Chapter 4 The Fake Wedding

Amira

I woke up to sunlight streaming through windows I'd forgotten to close. For a moment, I was disoriented by the unfamiliar room-the enormous bed, the luxurious sheets, the spectacular view of Manhattan. Then reality crashed back. Today was my wedding day.

Not a real wedding. A business transaction. A contract.

My phone buzzed with a text from Jace: Good luck today. Don't trip walking down the aisle.

Despite everything, I smiled. Even in the strangest circumstances, my brother could make me laugh. I texted back: If I do, it'll probably void the contract.

A sharp knock interrupted my thoughts.

"Miss Wynters?" Ms. Chen's voice called through the door. "The glam team has arrived. We begin preparations in thirty minutes."

Glam team. Of course there was a glam team. "I'll be right there," I called back.

I showered quickly, trying to shake off my nervousness. This wasn't a real wedding, I reminded myself. Just a performance. Like an actress stepping into a role.

When I emerged from my suite, the penthouse had transformed into a high-end salon. Three women in black uniforms waited in the living area, surrounded by equipment cases and garment bags.

"There's our bride!" A tiny woman with pink-streaked hair approached me. "I'm Zoe, your stylist for today. We're going to make you absolutely stunning."

Before I could respond, I was whisked to a chair where the team descended on me like elegant vultures. One worked on my hair, another on my nails, while Zoe discussed makeup options. Ms. Chen hovered nearby, watching with critical eyes.

"Mr. Devereux has requested a classic, elegant look," she reminded everyone. "Nothing too dramatic."

Zoe rolled her eyes when Ms. Chen looked away. "Don't worry," she whispered to me. "We'll make sure you look like yourself. Just... the most glamorous version."

Three hours later, I barely recognized the woman in the mirror. My dark hair was swept into an intricate updo with a few loose tendrils framing my face. My makeup enhanced my features without looking overdone-glowing skin, subtly defined eyes, and lips stained a soft rose color.

"Time for the dress," Ms. Chen announced.

The wedding dress was simpler than I'd expected-a sleek column of ivory silk with delicate lace details at the shoulders and a modest train. No puffy princess gown for the fake Devereux bride. But as they helped me into it, I couldn't deny it was beautiful. The silk felt cool against my skin, the fit perfect after yesterday's final alterations.

"You look stunning," Zoe whispered, adjusting my train. "Your husband-to-be won't know what hit him."

I doubted Lucien would notice at all. I hadn't seen him since our strained dinner two nights ago. According to Ms. Chen, he'd been staying at his office, working late and sleeping on the couch there. Avoiding me.

A light knock on the door made us all turn. Ms. Chen opened it, revealing a tall, elegant woman with silver-streaked dark hair pulled into a severe bun.

"Is she ready?" the woman asked, her voice carrying a hint of a French accent.

"Mrs. Devereux," Ms. Chen said with unusual deference. "Yes, she's ready."

My heart skipped. This was Lucien's mother? But no-his parents were dead. This must be another relative.

The woman entered, her critical gaze sweeping over me from head to toe. "Leave us," she commanded.

Everyone scurried out, even Ms. Chen. The woman circled me slowly, examining me like a specimen under glass.

"So," she finally said. "You are the girl Vincent has chosen."

"I'm Amira Wynters," I said, lifting my chin. "And you are?"

Her lips twitched, almost a smile. "Marguerite Devereux. Lucien's aunt. The only Devereux woman left standing."

My research hadn't turned up much about her. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Devereux."

"Is it?" She arched an eyebrow. "I doubt that very much." She reached out, adjusting one of my hairpins. "You're prettier than I expected. That will help with the press."

"I'm not doing this for the press," I said.

"No. You're doing it for five million dollars." Her direct gaze challenged me to deny it.

I met her eyes steadily. "I'm doing it for my brother. And to find out what happened to my father."

Something flickered in her expression-surprise, perhaps. "Interesting. Vincent didn't mention that part."

"I'm sure there's a lot Vincent doesn't mention."

Marguerite laughed suddenly, a rich sound that transformed her severe face. "Oh, I might like you after all, Amira Wynters." She reached into her clutch and withdrew a small velvet box. "I brought you something."

She opened the box, revealing a delicate pearl hairpin with tiny diamond accents. "Every Devereux bride has worn this for generations. Even the ones who didn't last."

"It's beautiful," I said, genuinely touched. "But I'm not really a Devereux bride. Not a real one."

"Today, you are." She stepped behind me, carefully sliding the pin into my updo. "Whatever your reasons, whatever Vincent's schemes, today you join our family. Even temporarily."

Her fingers were gentle as she secured the pin. "There. Now you look like a Devereux."

"Thank you," I said quietly.

Marguerite moved to face me again, her expression serious. "Lucien is... complicated. The accident changed him."

"I know about the accident," I said. "His brother and fiancée."

"What you know is the public version." She shook her head. "The reality was much worse. Lucien hasn't been the same since." She touched my cheek lightly. "Don't expect warmth from him, Amira. He buried that part of himself in the same grave as Elise and Theo."

Before I could respond, Ms. Chen knocked and entered. "The car is waiting, Miss Wynters. It's time."

Marguerite stepped back. "Remember what I said. And if you ever need an ally in the Devereux family..." She pressed a business card into my hand. "I might be your only option."

With that cryptic statement, she swept from the room, leaving me clutching her card and wondering what exactly I was walking into.

****

The ceremony was held in the private garden of the Devereux estate in the Hamptons-a secluded property with its own beach access and security perimeter. The guest list was small but influential-key business partners, board members, and a few carefully selected members of the press.

I waited in a small room in the main house, my stomach in knots. Jace had arrived an hour earlier, uncomfortable in his new suit but determined to be there for me. Now he stood beside me, fidgeting with his tie.

"You look beautiful, sis," he said awkwardly. "Like Mom in her wedding photos."

My throat tightened. "Thanks, Jace. I wish she could see this."

"She'd think you were crazy," he said, but he was smiling.

Ms. Chen appeared at the door. "It's time, Miss Wynters."

Jace offered his arm. "Ready to marry a billionaire?"

I took a deep breath. "As ready as I'll ever be."

The garden was beautiful-white roses everywhere, elegant chairs arranged in neat rows, a string quartet playing softly. As Jace and I appeared at the end of the aisle, everyone rose. My eyes immediately found Lucien, standing at the altar in a perfectly tailored black suit.

He was devastatingly handsome, his dark hair slightly tousled by the ocean breeze, his blue eyes intense as they locked with mine. For a moment, something flickered in those eyes-surprise? appreciation?-before his expression returned to its usual mask of cool indifference.

Vincent Devereux stood near his grandson, watching me with calculating eyes. Beside him, Marguerite offered a subtle nod of encouragement.

With Jace's arm steady beneath my hand, I walked slowly down the aisle. Each step brought me closer to my new life, to the secrets I was determined to uncover.

When we reached the altar, Jace kissed my cheek, then placed my hand in Lucien's with unexpected formality. "Take care of her," he said, his voice steady despite his youth.

Lucien's hand was warm around mine, his grip firm. "I will," he replied, the practiced response of a groom. Nothing more.

The ceremony was brief and traditional. We exchanged simple gold bands and standard vows-promises neither of us intended to keep beyond the letter of our contract. When the officiant pronounced us husband and wife, Lucien's kiss was careful, controlled-a brush of lips for the benefit of our audience.

But something unexpected happened in that moment. A current passed between us, brief but undeniable. I felt Lucien stiffen slightly, his hand tightening around mine before he pulled away, his expression unreadable.

The reception was held in the estate's elegant ballroom. As the newly married couple, we opened the dancing with a waltz. Lucien's hand rested lightly on my waist, keeping a proper distance between us as he guided me effortlessly across the floor.

"You dance well," I said, trying to break the silence.

"Years of cotillion," he replied. "A Devereux family requirement."

I smiled despite myself. "I learned from YouTube tutorials in our apartment."

His eyebrow raised slightly. "You move gracefully for someone self-taught."

"Was that almost a compliment, Mr. Devereux?"

"An observation, Mrs. Devereux." His eyes met mine. "You wear the name well today."

Before I could respond, Vincent approached, cutting in with practiced smoothness. Lucien released me without hesitation, disappearing into the crowd of well-wishers.

"My dear Amira," Vincent said, his hand cold against my waist. "You look radiant. The perfect Devereux bride."

"Thank you for the lovely ceremony," I replied diplomatically.

"Only the best for family." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "I see Lucien has warmed to you somewhat. Good. That will make everything easier."

"What exactly are you hoping will be easier, Vincent?"

He chuckled. "So direct. I like that about you." He spun me in a circle before continuing. "Lucien needs stability. Direction. Someone to ground him before he destroys himself with work and guilt."

"And you think I'm that person? A stranger you're paying to pretend to be his wife?"

"I think you're exactly what he needs. Whether either of you realize it yet." The song ended, and he stepped back. "Enjoy your evening, my dear. Tomorrow, the real work begins."