Page 103 of My Billionaire Fake Boyfriends
“I want this. I want you. Every day. For the rest of my life.”
The officiant begins talking about vow renewals and everlasting love. But I’m not listening. I’m only focused on the three men who are now officially my husbands. Not legally, of course. But they are mine in every way that matters.
Silas kisses me first. Then Callum. Then Evan, sweet and lingering.
The room erupts in applause, but all I hear is my own heart, finally settled.
The reception blurs into champagne toasts and laughter and cake that’s too sweet.
Frederick Ashford, the board member I connected with at my first art gallery gala with Silas, finds me near the dessert table. Over the past year, we’ve become friends, and he congratulates me on the foundation announcement.
We built a program together that supports students with a passion for art. He handled the logistics while I provided the funding and the ideas. The program is designed for talented students who don’t have the means to pursue their passion. I was lucky enough to have my brother support me, and other people deserve that same opportunity.
“You’re cultivating the next generation,” he says, approving.
“Someone did it for me once. I’m just returning the favor.”
But it’s the dancing I’ll remember.
Not three separate dances. One.
All four of us are on the floor together while the DJ plays something slow. Silas’s hand at my waist. Callum spinning me until I’m breathless with laughter. Evan pulling me close and whispering that I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
The four of us are moving together like we’ve had a lifetime of dances.
Like we’ll have a lifetime more.
By the time we slip away, my feet ache, and my face hurts from smiling.
The suite is quiet when the door closes behind us.
“Five hundred people is too many people,” Callum mutters, already loosening his tie.
“Worth it,” Evan counters.
Silas’s hands find my waist from behind. “Agreed.”
I lean back against him, feeling the solid warmth of his chest. “We’re married.”
“We are.” His mouth finds my neck. “Actually married. Not fake. Not temporary.”
“Not legal,” I breathe, laughing. “But real.”
Later—much later—I’m tangled in sheets, surrounded by my husbands.
Callum is circling my belly button with his finger. Evan is playing with my hair. Silas is pressed against my back, his arm heavy and possessive across my waist.
“Mrs. Locke,” Callum says, grinning in the darkness.
“I didn’t change my name.”
“Do you want to?” Evan asks quietly.
“No.” I turn my head to look at him. “Changing my name feels like ownership. We’re together by choice.”
Callum’s hand tightens on my hip. “Don’t care. You’re still ours.”
Silas’s palm spreads across my stomach. “Always.”
I close my eyes, a smile curving my lips. “I am yours. And you’re mine.”