Page 69 of His Untouchable Heart

“I just met Damian,” she announced, both hands in the air like she needed them to carry the gravity of her statement. “Andoh my god, Gabrielle. That man is carved from marble and dipped in sin.”

I turned, stifling a laugh. “You’ve known him for three minutes.”

“Long enough,” she declared. “His suit is custom—Italian, obviously. His eyes? Ocean-blue with a splash of something reckless. And his jawline could end wars. Don’t even get me started on what’s going on under that shirt. The man hasabsthat were probably chiseled while he brooded over the stock market or a mysterious past.”

“I see we’re keeping things subtle today.”

Juliette ignored me completely, floating over to the closet where my dress still hung. She touched the fabric with reverence, then turned back toward me with that particular glint in her eye that always meant trouble—or wine.

“Unfortunately,” she added, “he’s very engaged in Louisa’s company at the moment. She’s smarter than all of us and dressed like she knows it. I'm not saying I’ve lost. I’m just saying it’s halftime, and she’s up by twenty.”

“I thought you told me once she was in a relationship,” I pointed out gently.

Juliette grinned. “Tactical error on my part…but he didn’t come with her.”

She moved back toward me and reached for the dress. “Alright, let’s do this. Time to put the queen into her gown.”

I stood carefully, smoothing my robe before slipping my arms out of it. Juliette helped me step into the dress, her hands fast and practiced, zipping me up like she’d done it a thousand times before. The fabric hugged me like a secret—it felt cool against my skin, weightless, and rooted all at once.

Juliette stepped back and let out a breath.

“You’re glowing,” she said, eyes wide. “Like,glowyglowing. Like, how-is-this-my-sister glowing.”

I turned toward the mirror.

For a moment, I didn’t recognize myself.

The woman in the reflection had soft waves pinned behind one ear, a delicate veil trailing over one shoulder. Her dress flowed like watercolor silk. There was no hint of chaos in her eyes. No echo of fear or guilt or imposter syndrome.

Just… calm. And a quiet sort of joy.

It hit me then—that this was the kind of moment I’d stopped believing I’d ever deserve. A new beginning dressed in white. Not because everything had gone perfectly but because we’d made it through the imperfect parts together. Because love had shown up when I wasn’t sure it would. And stayed when I least expected it.

Juliette appeared behind me in the mirror, adjusting the veil with gentle fingers.

“You good?” she asked.

I nodded, eyes still locked on the woman staring back at me.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m really good.”

I could hear them before I saw them—clinking glasses, low conversation, a burst of laughter from someone who’d clearly had a second pour of champagne. The atmosphere was soft and joyful, the way I imagined home might sound if you distilled it into a single room.

I stepped out of the hallway and into the grand room, where everyone had gathered. The hush was immediate.

Anthony turned before anyone else did. His eyes locked on mine like I was gravity itself.

And then he smiled.

He crossed the room in long, sure strides, stopping just short of touching me, his eyes sweeping from my face to the hem of my gown and back again.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “And I’m a man who knows art.”

Laughter bubbled from somewhere near the fireplace, and I glanced toward the source. Judge Valencia was grinning, one hand resting lightly on the shoulder of his wife.

“Under the circumstances,” he said warmly, “I’d have waited all day for this.”

I smiled at him, touched by the sincerity in his tone and the pride in his expression. After everything—the scandal, the vault, the hearings—he hadn’t just supported us. He’d rooted for us.

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