Chapter 7: "I Do" — and I Mean It
Ilone's POV
Kyle tucked the agreement into his desk drawer, lifted his suit jacket from the back of his chair, and shrugged it on with one arm. "Let's go. Head down first."
The elevator descended slowly. Its mirrored walls reflected our figures back at me, and for the first time I saw clearly what we looked like standing together. He was tall and upright in a perfectly tailored black suit.
And I — even wearing the dress my grandmother had designed for me — couldn't hide the fact that I was overweight. We didn't look like a couple.
We looked like two strangers who had ended up in the same frame by coincidence. I dropped my gaze and thought, with a quiet self-mockery, that anyone who saw us together would find it unbelievable: why would a man at the very top choose me?
The elevator chimed and the doors opened onto the lobby, where the low hum of conversation cut off the moment we stepped out. I looked up to find every person had stopped moving, their eyes on Kyle — respectful, some of them almost reverent. The suited professionals parted instinctively, clearing a path. We were nearly at the exit when a voice rang out ahead of us.
"Kyle."
A man was approaching with several assistants behind him. He was around fifty, silver-haired and impeccably groomed, and though age had settled into his face, the kind of gravity that comes from spending decades at the center of power was still unmistakable.
Kyle stopped. "Alexander."
The man clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. "You actually left the office? Willingly?"
I heard the quiet amusement in Kyle's voice. "On occasion."
"Kyle, I was just about to have my assistant reach out — about the European Arts Foundation's investment portfolio for next quarter…" Alexander's voice trailed off as his gaze moved to me. He paused.
In that instant, every muscle in my body tensed, bracing itself for the familiar kind of look.
He glanced at Kyle with mild curiosity. "And this is?"
Kyle turned slightly toward me — a deliberate movement, unhurried — and for the first time brought me into the center of everyone's attention.
"My fiancée," he said, without a moment's hesitation. "Ilone Thorne."
My breath stopped for a beat.
Alexander's expression stalled for a second, then broke into a genuine smile. The business-titan composure dropped away, and he reached out his hand to me. "Iris's granddaughter — of course. I'm Alexander Howard. It's a pleasure, Ms. Thorne. Your grandmother was a remarkable woman. I've always held her in the highest regard."
I shook his hand a little awkwardly. "You knew my grandmother?"
"I met her years ago, in Birmingham," he said. "She made a cashmere shawl by hand — my mother treasured it for the rest of her life. Your grandmother is someone every person ought to respect."
Something in my shoulders released at that.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
Alexander glanced at Kyle and laughed. "So the rumors are true."
Kyle raised an eyebrow. "Which ones?"
"The ones about the Voss heir who treated work as everything and considered marriage completely irrelevant to his life." He clapped Kyle on the shoulder. "Looks like someone finally changed your mind."
Laughter moved through the people around us. I curled my fingers slightly at my side. So Kyle had had endless options — and I was simply the obligation he'd had to sacrifice his own marriage to fulfill, a favor carried out for the sake of someone else's last wish.
I didn't say a word in the car. I stared at the city rushing past the window and kept my hands closed around the hem of my dress.
Kyle noticed the silence quickly. "What are you thinking?"
I didn't answer. A long moment passed before I could bring myself to speak.
"Kyle."
"Mm."
"The gap between us… it's too wide."
He was quiet for a moment, then asked: "You think I'll regret this?"
I said nothing. The answer was obvious enough.
"I won't." Two words, no hesitation. "If this marriage ever fails, it'll only be because we didn't put in the work. Not because of your body. Not because of your appearance. Not because of anything in your past."
My eyes burned. Because this was the first time — the first time anyone had told me, without flinching, that the problem wasn't me.
The car stopped outside City Hall as the light was shifting toward evening. A clerk handed me the paperwork, and I took the metal pen — and stopped. The cold weight of it in my hand made everything suddenly real.
Kyle stood beside me and waited.
"Ilone." His voice was low. "You can still change your mind. Right now."
I looked up at him.
"I'll handle my grandfather," he said, his expression calm and unhurried. "Your grandmother wanted you to be happy — not to trap yourself in a world that doesn't fit you because of a dying wish."
He was willing to face the fallout alone, and he was handing the choice entirely to me. That kind of unconditional respect settled something in me that nothing else could have. I drew a slow breath and signed my name in the space provided.
Ilone Thorne.
"Congratulations," the clerk said. "You are now legally husband and wife."
Husband and wife. The words landed somewhere in my chest with a quiet, strange weight. I looked at Kyle almost without thinking, and found him already looking back at me — still composed, but with something in his expression that hadn't been there before. Something that looked, quietly, like warmth.
On the drive, I watched the streets slide past the window and asked, "Are we going straight back to the Voss house?"
"There's somewhere we're going first."
The car stopped in front of a private art gallery.
"My grandfather built this when he was young," Kyle said. "He believed that preserving what was worth keeping — and letting future generations see it — was the greatest meaning wealth could have."
I looked at the paintings on the walls and thought that the Voss family was not quite what I had imagined.
"Kyle!" A voice called from across the gallery.
A man was leaning against the entrance with an air of easy carelessness. He looked around thirty, with a relaxed, unhurried manner. He looked Kyle over, then turned his gaze to me.
"So… this is the woman who finally got Mr. Voss out of his office?"
Kyle's brow creased. "Felix."
The man smiled. "Don't be so serious." He walked over and extended his hand. "I'm Felix Beaumont — Kyle's oldest friend. We grew up together."
"Ilone Thorne," I said, shaking it.
Felix glanced at Kyle and sighed dramatically. "Thank you for saving him. Honestly, if it weren't for you, I was starting to think this man would end up marrying his work."
I couldn't help laughing.
"Are you finished?" Kyle looked at him with resigned patience.
"No," Felix said, perfectly sincere.
Then a different voice came from behind us — older, deliberate, carrying a quiet weight.
"Kyle."
I turned. An elderly man was making his way toward us, walking with a cane, his hair fully white. His eyes were still sharp. For a moment I forgot to breathe.
There was no inspection, no measured look. He simply walked up to me and put his arms around me, and the embrace was so warm and so certain that my throat tightened.
"Welcome home, child," he said quietly near my ear. "Iris can rest easy now."
My eyes stung. I returned the hug gently. "Mr. Voss…"
"If that stubborn old woman ever heard you call me that, she'd come back from heaven just to scold me." His voice held a fond exasperation. "Call me Grandfather. Now come — everything's ready."
The ceremony was short. When the officiant asked Kyle if he would take me as his wife, he turned to look at me and answered without hesitation: "I do." When it was my turn, I met his steady, patient eyes and gave him my answer in kind.
When he reached for my hand to place the ring, I instinctively curled my fingers inward. "It might… it might be a little small," I said under my breath.
It caught at my knuckle, just as I'd expected. I started to pull my hand back, but Kyle held it firmly.
He looked down at me, his expression full of seriousness and care. "Please forgive me, my beautiful bride — this is my fault. I was too eager. I wanted you wearing our ring so badly that I didn't wait. Don't blame yourself. The ring doesn't fit. That's not the same thing as your hand not fitting."
The words were almost identical to what my grandmother had written in her card. The resemblance hit me so suddenly and completely that the tears came before I could stop them. I pressed my hand to my face, flustered, trying to pull myself back together, and Kyle was already holding out a handkerchief.
"Mrs. Voss," he said, with something very close to fond resignation, "cry if you want to cry. Laugh if you want to laugh. You don't have to manage your face for anyone. That's what it means to be Mrs. Voss."
I looked at him, and the tears came harder.
"Are you always this good at saying the right thing?"
He tilted his head slightly. "No. Only with my wife."
My face went hot.
That evening, Grandfather arranged a simple dinner. As it was winding down, he set down his glass and turned to me. "Ilone — there's a private dinner tomorrow evening. I'd like you to come with me and meet some old friends."
I blinked. "Me?"
"Of course."
He must have seen the tension move through me, because he smiled. "Don't be nervous. It's just a small gathering. Not many people."
I thought of the terms in the agreement and nodded. "All right."
That night, sitting on the edge of the bed in the guest room of the Voss estate, I still couldn't make the day feel real. I had actually married Kyle Voss. I had actually done it.
My phone rang. The screen read: Ophelia.
I hesitated, then answered.
"Ilone." Her voice was quick, a little anxious. "Listen to me — Mom and Dad are already on a flight to Vela City." A short pause, and then, quieter: "That dinner tomorrow night. You need to be careful."
