I take it. My heart does a little tap-dance as I run my thumb over the seal. It’s just a cheap white envelope, but someone has stamped it with a wolf head wax seal. It doesn’tlookCouncil official so I allow my anxious heartbeat to slow. I open it.
Inside is a single line of text:Come to the garden at one o’clock. Dress code: extra.
I look at Bastion. He shrugs, but the way his mouth twitches tells me everything I need to know.
They’ve planned something.
I smile warmly. “I’ll be there.”
Bastion and Wyatt take turns kissing me before leaving me to get ready. And then I don’t see them at all for the rest of the morning. I don’t mind. I have my own surprise to prepare for them.
I slide hangers across the rack until my fingers catch on satin—the dress with watercolor splotches that fade from cotton-candy pink to robin's-egg blue, mirroring my hair. The hem swishes against my thighs as I twirl once before the mirror. My reflection blinks back at me, cheeks flushed, as I dab silver shimmer across my eyelids with my pinky finger, then twist my hair up with practiced fingers until loose tendrils frame my face. It’s all topped off with a glow I couldn’t recreate with make-up if I tried.
Honestly, I’m not sure how they haven’t noticed yet.
By one in the afternoon I’m making my way downstairs toward the set of double doors leading to the garden. I press mypalm to my sternum, feeling the rabbit-quick flutter beneath my skin. The blood rushes in my ears like ocean waves, drowning out everything but the sound of my own breathing. My fingers tremble against the doorknob, leaving damp prints on the brass. I’m excited and nervous all at once.
What have they been planning?
I push open the door, and the world explodes with color.
The garden is unrecognizable. Overnight—literally overnight—the entire back yard has been transformed into a living art installation. There’s a winding path of crushed blue glass pebbles, snaking through beds of tulips and hyacinths and every other spring flower that exists. Someone has trimmed the hedges into weird, spiraling shapes, each topped with what looks like an artfully placed disco ball. Butterflies float in the air like confetti, and the scent is so thick I can taste it on my tongue.
In the middle of it all, there’s a table set for four: linen cloth, candles even though it’s daytime, and a three-tiered cake strawberry-topped cake. Bastion is already there, holding a glass of champagne, and Ranier is next to him, looking only slightly less out of place in a navy suit and actual tie. Wyatt, who’s wearing also wearing a blue suit, appears from behind me and offers his arm. I take it and walk with him toward the rest of our pack.
“What the hell?” I laugh as tears sting my eyes. “How did you doallof this? Whatisthis?”
“Brunch,” Wyatt offers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I shake my head. We get to the table and Ranier passes out champagne glasses, but I set my down for now amongst a spread of croissants, fresh fruit, cheese, and other savory items.
“Okay, someone please tell me what’s going on.” I can’t keep my eyes off everything they’ve transformed this garden into.
Bastion appears beside me with a charming grin. “We wanted to do something nice for you.”
Wyatt nods. “Because you survived the absolute worst pack of idiots in history.”
Ranier, who’s been quiet, finally speaks. “And because we love you. More than anything.”
I look at each of them in turn. Ranier with his serious eyes softened at the edges. Bastion's dimple deepening as he grins. Wyatt bouncing slightly on his toes. My chest aches, a physical pressure behind my ribs that makes it hard to breathe, as if my heart has grown too many sizes too big for the cavity that holds it. I press my palm against my sternum, feeling the wild flutter beneath my skin, and wonder if there will ever be enough room inside me to contain everything I feel for these three ridiculous, beautiful, wild men.
I open my mouth to say “I love you too,” but Bastion interrupts. “Wait, wait, you’ll ruin the vibe,” he says, and fishes a tiny blue box out of his jacket pocket.
My brain short-circuits.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, and for the first time in my life, I am completely speechless.
Bastion opens the box and inside is a ring—not the delicate, diamond-dusted ones I’ve seen in magazine ads, but a chunk of blue topaz set in a band of matte silver, engraved with the Everhart sigil. “You’re already our omega,” he says, voice suddenly shaky. “And perhaps this was always a logical next step. But we thought…”
Wyatt pulls out another box, this one velvet and green. Inside sits a silver ring with three tiny sapphires side by side. “That maybe we’d do at least one thing traditionally around here.”
Ranier slides a third box across the table. His is plain black, but when I open it, there’s a simple silver band with the word“always” stamped into the metal. No stones, no frills, just the promise. So very Ranier.
They look at me, all three of them, and I realize I’m crying, because the rings are beautiful and completely, utterly perfect.
“So,” Bastion says, voice rough with nerves I’m surprised to hear he’s feeling. As if this wasn’t the surest moment in history. “Will you marry us?”
The air goes still, except for the faint sound of Wyatt’s foot tapping under the table.
