Page 72 of His Secret Merger

Soon, the limo pulled up to a low, understated building tucked just off the strip, its stone façade softly lit beneath a canopy of string lights. If you didn’t know it was a wedding chapel, you might’ve mistaken it for an art gallery or a boutique hotel. No neon Elvis, no flashing signs. Just quiet elegance humming under the desert sky.

I stepped out first, smoothing the skirt of my cream silk dress, the same one I’d worn to an art gala last fall—simple, clean, something I already loved. Damian came around the car, adjusting his cufflinks, his charcoal suit pressed to perfection despite the long flight.

“Not bad,” I murmured, taking it all in. “Minimalist. You didn’t drag me into a Little White Chapel.”

He grinned. “Didn’t think you’d forgive me.”

“Good instincts.”

We walked up the chapel steps hand in hand, the hush of evening soft against the air. Inside, the lighting was warm and low, flickering gently against stone walls the color of sun-warmed sand. Pale roses and lavender blooms lined the aisle in slender glass vases. It smelled faintly of candle wax and something older—like stillness, like grace.

It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t loud.

It was perfect.

A kind-eyed officiant greeted us at the front with a quiet smile, his robe simple, his presence calming. No music played. The silence wrapped around us like a blessing, cutting out the noise of the Strip just outside.

Damian’s fingers tightened around mine as we turned to face each other beneath the soft arch. His eyes met mine with a look that hit me low and deep—certainty, wonder, and just a little fear laced in the kind of love I still couldn’t believe was mine.

“You may begin your vows,” the officiant said gently.

Damian exhaled a slow, shaky breath. “I didn’t believe in lasting love. Not really. I believed in logic. In control. In staying at the edges of everything just far enough not to burn.” His thumb traced over my knuckles. “Then you showed up. With your messy grace and your quiet strength, and I didn’t stand a chance.”

My throat tightened. His voice was rough but steady.

“I spent so long valuing the wrong things. But I’d burn it all down to keep you. I promise to love you without condition, always to be there, to stand still when things get hard. To be a partner, a protector, and a fool for you when you need one. I love you, Juliette. And I’m never going anywhere.”

He pulled the ring from his pocket—a delicate band that shimmered like the inside of a shell—and held it between us with quiet reverence.

When it was my turn, I felt the words rush forward before I could even think to stop them.

“I didn’t grow up dreaming about weddings. I didn’t believe in fairy tales or easy love. But you, Damian, you were the surpriseI never saw coming.” My voice trembled, but I didn’t look away. “You made space for me. You challenged me. And somewhere in all that fire, I found a home I didn’t know I needed. Our home.”

He blinked fast.

“I vow to keep choosing you. Even when it's messy. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. I promise to be brave with you. To believe in what we’re building. And to never—ever—let us go quiet when we should speak.”

He swallowed hard as I slid the matching band onto his finger. My hand was steady. My heart wasn’t.

The officiant’s voice softened with warmth. “By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He smiled. “You may kiss the bride.”

Damian cupped my face in his hands, leaning in like the moment was holy, not hurried. His lips met mine—slow, sure, unshakably real—and the world fell away.

Applause echoed softly from the officiant and chapel assistant, but I barely heard it. My pulse was louder. My breath. My joy.

When he finally pulled back, our foreheads touched, our fingers still linked.

“Mrs. Sinclair,” he whispered.

I smiled, breath catching. “Sounds good to me.”

And God, it did.

We didn’t go out on the town after our wedding. We didn’t need to. Instead, we found ourselves back in the hotel suite, standing barefoot on the plush carpet while the neon glow of the Stripspilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows like a promise we’d already cashed in.

Damian popped the champagne with a quiet grin, catching the cork before it hit the ceiling. “Here’s to us,” he murmured, pouring into two sleek flutes.

I kicked off my heels and twirled once in the center of the room, my dress catching the light as I spun. “To us,” I echoed, breathless and giddy and a little dizzy in the best way.

---