The Billionaire’s Forever (His Submissive #12)(14)
Author: Ava Claire

"Cutest friendship bracelet ever?" She finished in between tears of her own.

I nodded, looking down at it again, then back at her. "Not the same as you being here, but this means more to me than I can even say."

She used her t-shirt to wipe her eyes. "You’re gonna be absolutely gorgeous."

I chewed on my bottom lip. "Yeah?"

"Hell yeah." She pulled her hair up, her face going serious. "I’ve already informed Jacob that billionaire or not I will seriously injure him if he breaks your heart."

"Is that right?" I laughed, sitting back down.

She gave me a solemn nod before bursting into laughter. "I better go get ready for school. Call me the minute you’re back in the States, okay?"

I gave her a salute and stared at the blank screen for a few minutes after she signed off before admiring the bracelet. Wiping a few happy tears that swept down my cheek, I went back to the rack where my dress hung.

The dress I’d wear when I became Mrs. Whitmore.

****

I stood in front of the full length mirror and I could barely recognize myself. My eyes swept up from the floor, over the glossy layers of the chiffon, fingers guiding the way until I stopped at the sash, inhaling as Naomi did a slow circle around me, tucking and smoothing.

“It’s really happening,” I said softly, butterflies beating in my stomach. My cheeks flushed and my hands were clammy with sweat. “I’m really getting married.” I paused at my lips, almost bringing my hand to my mouth before I realized I would have smudged the beautiful job Naomi had done. All the joy and excitement I felt came through the glow of my cheeks. My brown eyes were enhanced and rich. My lips were lush with just the right amount of gloss to make me tremble as I wondered what it would be like to kiss him after our vows were exchanged.

To be his wife.

I felt the tears come back and Naomi clucked her tongue with disapproval. “No crying! You’ll mess up my work,” she chided, but not even her frown could hide the hint of a smile. She came back toward me with a small bunch of tropical pink flowers. “Hibiscus for your hair.”

I turned back to the mirror, lowering myself so the petite woman had better access to my hair. I couldn’t get over how she made the braids work with my curls without me looking like a hot mess. She’d parted the front of my hair into four sections and after taming the wiry bunches, braided each into a fishtail. Then she connected each strand and pinned it towards the back. When she finished, my hair was sleek in the front, with the braids acting as a headband with a few free tendrils drifting down my shoulders. The back was conditioned and springy instead of frizzy and poofy. She was right about how it would bring together casual and sleek. It captured the island’s relaxed vibe but the order and soft curls made it sophisticated.

I stood still as she pinned the flowers strategically, giving me a pop of color that brought the whole look together. When she finished, she stood back.

“What do you think?”

I turned back to the mirror, finding new things to love. “It looks amazing.” My fingers hovered above the flowers. “Everything is so perfect.”

She studied me for a minute, crossing her arms. “There’s one thing left to do. A call to make–but I only want you to make it if you want to, not out of a feeling of obligation or duty.”

My brow furrowed as I peered at her in the mirror. “What?”

She came back forward, her blue silver eyes on my hair as she fussed over a curl.

“Most people that come here are trying to escape.” Her painted features cracked slightly, her lips trembling, eyes fluttering rapidly like she was holding back tears. “This place can make you feel like there is no world outside the trees, the beaches, the water.” She was looking into the mirror, but I could tell it wasn’t her reflection that she saw. She was a million miles away, replaying her own story. I tilted my head to the side, studying the pretty girl who should have been pledging some sorority, breaking hearts, writing papers on Marx and cramming for tests. Instead, she was the personal assistant and stylist to the rich vacationers and brides that cycled through on the island.

She must have realized I was watching her because she gave her head a shake and pulled on a bright smile that managed to bypass her eyes. “I overheard you and your friend and I got the impression that your mother and mother-in-law were stressing you out about the wedding.”

Now that I was sitting there, millions of miles away, all of that drama seemed overblown. I blushed, dropping my gaze to my lap. “I guess all mother’s are overbearing, kinda comes with the territory.”

“Not all mothers.”

My eyes flickered up and the smile Naomi wore dimmed.

“Anyway, your friend told me to apologize for her, but your mother found out she’d been in contact with you and told her to give you a message. Your mother wants to speak to you before the ceremony.” She bit her lip guiltily. “I probably should have had this conversation with you before I did the makeup. She gave me a worried look. “You could always call her later. Or not at all. It’s up to you.”

I peered at he house phone, feeling the tension knot in my chest. Was she going to yell at me for leaving the country without a word? Despite her gung-ho attitude for me finally doing what made me happy, there was no denying she had a tendency to want me to assert myself on her terms. I had a sinking suspicion she wouldn’t have pushed me to speak up for myself if she knew it would result in the bride and groom running away to the Caribbean.

Naomi swiped the phone. “We can totally do it after then–”

“Wait.”

I wrung my hands and remembered the moment in the car when Mom was vulnerable and told me that she felt left out. That she just wanted to be a part of my day. She could be a bit much and sometimes she made me want to pull my hair out, but she was still my mother and I loved her.

I took the phone and Naomi left the room without another word, pulling the door closed with a muted click.

I dialed the island code and plunked out my mother’s number, bringing the phone to my ear. It rang countless times and I held my breath, sure I’d hear the voicemail. Be let off the hook.

I gripped the armrest as the rings stopped and I heard her voice. “Hello?”

“Mom?”

The line went quiet, and I almost took it away from my ear to see if it was still connected.

“Hi sweetheart,” she said finally, her voice unsure. “How are you?”

Tears built in my eyes and I was overcome with emotion. “I’m getting married.”