I feel her shaking beside me. So, I dip my head, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“Just look at me, Dove.”
She does.
God help me, she actually does. Those wide, glassy eyes lock onto mine, and everything else falls away. The noise dulls. The flashes blur. The chaos dissolves until it’s just the sound of our breathing and the small, steady weight of her hand in mine.
“Smile for me, Mrs. Baker,” I murmur.
She does. Shy, soft and radiant. The crowd loses its goddamn mind.
Mac and Logan flank us, grinning like proud parents. Chace throws an arm around Sam, dragging him into the shot. Clay and Dean hang back, both annoyingly composed, like they’re posing for a record cover. The whole thing feels wild and surreal and a little bit perfect. Then I catch Seraphina’s trembling breath, and before I can think better of it, I tilt her back—one hand at the small of her back, the other steadying her wrist. The flashes explode brighter as I lean in, closing the distance until my lips find hers. For half a heartbeat, the world stops spinning.
Then security steps in, parting the crowd, voices calm but firm. “Make way, please—coming through!”
I straighten, keeping her tucked tight against me as we’re guided down the courthouse steps. Cameras follow us, shoutingquestions until we reach the car. My pulse is still hammering from that kiss. I open the door for her, and she slides inside, looking up at me with that dazed, breathless expression—the kind that’ll haunt me later. I follow her in, the door shutting behind us, sealing out the noise. As the car pulls away, I exhale, finally meeting her gaze. She’s still staring. Lips parted. Eyes bright.
I grin, voice low and rough. “Guess that’ll make front page.”
Her laugh is soft, almost a whisper. “You kissed me.”
I shrug, leaning back in the seat. “Seemed like the right thing to do, Mrs. Baker.” Her smile curves slow, hesitant—but it reaches her eyes. Then, she shocks the hell out of me.
She leans closer, eyes never leaving mine, fingers brushing the tattoo at my throat—the barbed wire crown—before tracing the edge of my jaw. Her touch burns. Light but certain. Then her hand slides to the back of my neck, into my hair, and she pulls me down. Her mouth meets mine. When she finally pulls back, breath trembling, her lips are parted, eyes shining like dawn. I can’t move. Can’t think. Can barely breathe.
She smiles. “Now I’ve kissed you.”
Uh oh. We are one hundred and ten percent in trouble.
I let out a breath, a half-smirk tugging at my mouth. “Yeah,” I rasp. “You did.”
Her blush blooms across her cheeks, and when she smiles—really smiles—I swear the whole world tilts on its axis.
Chapter twenty-two
Seraphina
Rockstar (feat. 21 Savage) – Post Malone, 21 Savage
Ihope he doesn’t think less of me for kissing him.
Caught up in the moment, he’s profoundly quiet, like nothing could shake him—and yet everything about him shakes me. He didn’t pull away. My heart races whenever I catch him watching me, those green eyes dark and electric, and I swear they can see right through me. Everything is a blur. His lips—tender, impossibly soft—pressed against mine again. His silver lip ring kissed cool against my skin, contrasting with the heat pooling low in my stomach. His expression—so earnest, so quietly awe-struck—has my stomach doing flips I didn’t know were still possible.
I can’t believe it.
We kissed…again.Not in front of anyone. Not a show. Not a performance. Just us.
It’s matrimony. It’s real. It’s happening. But it can’t be. He said as much. Yet… maybe it can? Is it selfish to want more? When he has given me more ina single day than I’ve ever received in my life—Trey Baker. My husband.
Seraphina Baker.
The words feel strange but right, like they’ve been waiting for me all along. And I want him. I want him in the way that makes every fear and hesitation dissolve, leaving only the pull, the ache, the undeniable draw of something that feels like forever—even if forever isn’t promised, even if the world is watching.
I blink, and suddenly we’re here—Portland International Airport, PDX sprawled beneath the afternoon sun, and Trey’s hand is firm on mine as he helps me out the sleek black car. Huge planes shift around, landing and taking off, the sound whipping up with the wind crashing over us on the runway. The roar is deafening, yet somehow it fades into the background, muted by the thrum of my heartbeat. The air is warm, tinged with jet fuel and the faint metallic scent of the tarmac. My white lace dress flutters around my ankles in the breeze, the hem teasing my toes. I’ve never been on a plane before—never even imagined a moment like this—and yet here I am, standing at the foot of a private jet, it’s polished exterior gleaming under the sun, steps folded out.
I glance at him—my husband—and for the first time I notice how calm he is. Like this is routine, like he does this every day. The contrast hits me hard. In my old life, the world felt jagged, every step uncertain. Here, now, everything stretches out smooth and improbable. And Trey…he is untouchable, effortless in a way that makes me feel like I am playing dress-up in someone else’s life. I soak it all in. The sights, the sounds. Trey. His expression bemused as I feel like I look at everything almost slack jawed.
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, a wordless question. Ready? I nod, unable to speak, letting him guide me toward the jet. The steps are cool under my bare ankles, the lace brushing against my legs, the sound of it whispering with every careful step. Trey’s hand stays at my back, steadying, but there’s a watchfulness there I can’t ignore. Every subtle shift of my gaze, every falter of my heart, he notices.
