Dominic’s fingers withdrew a folded piece of thick paper from the inner lining of his tailored vest. He smoothed it out against the polished dark quartz of the kitchen island.

Saturday morning arrived with bright, unclouded sunshine streaming over the rolling hills of Pine Creek.

The wedding took place in a small white chapel at the edge of town. Emma looked radiant in her simple lace dress, and despite her frailty, my mother was able to sit in a wheelchair in the front row, wrapped in a handmade yellow shawl, her face glowing with quiet joy.

Dominic sat beside me in the third pew. He wore a sharp, charcoal-gray three-piece suit that drew discreet glances from every woman in the chapel, but his eyes never left me. He spent the entire ceremony holding my hand, his thumb tracing soothing circles over my knuckles whenever I began to tear up watching my sister exchange vows.

During the reception held in the chapel’s garden, the local townspeople surrounded our table, eager to talk to the mysterious billionaire who had accompanied the Carter girl back from the city.

Dominic handled them with effortless grace. He talked farming equipment with the local tractor dealer, discussed rural health funding with the local clinic doctor, and even sat on a bench for twenty minutes letting Lily paint his fingernails with washable pink polish.

I watched him from across the garden, holding a plate of wedding cake, my chest aching with a complex, terrifying emotion I didn't dare name.

"He loves you, you know," Emma’s voice sounded beside me.

I jumped slightly, turning to look at my sister. "Emma, don't. It’s... complicated."

"It’s not complicated at all," Emma smiled, leaning her shoulder against mine. "Sophia, I’ve watched Dad pick at that man for two days. Any other wealthy guy would have jumped in his private jet and flown back to Manhattan after the first ten minutes. But Dominic stays. He looks at you like you're the only person in the room."

"He’s doing my mother a favor," I murmured, staring down at my cake.

"Then why is he still wearing that pink polish?" Emma pointed out with a quiet laugh.

Before I could answer, a loud commotion near the garden entrance drew everyone’s attention.

A slick white Mercedes sedan had pulled up into the church driveway. A man in his late forties, wearing an expensive suit and holding a leather briefcase, stepped out and began walking directly toward our table.