Page 163 of My Big, Fat, Fake Billionaire Wedding

She meets my eyes, vulnerability written across her face. “The line is you, Gideon. The horizon I orient myself by, even in the midst of emotional chaos. I didn’t realize what I was painting until it was finished.”

My breath catches. “The line isme?”

“Yes,” she says, her eyes blinking emotionally.

I take both her hands in mine. “You’ve become my horizon line too, Ava. The stable point I navigate by when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.”

“Oh Gideon.” My name on her lips sounds like a prayer.

“I have something to show you as well.” I pull the document from my pocket, unfolding it carefully. “I wrote this last night while you were sleeping.”

She takes it, eyes scanning the paper. “A newcontract?”

“Not a contract. Apromise.” I watch her face as she reads, fighting the urge to pull her into my arms.

“Gideon King hereby pledges to Ava Redwood...” she reads aloud, her voice growing thicker with each line. She looks up when she reaches a specific clause. “This says our commitment has no expiration date.”

I nod, meeting her gaze steadily. “Unlike our original arrangement.”

“And here,” her finger traces another line, “you’ve explicitly revoked the ‘no emotional involvement’ clause and replaced it with...” her voice breaks slightly, “a promise of lifelong love and partnership.” Tears fill her eyes. “You put it all in writing.”

“I want there to be no doubt.” I brush a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “What we have isn’t temporary. It isn’t conditional. It’sforever, if you’ll have me.”

She nods, happy, and blinks away another tear. She wipes her cheek and continues reading.

A small smile plays at her lips. “You included a clause about communication and transparency.”

“I learned my lesson with the Blackwell situation. No more keeping you in the dark to protect you.”

“And this bit about regular date nights?”

I shrug, feeling uncharacteristically shy. “Jonas suggested that one. Apparently Sarah makes him do it. Says it keeps their marriage strong.”

She laughs, the sound lightening something in my chest. “I’ll add a few amendments of my own.” She takes a pen from the coffee table and begins writing in the margins.

I watch curiously. “What are you adding?”

“First, a mutual veto on charity galas. We attend no more than one per month.”

I grin. “Agreed.”

“Second, quarterly trips away from the city. Just us, no security detail, no business calls.” She gives me a challenging look.

“That’s a security risk, but we can compromise. Minimal security, separate accommodations for them.”

“Acceptable.” She writes again. “Third, you promise to tell me when you’re feeling overwhelmed instead of retreating into work mode and shutting me out.”

My smile falters. “That already falls under the communication and transparency clause.”

“I know.” She meets my gaze steadily. “But I want to spell it out.”

“Then I’ll add one, too.” I take the pen from her, writing beneath her additions. “Ava promises to share her artistic struggles instead of isolating herself when she’s creatively blocked.”

She reads it, then nods. “Fair.” She takes the pen and writes one more line. “Last one. We both acknowledge that we’re fucked up in our own ways, but we’re working on it. Together.”

I let out a surprised laugh. “That’s remarkably concise.”

“I’m learning brevity from you.” She smiles, then suddenly grows serious. “There’s one thing missing, though.”

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