Page 186 of Mexico Can Choke On It
“Hi, I’m Katie. Hurt her, and I have very detailed spreadsheets for hiding bodies,” the blonde friend says.
“Camila Morales,” the brunette adds cheerfully. “I’m a videographer who knows how to destroy somebody with a single viral video. Whatever Petra needs.”
“More threats later!” Petra laughs. “Right now, I need my girls! I’m getting married!”
A collective squeal erupts—loud enough to be heard from space.
Sebastian’s fashion army converges on Petra at the tent entrance—a swarm of concealer, curling wands, and emergency dress repairs. Within heartbeats, she’s transformed into a vision of dangerous elegance.
The piano starts the processional, and Petra is a goddamn knockout walking toward me on Gavin’s arm. She looks like holy chaos—white dress, leather jacket, combat boots, and that red-lipped smile. That lethal,I-know-you-want-mesmile. And I do.
This is the moment I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Because for the first time, I know she’s mine.
“I’m putting my trust in you,” Gavin says as they step up to meet me.
“I won’t let her down,” I promise.
“Then let’s make it official, brother,” he says, gently guiding her hand into my palm.
Everything after that dissolves into fragments: Petra’s eyes never leaving mine as we exchange vows. Her laugh when the ring slides onto her finger—two sizes too big.
Her voice breaks slightly on the word “forever.” My vision blurs when she says, “I do,” finally hearing the words that make it real: “husband and wife.”
… sort of, pending paperwork.
The instant my lips touch hers, every civilized instinct I possess is obliterated. I sweep Petra off her feet, her startled laugh ringing out as I sprint down the aisle clutching my prize.
I carry her past the shocked billionaires, past the scattered flower petals, through the wreckage of what was supposed to be someone else’s perfect day. We burst through the tent flaps into the Mexican sunshine, and I don’t stop until we’re alone in a secluded corner of the villa.
I press her against the sun-warmed wall, growling into her neck. She giggles, grabs my face, and pulls me into a kiss full of joy. We’re laughing, breathless, drunk on each other. I’m ready to consummate this marriage right here, right now.
“Whoa there, Moneybags. Pace yourself! We’ve got a whole lifetime now.”
Suddenly, her eyes go huge. “Oh shit, oh fuck—your inheritance! YOU LEFT YOUR BILLIONAIRE BANK ACCOUNT FOR ME? I can’t believe you did that!”
I set her down carefully, my hands on her waist. “Pip, yes, I left Sterling Industries. But I won’t start our marriage with a lie, so I have a confession. I’m still a billionaire. I have trust funds. Plural. My assets have assets.”
“Well, if you think you’re locking me up in some Beverly Hills mansion, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“I will only ever tie you up with your consent,” I say, loving the way her pupils dilate. “We’ll make our home wherever you want. But if it’s your apartment, I’m buying you a proper marriage bed. Because I’m going to fuck you like it’s my job.”
She leaps into my arms, her lips crashing into mine, her red lipstick smearing across my face.God, I love the way she claims me.
“Ow! What’s in your pocket, B? Is that a rocket launcher, or are you just happy to marry me?”
I burst out laughing and set her down. Digging into my pants pocket, I pull out her lipstick-sized taser, waggling it like a trophy. “Gotta keep Mrs. Sterling armed and dangerous.”
Her face transforms into pure horror. “Bryce! The safety’s off! Don’t grab it like—”
BZZZZZAP!
Every neuron in my body throws up. My teeth chatter like wind-up toys. My balls write a formal resignation.
I collapse into the grass like an Armani-fried corndog.
“GLARBLE-WARBLE-BLITZKRIEG!”
Nigel approaches with Miss Muffy tucked under his arm. They peer down with polite concern. “Shall I arrange for the reception to commence indoors whilst Mr. Sterling regains basic motor function?”
