Page 30 of The Billionaire and His Forever

Speaking of which…

Amanda has always been my support system. My go-to. My partner in crime, though I think that term has lost some of its humor for me as of late. But we’re still on the outs after our text-fight the other day. She never texted me back and hasn’t even tried to call. Not that I’ve tried to call her, either. But it completely sucks. We’ve never really fought before, and not talking to my BFF for the last few weeks has been eating away at me. At the same time, it’s not on me to reach out to her and apologize when she was the one in the wrong. Or am I just being petty?

Then again, whyhasn’tshe reached out yet? If I’m being petty, Amanda is, too. Except what if she’s thinking the same thing? I don’t know how to deal with this.

Graham finally tucks his phone away. “So when shall we wed? I was thinking this weekend,” he says very seriously, as though planning a wedding takes all of five minutes.

“Sorry, what?” I laugh.

“This weekend,” he repeats. The look on his face doesn’t change. He’s not joking. “I want you protected. I want you cared for. And I want to be able to stop hiding. Don’t you?”

“Yes, but…” I’m speechless for a moment, torn between how sweet it is that he’s so ready to be married, and how inane he sounds, this powerful man who can buy an island if he wants, thinking a wedding is something that can just be thrown together in a few days’ time.

“But planning a wedding takes time,” I finally say. “Months, usually, if not years. We’ve got guest lists and cake tastings and I’ve got to find a dress and a venue—”

“Do you want a huge wedding? Something extravagant? Because if you do, I’ll make that happen,” he says, “but to be perfectly honest…Abbie, love, I’ve done it all before. Five hundred guests, a bar tab the size of Manhattan, an exclusive venue that you have to know someone to book. Not to mention the press eating it up like a five-course meal from the sidelines. I’ve hadthatwedding, complete with the bridezilla. It was a nightmare. One I’d happily endure again if it would please you, love, but for God’s sake, think hard about what you want.”

Graham clasps his hands before him like a child begging for candy, and I smile.

“Okay. This weekend,” I say, my heart racing, becauseohmygod I’m getting married in a few days. “We’ll keep it low-key. I’d prefer something intimate anyway, here on the estate. And if I change my mind later, we can renew our vows with a bigger ceremony in the future. Deal?”

“Absolutely a deal.” He kisses me again. “Tell me exactly what you want and I will make it happen. I’m a man with a lot of income and power at my disposal. You want an abundance of flowers? I’ll buy out a whole shop again, two shops if necessary. An elaborate cake? Mary was trained at one of the best patisseries in Paris. Live music? I’ll get a few members of the New York Phil to play violins as you walk down the aisle. Just say the word, and it’s yours.”

I stare at him. “Graham Ratliff.”

“What? You don’t like violins?”

“You’ve been planning our wedding!”

He looks sheepish, and it’s so cute I could die. “No, I just—those are just examples of things that can be done.”

“Examples that you already have in mind because you’ve been planning it!”

He has no response to that, and I laugh and kiss him hard. In this moment, my heart feels like it could explode with joy.

But then I remember that I have to choose a maid of honor, and I know that person could only ever be Amanda—and it hits home all over again how lost I’ve been feeling without her voice in my ear or her texts in my pocket, without our FaceTime chats where she teases me about Graham or helps me choose my outfits.

My eyes start to well up, and I can’t stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks.

“Don’t cry, love. Am I pushing too hard? We don’t have to rush,” Graham says.

I shake my head. “I want to rush. It’s just that…I had a fight with Amanda…and we haven’t made up yet.” I don’t want to tell him why, and I’m glad when he doesn’t ask.

“Why don’t you reach out today and extend the olive branch?” he suggests. “Inviting her to the wedding is the perfect excuse.”

Yeah, it would be—except that this is a wedding she’ll never get behind. She still thinks he’s guilty. If I marry Graham, does that mean I’ll lose Amanda forever? All I can do is let him pull me into his arms, leaning into him for support while I brood.

“Try to relax. We can talk more about the wedding later,” he says, rubbing circles over my back. “But first, I want to show you something. Or, well, a lot of somethings.”

When I nod, he eases me back onto the couch beside him, retrieves his laptop from the table, and opens it. Then he clicks around until he finds what he’s looking for and turns the screen to me. I see a spreadsheet full of charts and graphs, numbers clicking in real time.

“Um, wow. What…exactly is this?” I ask.

“This is our net worth.” He points to a number. My jaw drops. “The cumulation of all the stocks, bonds, real estate, and investments tied to my estate and my business.”

I don’t even have words to describe that number except:holy shit.

“What’s mine is yours, from my heart to our properties. All of it,” he says earnestly.

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