If her mother were here, she'd probably cry at the sight of her daughter in lace and love.
But her mother wasn't here.
And Naomi wasn't sure if what she felt was excitement… or something.
She felt Damien's arm slip gently around her waist as they stood before the officiant. Naomi gripped her bouquet tighter—not to stop herself from tripping, but to anchor herself to reality.
This was real.
She was married.
Her heart thudded beneath layers of satin and lace, catching in her throat when the officiant's voice echoed, "You may now kiss the bride."
Damien turned toward her, his hand brushing her cheek before he leaned in.
His lips were warm, slow, and patient against hers. The room erupted in applause, but Naomi barely heard it. It was like the world had gone quiet for just a second, and it was only the two of them.
"You're doing great, Mrs. Everhart," he whispered against her lips as they pulled apart, his voice low and teasing.
She smiled, cheeks blooming with warmth. "You make that sound like you've been waiting forever to say it."
"I have," he said, that charming grin sliding into place.
She believed him.
He had a way of saying things that made her feel... precious. Like she mattered.
Petals floated down from the ceiling, a blur of soft color. Naomi's smile widened—then flickered just slightly when her eyes landed on the empty seat beside her father.
That seat wasn't supposed to be empty.
It should've been her mother's.
She blinked quickly, looking away. You're not allowed to cry today, Naomi told herself.
Her mother would've wanted her to be happy. She would've been the loudest one clapping. The first one crying.
She felt her chest squeeze at the memory of one of their late-night talks.
"Your wedding day should feel like the start of your forever, not the end of anything else."
Her mother's voice echoed through her heart, wrapping around her tighter than any hug.
Naomi pushed a breath out and forced her gaze back to Damien, who was leading her toward the reception hall.
Focus on now, she thought.
Focus on this.
The reception was a blur of champagne, soft laughter, and camera flashes.
Naomi caught glimpses of Rachel—her best friend—flitting between tables like a glittering butterfly in a satin dress.
And of course, there was her father, sitting stiffly at the family table like he had every right to be there. Naomi forced herself not to frown.
She needed someone to walk her down the aisle. She just hadn't wanted it to be him.
"You look like you're thinking again," Damien said as they swayed together on the dance floor, his hand splayed gently across her lower back.
"I always think," she teased. "Someone's gotta overthink us into forever."
He grinned, pulling her closer. "Just don't overthink tonight. Let it be perfect."
"Perfect might be too much to ask for," she said, smiling up at him.
"Then let's make it unforgettable."
And for a while... it was.
From the stolen glances, to the clinking glasses, to the soft kisses when no one was looking—Naomi felt like she was floating inside a bubble no one could pop.
Before she even got to me, Rachel was already smiling — that wide, no-holding-back kind of smile. It was the kind of smile that could light up a room even if everyone else forgot how to. Thirteen years of being best friends meant I already knew she was about to say something that would either make me laugh or roll my eyes.
Rachel found her just by the bar, a mischievous grin already on her face. Naomi barely had a chance to catch her breath before Rachel was pulling her into a quick hug.
"You, Mrs. Everhart," Rachel said dramatically, "look like you just walked out of a romance novel."
Naomi laughed. "I'm pretty sure I look like I fought the novel."
Rachel pulled back, giving her a teasing once-over. "No way. You look gorgeous. And now..." She wiggled her eyebrows. "You're officially off the market. About to disappear into some private billionaire fantasy, huh?"
Naomi felt her cheeks warm. "It's just a little getaway," she said, trying not to sound too dreamy.
Rachel smirked. "A little private getaway? Mmhmm. Bet you won't be doing much sightseeing."
"Rachel!" Naomi gasped, smacking her lightly on the arm.
Rachel just laughed, delighted at Naomi's embarrassment. "I'm just saying! Billionaire husband, private island... you better come back walking straight, girl."
Naomi's face burned. She opened her mouth to protest — to say something, anything — when she heard a low chuckle behind her.
Damien.
He slid an arm around Naomi's waist like he'd been waiting for the perfect moment. "Don't worry, Rachel," he said smoothly, flashing a lazy, wicked grin. "I fully intend to keep her busy."
Rachel howled with laughter, and Naomi buried her face in her hands. Her entire body felt like it had caught fire. She couldn't even look at him.
Damien leaned down, his voice brushing her ear. "Come on, Mrs. Everhart. Let's not waste any more time."
Still blushing fiercely, Naomi let him tug her away from her giggling best friend, her heart pounding against her ribs.
As they headed toward the exit, Damien's hand never left the small of her back — steady, claiming, like she was his entire world.
But just as they passed one of the side tables near the door, Damien's gaze flickered down.
"Hold on a second," he said, reaching for a small white envelope lying alone on the table.
Naomi barely noticed. She was too busy feeling dizzy and giddy and a little like she might explode from happiness.
Damien turned the envelope over in his hand, curious. "No name," he mused, sliding it casually into his pocket. "We'll check it later."
He smiled at Naomi again, tugging her hand in his.
If only he had known.
If only he hadn't picked it up.
Because the real honeymoon was about to end before it even began.