She sighs, adjusting herself in my lap, the soft pressure making me groan under my breath.
“This is such a beautiful spot for a wedding,” she murmurs, her gaze sweeping across the view. “It’s like a fairytale.”
My gaze follows hers, drifting toward the horizon. The Victorian castle in New Paltz that Fergus selected for his fourth wedding sits nestled in the Shawangunk Mountains, its ivy-clad turrets and golden stone glowing in the dusk-drenched sky. Around us, the reception spills across the manicured grounds. Tables draped in white linen are scattered beneath ancient oaks. The outdoor dance floor hums beneath a canopy of twinkling string lights, their glow catching the swirl of movement. But the real showstopper is the dragon ice sculpture—which, let’s face it, probably has a longer shelf life than most of Fergus’ marriages.
It’s ridiculous, over-the-top—exactly like Fergus.
“I hope he signed a prenup,” I muse as I spot Fergus’ new bride berating one of the waiting staff in what must be her third outfit change of the day. I mean, who has three wedding dresses?
“At this rate,” I continue. “Fergus will be working until he’s eighty-five to fund all his divorces.”
“Chase!” Violet gives me a look, but her mouth twitches like she’s holding back a laugh.
“Oh, come on,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “When the minister said ‘you may kiss the bride,’ she looked about as enthusiastic as if he suggested keyhole surgery.”
“Well, Fergus was definitely into it,” she adds, scrambling for a positive.
“Yeah, I thought we’d need a crowbar to get his tongue out of her throat.”
This time, her laugh breaks free. It vibrates softly against my chest as I pull her closer, kissing her neck, just breathing her in.
The moment shatters with a sharp ping from her clutch. Violet groans, leaning forward to fish out her phone. Martin’s name flashes on the screen—again.
“Does Martin realize he can store more than one name in his contacts?” I grumble.
“He’s just making sure everything’s running smoothly with the New York branch,” she says, slipping the phone back into her bag.
“It’s been open three months now,” I add. “I think he can relax.”
Three months of bliss since she moved back to run Nexora’s new Manhattan office. Three months of waking up to her. Of having her in my city, in my bed, full-time. The three months of back-and-forth between London and New York make our time together now all the sweeter.
“We’re planning a client event,” she continues, “just finalizing the guest list.”
I rest my chin on her shoulder. “I assume I’m on the list.”
“Erm, well... we thought you might steal the limelight.”
I narrow my eyes. She tries to play it cool, but I can see the faint twitch at the corners of her lips. I reach up, cupping her jaw and tilting her head toward me. “I hope you’re joking, Violet.”
“You’re too easy to tease,” she grins, her breath catching slightly when my teeth graze the shell of her ear.
“It’s a good thing you like to be punished,” I murmur, fingers tightening around her waist, the urge to drag her back to our hotel suite already thick in my blood.
Before my thoughts drift to the gutter, small, sticky fingers, tiny nails painted pastel blue, tap my knee, forcing me to peel myself off Violet.
“Uncle Chase.” I look down to see Lillie’s adorable face staring up at me. She’s wearing her newElsadress, the one Violethelped me pick out. Because, apparently, now I’m the kind of man who goes to the Disney store on the weekends.
“Queen Elsa,” I say, solemn as a knight.
She giggles. “No, silly. It’s me, Lillie.”
I feign shock. “Oh, wow, Lillie, are you sure?”
She leans in, whisper-serious. “Is Violet busy right now?”
Violet leans forward, intrigued. “Why, what’s up, Lillie?”
Lillie shuffles on her feet, cheeks flushing pink. “Do you wanna come to the bounce house with me?”
