He grunted. “When brides start crying, timelines collapse, and somebody’s second cousin starts live-streaming.”
I smirked. “We’ve survived worse.”
He nodded, then added casually, “They’re decent guys though. The ones I met this morning—Atlas, Marcus, Noah—they’ve got presence. Real backbone.”
“I figured they’d get along with you,” I said.
He glanced sideways at me. “Except for the one who wasn’t there.”
“Silas,” I muttered.
He didn’t push. Just gave a single, knowing nod.
After a beat, Monte said, “You worried about bringing Bea into this?”
That made me blink. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged, but there was something too casual in the gesture. “She’s single. Young. Still soft in the middle, even if she doesn’t act like it. This crowd chews up people like her.”
I laughed, the sound light but edged. “I’m single, too.”
“Exactly,” he said. “And you think I’m here just for the wedding security?”
I turned to look at him fully, but he kept his gaze forward, professional. A faint smile pulled the edge of his mouth, nothing more.
Monte never said too much. Never crossed lines. But every so often—usually when I least expected it—he dropped something that cracked the armor I wore so carefully. And that crack now hummed in the air between us like a silent alarm.
I didn’t respond. Not directly.
Because what could I say?
That I saw the way he looked at me sometimes? That I felt the steady presence he wrapped around me? That there were moments, in quiet lulls between events and disasters, when I wondered what it would be like if I turned to him and asked for more than loyalty?
But then there was Silas. Still burning behind my eyes. Still etched into the ache between my thighs, into the defiance in my jaw.
I didn’t have room for one man complicating my life, let alone two.
We rounded the corner to the back lawn, where the dock jutted out. Monte stopped, scanned the horizon, then pulled out his phone to snap a few photos.
“Line-of-sight here is clean,” he said. “But I want portable barricades brought in. Crowd control just in case we get any press who don’t understand the word private.”
“Bea can coordinate the delivery,” I said.
He nodded. “I’ll set up the rotation schedule once I get full team approval from the Danes. You think they’ll give me access?”
“Once they see you’re not just a suit with a clipboard? Yeah. They’ll respect you.”
He shot me a grin. “You’re damn right they will.”
And with that, the moment passed. Shifted.
He dropped the subject of Bea. Dropped the weight of whatever had just almost been said.
We rounded a corner that led to the covered breezeway outside the east wing—columns laced with ivy, wrought-iron lanterns still glowing faintly from the night before. I slowed, waving Monte on ahead with a murmured, “I’ll catch up.”
He nodded and disappeared toward the vendor entrance, phone already in hand.
I needed a minute.
