship.

But not many couples start their relationship living together. We’ve been close from the start, whether we liked it or not.

“Zainab! We’re waiting for the bride!”

My wedding planner’s voice breaks through my thoughts. I look up to see her standing in the doorway, smiling at me. She’s been a bit officious over the last few months, but, God, I’m glad I hired a planner.

“How are you feeling, bride?” she asks teasingly.

“Nervous. Excited. Elated.”

She laughs at my collection of emotions.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

She waves me off. “It’s my job, honey. But let me just say this: I have seen many brides in my time, and you are truly stunning.”

I feel myself blushing under my makeup. “Thank you.”

Gripping my dress, I carefully make my way downstairs. The wedding planner stays with me the whole time to catch me if I fall.

At the bottom, Reagan gives me a once-over and nods. “You look stunning.”

He places the bouquet into my hands. I take a moment to admire the pretty selection of flowers bound together with blue ribbon.

“The guests are ready, the groom is in position, and the celebrant is waiting.” He presses his finger to his earpiece and orders, “Cue the music.”

He turns to me, his smile widening. “Last step, Zainab. You ready to become a wife?”

I am more than ready. The thought of being tied to my man forever sends my heart soaring. I don’t feel trapped; I feel free.

This is everything I’ve ever wanted.

HUXLEY

My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest.

Tears blur my vision, and I hurriedly blink them away to glimpse Zainab walking down the aisle.

She’s been incredibly secretive about her dress since she got it designed and fitted, and I’m blown away by how stunning she looks. It is a tight dress that hugs her curves. She said it’s “mermaid style.”

I think it’s fucking hot.

There are plenty of reasons why we decided not to get married in a church, and I am grateful for every single one of those right now because the thoughts running through my mind are definitely not appropriate for a house of God.

It feels like both a second and an eternity before Zainab finishes walking the aisle with her father. Mr. Qadir kisses her cheeks and hands her over to me.

My hands are trembling a little as I tug her up the step to stand beside me.

The officiant addresses the crowd, thanks everyone for coming, and begins her speech. I’ll be honest and say that I don’t listen to a word of it.

The whole time, my eyes don’t stray from Zainab. She’s always been stunning, but today she is practically radiant.

~And she’s mine.~

My mind can’t help but take me back to that scared, angry child I was in my foster homes.

The ache I had inside me to be accepted and loved, the walls I was building to stop myself from being vulnerable again. Zainab healed all of that by loving me.

Zainab squeezes my hand, and I realize that I’ve missed my cue. We wrote our own vows, and now it’s time to recite them to each other.

She cries as I tell her how much she means to me, and it takes everything in me to hold back my own tears.

It’s hopeless, though. When she starts her vows, I’m a goner.

I swipe the tears away as quickly as they come, my heart close to bursting as she tells me how much she loves me.

Eventually, we get to say, “I do,” and then it’s official. I pull my ~wife~ into my arms and kiss her in the most chaste way I can manage, trying to remember that there is a room full of guests watching.

“Happy wedding day, husband,” she says with glistening eyes.

Whoops and cheers echo around the room. We’re soon swarmed with our guests.

Hands grab mine, shaking them. I’m slapped on the back and passed from one hug to another.

I lose track of my wife in the throng and don’t find her for nearly half an hour until we manage to untangle ourselves.

“Phew, what’s the next bit?” Zainab asks, directing her question at the wedding planner, who smirks at me.

“You have pictures now, and after that, your husband convinced me to give you thirty minutes before you’re needed back down here for the reception.”

Zee raises her eyebrows and looks at me. “Thirty minutes, huh?”

I grin back at her. “We can do a lot in thirty minutes, baby.”