Sarah's small hand finds Devon's while Jake's muscled arm wraps around Axel’s waist. Axel is the quiet storm of the group, dark hair, darker eyes, built like he could bench press a truck but moves with the grace of a dancer. Then there's Finn, the gentle giant with auburn hair and kind hazel eyes, sliding behind Sarah with hands which could crush walnuts but touch her like she's made of spun glass. Finally Caleb steps into the circle, completing their perfect formation. He's the rebel with his ink-black hair and the kind of smile that probably got him in trouble his whole life.
Six alphas and one omega, moving together like they were born to this, like this is exactly how love is supposed to look.
The song builds, and all six of them throw their hands up in the air, faces flushed with happiness and completely lost in each other and the moment. The whole reception is on their feet now, cheering and whooping as the pack breaks into synchronized moves that are equal parts silly and stunning. Even Aunt Dolly, who's about three sheets to the wind and wearing a purple dress that looks like it escaped from the 1980s, is dabbing her eyes with a cocktail napkin.
This is what a mated pack looks like.
My warm bourbon and brown sugar scent turns sharp with cinnamon, the telltale bite of omega longing I can't quitesuppress. I discreetly spray more perfume on my wrists, the bottle slippery in my suddenly sweaty palms, hoping to mask the sadness before anyone notices.
I press my lips together and grip my iPad tighter, reminding myself I have a wedding to coordinate. It’s warm from my hands, and I can see my reflection on the black screen, all professional smiles and carefully applied makeup that hopefully hides the longing in my eyes.
"Boss. Phone call." Sharon stuffs the phone in my hand.
Sharon Martinez is my assistant and the only reason I haven't had a complete breakdown this wedding season. She's tiny but fierce, with dark hair always pulled back in a no-nonsense bun and eyes that miss absolutely nothing.
My eyebrows furrow as I debate taking the call. She knows that until the first dance ends, she's not supposed to interrupt me unless someone's literally dying. But this is exactly why I hired her at Bourbon Bliss Weddings. Her dark eyes widen as she takes over my iPad, a wordless communication that whoever is on the other line is someone important enough to risk my wrath.
"Hello, this is Savannah Hale of Bourbon Bliss Weddings speaking." My professional voice kicks in automatically, smooth as aged whiskey.
"Sav, it's me!" Emma's voice bubbles through the phone like champagne, bright and effervescent and immediately making me smile despite myself.
Emma Brooks, my BFF. The girl from back home. The one who made me think twice about leaving when I'd had my heart broken one too many times. Emma with her sleek black bob, infectious laugh, and the kind of optimism that should be illegal.
A memory flashes through my mind about Emma holding me while I cried on her couch, tissues scattered around us like confetti, ice cream melting forgotten on the coffee table while Iugly-sobbed about how Logan, Griff, and Xavier all dumped me, not at the same time, but one-by-one.
"I need some air," I mouth to Sharon, who nods and makes shooing motions with her hands.
I head out of the hall and into a quiet space in the garden, my heels clicking against the stone pathway. The December air hits my face like a wake-up call, sharp and clean and carrying the promise of snow. String lights twinkle like stars caught in the bare branches of oak trees, and the scent of pine from the nearby evergreens mingles with the lingering aroma of dinner from inside.
A fountain bubbles softly in the center of the space, somehow still running despite the cold. I can smell the faint omega anxiety rolling off one of the bridesmaids inside, probably stress-eating cake right now, mixed with the satisfied alpha contentment radiating from the grooms. It's the perfect cocktail of wedding night emotions.
"Sav. Are you ready?"
Something in Emma's tone makes my heart start hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape. I know that voice. That's Emma's "I'm about to change your entire life" voice.
"You're getting married."
"I'm getting married!”
We both say it in unison. Then we both scream.
I'm jumping up and down like a caffeinated kangaroo, my heels clicking against the stone pathway in a staccato rhythm that probably sounds like machine gun fire. My phone is still pressed to my ear, and I'm probably deafening poor Emma, but I can't help it. My best friend is getting married! The same girl who once declared she'd rather become a nun than deal with alpha drama is getting married!
"Oh my God, Em! When? How?" My bourbon scent is going full cinnamon-sugar mode, the omega equivalent of a happydance. "Wait, did you know it was coming? I thought you were just high on that new meditation app you downloaded."
Emma's laughter bubbles through the phone, rich and warm and so familiar it makes my chest tight. "Sav, I can't breathe. Stop making me laugh or I'm going to pee myself, and I'm wearing my good underwear today."
"The lacy ones from Victoria's Secret that you save for special occasions?" I gasp, finally stopping my victory dance. My cheeks hurt from grinning so hard.
"The very ones. Which should have been your first clue something was up."
I lean against the fountain, the stone cold against my back through my dress. "Okay, spill everything. And I mean everything. How did he propose? What did you wear? Did you cry? Did HE cry? I need details, woman!"
"So Dax…”
Dax Sullivan. The quiet, sweet alpha who's been pining after Emma since high school but never had the guts to make a move. Dax with his auburn hair that never stays put, kind green eyes, and the gentle hands that make nervous animals calm just by touching them.
"Wait, Dax? 'I'm too shy to order coffee at Starbucks?”
