Pointing a watery grin up at him, I shake my head. “I’ve got a better exit strategy, but I’ll keep it in mind,” I mutter as I straighten his tie.
His dark eyes flash with understanding. “And Trips?”
“He’s a good man, under all of,” I motion at the excess that surrounds us. “This.”
He nods, knowing what he needs to know, then offers me the crook of his arm. “Then let’s go get you married.”
Nerves flutter in my gut during the endless trek to the ballroom. But my heart bursts into a rapid beat when Walker slinks to me from behind a column, his smile caught between his mask and his true feelings as he takes me in. He tugs me close, his lips feather-light against my cheek. “You might look like a queen, but you’ll always be my princess,” he mutters, and I grip his fingers until the absolute last moment, letting him loose just as the wedding planner calls for the orchestra to start. He bumps into Trevor before he snatches Mattie’s hand, pulling her to his side, and for the first time, I see a protectiveness in him that wasn’t there before.
He may not know Mattie, but he wants to keep her away from her brother.
I can’t help but wonder what all they’ve figured out.
So much of this plan has been out of my control. And while I trust the guys, I can’t help my curiosity about all the changes I’ve missed while locked away.
Trevor’s left with Summer, who wraps herself around his arm. His smile, like his father’s, would look genuine to anyone not well versed in the cruelty these walls hide. He appears fully healed from his attempted poolside murder—I want to find a knife and slice him to pieces, smaller ones than last time.
Some of my anger must show as he strides down the aisle, because my dad settles his palm against the back of my hand. “Easy, mija.” I glance up at him; his dark eyes are quick to take in my fury. “Now’s not the time,” he whispers.
I nod, swallowing yet another emotion, relaxing my face into something appropriate. Walker and Mattie walk past row after row of strangers, Mattie wiggling her fingers atsomeone across the crowd who I can’t see, and I wonder if she sees her secret boyfriend.
At least someone will have a nice time at my wedding.
The music changes, and I squeeze my dad’s arm, anxiety warring with my trust in the guys.
“Are you sure about running? Last chance.”
I huff out a strained laugh. “The only way out is forward,” I reply, and with a deep breath, I step around the column, my dad’s shoulders back and his face as benignly pleasant as my own.
My eyes dash from one side of the aisle to the other, nothing but strangers lined up like soldiers, a few guards behind and to the side of the arch at the end of the ballroom. Feathers decorate the space like blood and darkness; the landscape through the windows barren with snow and naked trees.
Panic grips my throat, but instead of letting it take over, I force my attention forward, locking eyes with Trips.
Some emotion plays across his face, one I can’t quite grasp, but it settles me, seeing him waiting for me at the end of the endless aisle. I flick my eyes at Walker, the love there adding to my strength.
When I reach Trips, my dad presses a kiss to my forehead, and I blink back tears. He squeezes my fingers before he backs away, offering me the last few steps to my future as a solo woman, not an object to exchange.
I’m surprised at how confidently I move toward Trips, even though everything inside of me quakes. I hand my feather bouquet to Mattie, my heartbeat loud in my ears. But then his scarred hands wrap around mine, his palms a little warmand sweaty, and I take my place across from him, the rhythm in my veins settling into a steady beat. And for once, his icy eyes don’t leave me with more questions than answers.
‘Mine,’ he says without words, possession and something greater, headier—an awful lot like love—lighting the space between us.
Where once I’d worry about all the other guys I love, after all these months, after all this time, that fear fades. I am his.
And we both know that doesn’t mean I’m not also tied to the man beside him. Let alone the one out in the winter’s wind, or the one hopefully causing mayhem somewhere else entirely.
Mine. They’re all mine.
And I’m theirs.
Even if the government’s piece of paper only has room for two of our names on it.
The officiant clears his throat, and the ceremony begins. But I can’t look away from Trips, the weight of the moment so heavy that dropping my eyes might break apart the masks we’re forced to wear.
His fingers tremble as he slides a surprisingly diamond-free white gold ring onto my finger, intricate grooves etched into the metal. I dart my eyes to Walker, who just lifts a brow, mischief in his eyes. Trevor realizes a moment later he doesn’t need to continue to pat his pocket for the ring—Walker’s added his own flair to the wedding. I hope that such a minor act of disobedience isn’t enough for him to lose his life.
Meanwhile, Trips grips my hand tighter as he speaks his traditional vows, the words both familiar and fresh coming from the man across from me.
When it’s my turn, I slide a simple silver band over his knuckle, unable to avoid noting how much bigger his fingers are than mine, how much bigger his hands are, he is, the words I repeat terrifying as I promise things we both know I can’t do—namely forsaking all others.
