Chapter 7: Something Borrowed, Something Blue
Once Jake’s satisfied with his handiwork, Lucas waves toward the waiting ambulance. Four paramedics rush over with a stretcher to collect Ethan’s battered body.
We’re about to head back inside when Ethan suddenly shouts at Lucas, his voice
cracking with desperation.
“I f**ked her for seven years! Doesn’t it disgust you to marry my sl**py seconds?” Lucas and Jake both whip around simultaneously. I manage to grab Jake’s arm, but
I don’t anticipate Lucas’s reaction.
With terrifying calm, he strides over and deliberately places his Italian leather shoe right on Ethan’s broken leg, then twists his foot, grinding down with just enough pressure to cause excruciating pain without creating any new damage that would be obvious to medical professionals.
Ethan’s scream pierces the morning air as Lucas leans down, speaking quietly enough that only Ethan and I can hear him.
“You pathetic little man,” Lucas says, his voice ice–cold but perfectly controlled. “You really are an embarrassment to our gender. Don’t worry–I promise I’ll make sure she’s so g**damn happy for the rest of her life that you’ll choke on your jealousy. And every time I’m ins**e her, making her scream my name, I’ll make sure she doesn’t even remember yours.”
He glances at the paramedics. “Get him out of here.”
As they wheel Ethan away, Lucas walks back to me and takes my hand, interlacing
our fingers.
“Screw going back to the house right now. Let’s hit some stores instead,” he says, his tone casual but his eyes still intense with protective concern.
I blink up at him in confusion. After everything that just happened–the dramatic confrontation, the violence, the emotional mess–he wants to go shopping?
“Why?” I can’t help asking.
He looks back at me with those intense blue eyes. “My mother always says retail therapy is the best cure for emotional distress. Nothing helps a woman forget her
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troubles like a new handbag.”
Jake immediately bounds over like an eager puppy. “I’m pretty emotionally distressed too. Take me shopping with you guys? That Rolex boutique we passed
yesterday was calling my name.”
Lucas kicks him away with surprising ease, then leads me toward his waiting Porsche 911 Turbo, the engine already purring as his driver steps away from the door he’s opened for us.
In the car, I try to explain everything about my history with Ethan, feeling like I owe
him the full story, but Lucas cuts me off.
“The past is the past,” he says firmly. “I don’t need you to reopen old wounds. And trust me,” his hand slides onto my thigh, warm and reassuring “-I’m not
bothered by any of it.”
His lips curve into a mischievous smile. “Although I am quite fond of hearing you
say I have ‘integrity.‘ Feel free to compliment me more. I’m very receptive to
praise.”
That unexpected bit of humor makes me laugh despite everything.
By the time we return home, we’ve filled not only the trunk but the entire back seat of his car with shopping bags from Geneva’s most exclusive boutiques. Lucas insisted on buying me everything I even glanced at–from lacy La Perla lingerie that made me blush when he held it up against me, to a Chanel evening gown that
cost more than my entire wardrobe back in New York. He never once flinched at the astronomical prices, casually handing over his black card while his hand remained possessively on my hip.
Jake is practically green with envy, petulantly stroking my parents‘ Persian cat while making snarky comments about “sugar daddies” and “trophy wives.”
The dark cloud Ethan had brought quickly dissipates in the warm glow of laughter and champagne that evening.
The next morning, Lucas’s lawyer arrives with a stack of papers requiring my signature. Prenuptial agreements and the like, I assume. But when I flip through them, I realize they’re something else entirely.
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“These are ownership documents,” I say, puzzled. “For… my jewelry designs?” Lucas nods, watching my face carefully. “I had your designs trademarked and registered in your name. The final papers came through this morning.”
I stare at him, stunned. “But… why?”
“Because they’re yours.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Your talent, your vision. I just made sure they’re legally protected.”
“But we’re getting married. Most men would—”
“Most men aren’t me,” he cuts in, taking my hand. “Marriage doesn’t mean I own you or your creations, Sophie. Your independence is part of what drew me to you in the first place.”
I feel a lump forming in my throat. In seven years, Ethan never once treated my designs as anything more than a cute hobby. Now this man I barely know has ensured they’re legally mine, regardless of our marriage.
“Thank you,” I whisper, blinking back tears.
He leans forward, brushing his lips against my forehead. “Your talent deserves recognition. Which reminds me–I have a surprise for you tonight.”
“What kind of surprise?”
His smile is enigmatic. “You’ll see.”
The surprise turns out to be dinner with André Dubois, the head designer for Cartier’s Geneva branch. Lucas had shown him my portfolio, and André is
interested in discussing a potential collaboration.
“These pieces-” André gestures to my sketches on his tablet “—they have a unique perspective. Fresh. Bold, but with classical elements.”
I’m so overwhelmed I can barely speak. Lucas’s hand finds mine under the table,
giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Thank you,” I manage. “That means a lot coming from you.”
André’s eyes twinkle. “Lucas tells me you’re to be married in less than a week.
Perhaps you might design your own wedding jewelry? Cartier would be honored to produce it.”
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I look at Lucas, who wears a satisfied expression. “You planned this?”
“I merely made an introduction,” he says modestly. “Your talent did the rest.” Later that night, as we say goodbye at my parents‘ door, I can’t contain my
excitement.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I whisper, my arms around his neck. “Cartier.
Lucas, do you have any idea what this means?”
“I have some idea,” he murmurs, pulling me closer. “It means I’m marrying a very
talented woman.”
His kiss is gentle at first, then deepens into something more urgent. When we
finally break apart, both breathing hard, he rests his forehead against mine.
“Four days,” he says, his voice rough with desire. “Four more days until you’re
mine.”
“Yours,” I echo, surprising myself with how right it feels.
The next few days are a whirlwind of wedding preparations. Lucas’s family begins.
arriving from around the world–distant cousins, business associates, and finally
his parents. His mother is warm and elegant, embracing me like a daughter already. His father is more reserved but clearly approves of me.
“You’ve chosen well,” he tells Lucas in a stage whisper loud enough for me to hear.
“She has spirit.”
Lucas’s aunt Karen is conspicuously absent, though rumors fly about her attempts to disrupt the ceremony. Security around the venue is discreetly increased. Three days before the wedding, Lucas’s grandfather, Heinrich Bennett, summons. us to his chalet in the mountains. The austere stone building has belonged to the Bennett family for generations, and entering it feels like stepping back in time. Heinrich sits in a leather chair by the fire, a plaid blanket over his knees despite the summer warmth. At eighty–four, he still has the commanding presence that built Bennett International from a local bank into a global financial empire.
“So,” he says, scrutinizing me with piercing blue eyes–the same shade as Lucas’s. “You’re the girl my grandson has chosen.”
I lift my chin slightly. “And he’s the man I’ve chosen.”
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A smile tugs at the old man’s mouth. “Good answer, Sit,”
For the next hour, he grills me about everything from my childhood to my views on international monetary policy. Lucas watches with amusement, occasionally
squeezing my hand in support,
Finally, Heinrich nods, seemingly satisfied. “You’ll do,” he pronounces. “You have more backbone than the socialites my grandson usually favors.”
Lucas’s eyebrows shoot up. “Grandfather-”
Heinrich waves him off. “She knows what I mean.” He fixes me with that
penetrating gaze again. “My grandson is stubborn, reckless at times, and far too used to getting his own way. He needs a wife who won’t bend to his every whim.” I can’t help but smile. “I think I can manage that.”
“I know you can,” the old man says with surprising warmth. Then, abruptly changing the subject: “Karen won’t be at the wedding. I’ve made it clear that her presence would be… unwelcome.”
Lucas stiffens beside me. “What has she done now?”
Heinrich’s expression darkens. “Nothing that succeeded, thanks to your security measures. But her intentions were clear enough.”
A shiver runs down my spine. Lucas had mentioned his aunt’s opposition to our marriage, but hearing Heinrich confirm an actual plot is unsettling.
When we leave, Lucas is quiet, his jaw set in a hard line. “I’m sorry about all this,” he finally says as we drive back down the mountain. “My family-”
“Your family is complicated,” I finish for him. “So is mine. It doesn’t change how I
feel about you.”
He glances at me, surprise and something deeper in his eyes. “And how do your feel about me, Sophie Winters?”
The question catches me off guard. We’ve been so caught up in the whirlwind of preparations and external threats that we’ve barely had time to define what’s growing between us.
“I feel… safe with you,” I begin slowly. “Respected, Seen, in a way I never was with
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Ethan.”
He waits, giving me space to continue.
“And I’m attracted to you,” I admit, feeling my cheeks heat. “More than I expected to be. The way you look at me, the way you touch me… it’s like you’re memorizing every detail.”
“I am,” he says simply. “I don’t want to forget a single moment with you.”
My heart stutters at the raw honesty in his voice. “Is that how you feel about me?
Like every moment matters?”
He pulls the car over to the side of the road, turning to face me fully. “Sophie, I agreed to this marriage for practical reasons. But from the moment I met you- really met you, not just through photographs–I’ve been falling for you. Every day,
a little more.”
The confession leaves me breathless. “Lucas-”
“You don’t have to say it back,” he says quickly. “I know it’s fast, and after what you’ve been through with Ethan… I don’t expect―”
I silence him with a kiss, pouring every confused, wonderful feeling of the past
weeks into it. When I pull back, his eyes are dark with emotion.
“I’m falling for you too,” I whisper against his lips. “And it terrifies me.”
“Good things often do,” he murmurs, caressing my cheek. “We have time, Sophie.
All the time in the world.”
Two days before the wedding, disaster strikes. The custom wedding dress I’d designed—a sleek, modern creation that perfectly complemented the jewelry I was creating with Cartier–is ruined when a pipe bursts in the atelier, flooding the
workroom.
“Sabotage,” Lucas mutters darkly when he hears the news.
My mother is more pragmatic. “Whatever the cause, we need a solution. The wedding is in two days!”
Lucas makes a phone call. One hour later, three designers from Dior arrive at our house with fabric samples, measuring tapes, and determined expressions.
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“Mr. Bennett says we have thirty–six hours,” the lead designer tells me. “We’ll need every minute.”
What follows is a whirlwind of fittings, decisions, and minor miracles. By the final fitting, the day before the wedding, the result surpasses even my original design- a breathtaking gown of ivory silk that seems to float around me like a cloud. “You look beautiful,” my mother whispers, tears in her eyes as the designers make final adjustments.
I stare at my reflection, barely recognizing the woman looking back at me. Not because of the dress, stunning as it is, but because of the confidence in her eyes. The certainty.
When did that happen? When did I stop feeling like damaged goods and start feeling worthy of this life, this love?
The night before the wedding, Lucas and I have our final dinner as an engaged couple. Tradition dictates we spend the night apart, and for once, Lucas doesn’t argue with convention.
“I want tomorrow to be perfect for you,” he says, kissing me goodbye at my parents‘ door. “And seeing you in your wedding dress for the first time as you walk
down the aisle… I want that moment.”
I smile up at him, twining my arms around his neck. “Who knew you were such a
traditionalist?”
“Only in some ways,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down to my hips in a decidedly non–traditional manner. “I have very modern plans for our wedding
night.”
The promise in his voice sends heat spiraling through me. “One more night,” I
whisper.
“One more night,” he agrees, his kiss lingering and full of promise. “And then
forever.”
As I watch him drive away, I feel a strange mix of anticipation and peace. Whatever started as an arrangement, a business deal, has transformed into something real
and precious.
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Tomorrow, I’ll become Mrs. Lucas Bennett. And for the first time in my life, I’m
exactly where I want to be.
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The morning of my wedding dawns clear and perfect–the kind of crystalline. alpine day that seems created specifically for celebrations. My mother and a team. of stylists descend on my room at dawn, turning me into a polished, perfumed. version of myself.
As they work, I find myself thinking of Ethan. Not with longing or regret, but with a
strange sense of gratitude. If he hadn’t betrayed me, I would never have found my way to Lucas, Never have discovered what it feels like to be truly valued, not just
desired.
“Cold feet?” my father asks when he comes to escort me to the chapel.
I smile, taking his arm. “Just the opposite.”
The chapel is a small medieval stone building nestled in the mountains, intimate despite the three hundred guests filling its ancient pews. As the string quartet. begins the processional, I take a deep breath, clutching my father’s arm. “Ready, Soph?” he whispers,
I nod, my eyes already seeking Lucas at the altar. When I find him, resplendent in a bespoke tuxedo, the rest of the world falls away. He looks at me with such naked adoration that tears spring to my eyes.
This man–this complicated, passionate, protective man–is about to become my husband. And I can’t wait.
As I reach the altar, Lucas takes my hand, his fingers warm against mine. “You’re breathtaking,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.
“So are you,” I whisper back.
The ceremony passes in a blur of ancient vows and modern promises. When the minister pronounces us husband and wife, Lucas’s kiss is both tender and possessive, a perfect reflection of the man himself.
We turn to face our guests, and that’s when I see them–Ethan and Ava, seated
near the back of the chapel.
