Thank God.
There was a beat of silence, then Marcus leaned forward with a grin.
“Well, if I’m doing my part, I want to parachute in. Full wingsuit. Red smoke. Claire can arrive on a horse or something.”
“No horse,” Claire said flatly.
“Boat?” Ryker offered. “I’ll come in from the water. Raider craft. Maybe tie in Fort Sumter, do something historical.”
“Yorktown’s an option,” Elias said, already pulling something up on his phone. “You can rent deck space.”
I blinked. “You want to enter your weddings like a coordinated military operation?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Marcus said with a grin.
Vivienne rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”
The guys nodded, their expressions animated now. They were serious.
I took a breath. “Okay. So … large-scale entrances. Possible maritime permits. Sky coordination. This is doable, but I need commitment?—”
“I don’t commit,” a voice said from the doorway.
The shift in the room was immediate. Like a glass of water had just cracked in someone’s hand.
I turned.
He stood with one shoulder leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, black t-shirt pulled across muscle and tension so tightly it could’ve been stitched in place. He didn’t move, didn’t smile, didn’t soften. Just watched me with eyes the color of ash after a fire—still hot underneath, but the damage already done.
Silas Dane.
The seventh. The one not getting married.
The one who hadn’t said a word because he hadn’t needed to.
He looked like he hadn’t spoken to a soul in weeks and didn’t miss it. Like the only thing keeping him in the room was his own decision not to walk away.
And still—still—I felt it.
That sharp, unnerving pull that made my lungs forget what they were doing.
Not now.
Not him.
Not this.
“Not a fan of weddings?” I asked, keeping my tone light, casual, immune to the way his presence made everything feel too still.
His mouth twitched, like I’d amused him. Barely. “I don’t believe in fairy tales. And I don’t dress up for traditions that don’t mean anything.”
“Good news,” I said, flipping to a blank page on my tablet. “You can keep your armor. I don’t plan fairy tales. I plan events. Logistics. Schedules.”
Silas pushed off the doorframe and took a step into the room, and I could feel every inch of it. He didn’t move like a man used to attention. He moved like a shadow that had chosen to materialize.
For some reason, he’d chosen now.
“That’s cute,” he said quietly. “But you’re selling stories. Just dressed up in white.”
