"You sure?"
He rolls his eyes. "You look like you just stepped off a page in GQ. Relax. Besides, you already locked this up. Today is just a formality."
"Yeah, but today is important, Beck. I want it to be everything Avery's ever dreamed about."
He nods. "Understood. You've got this, Nick."
I catch the look Beck gives me as I drop my hand from my tie—part amusement, and something warmer. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to.
These two men have seen me through more than I could enumerate, Beck across boardroom tables and late-night strategy sessions, Gabe through every security crisis and close call. They're here with me today because they want to be.Because after everything, I've somehow earned the kind of loyalty that always shows up, no questions asked.
Gabe steps up and holds out his hand to me. "Congratulations—again. I can't think of a couple who's more deserving than you and Avery."
"I can think of at least one," I say, reminded of his complicated journey with Eve as I shake his hand. When I let go, I give him a brief embrace and a clap on his back. "Thanks for being here, Gabe. You and Eve both."
"We wouldn't miss it." He draws back as his phone buzzes with another incoming text. He gives it a quick look, then glances back up at me. "The team outside says they've got the area cleared and secured a full block in every direction. We're ready for go-time, boss."
My mind drifts to Avery, the way it has been doing all morning. The glimpse I caught of her a few weeks ago at House of Delaire comes back to me in a visceral flash. Avery wearing nothing but ivory lace lingerie and pale-blue silk ribbon against her skin, the swell of her breasts above the delicate cups, the heat that flared in her eyes when she realized I was watching.
I've been carrying that image like a secret ever since, knowing what she'll be wearing beneath her wedding dress today. Knowing that tonight, after the ceremony and the reception and all the public performance, I'll peel every layer off her slowly and take my time with what's underneath.
The anticipation licks through me, a heat that intensifies every time I picture her body beneath mine, her fingers digging into my shoulders, the sounds she makes when I'm inside her. The way she says my name when she's close to coming and can’t hold back her pleasure.
A few hours from now, we'll be alone. Finally. Just my wife and the bed I’ve been dying to get back into with her, and every filthy, reverent thing I intend to do to her tonight.
I want the ceremony. I want the vows and the rings and her hand in mine while the minister pronounces us husband and wife. I want all of it.
But God, I just wanther.
Another knock sounds on the door.
My pulse kicks harder. Every muscle in my body goes taut.
The minister enters, calm, kind-eyed, the placid demeanor of a man who’s performed this ritual easily thousands of times before. But when his gaze finds mine, something in his expression shifts. Perhaps he sees the barely contained energy that radiates off me. Perhaps he recognizes a groom who's been waiting for this moment a hell of a lot longer than the hour he's spent pacing in this vestry.
"Your bride is here, Dominic. It's time."
It’s time. Everything else falls away. Just those words, and the open door ahead of me.
Beck’s hand comes down on my shoulder, firm, brief. No words are needed now. His touch says he’s proud, happy for me. It says he knew I had it in me to turn my life around, even when I didn’t believe it. He nods once and lets go.
Gabe straightens from his post at the window. He nods. "Here we go."
"Yeah." I take one steadying breath. Square my shoulders. Then I step out the door.
The corridor is dim, the sounds of the sanctuary filling the hallowed space. Murmured conversation, the soft strains of strings warming up, the rustle of programs. My footsteps echo against stone floors. When I emerge through the side door, the space opens around me and the scale of this moment registers fully for the first time.
High ceilings soaring toward stained glass. Filtered light fracturing into rivers of cobalt, gold and crimson across the stone floor. Rows of polished pews filled with faces that turntoward me as I take my position at the altar. Bouquets of burgundy roses and white freesia cascade from the ends of each pew and on elegant brass stands at the altar, their fragrance heavy in the air.
I take my position. Beck settles beside me, a solid presence at my shoulder. The minister stands ready, leather-bound Bible in hand.
And then there's nothing to do but watch those doors.
A gathered audience of hundreds in this sanctuary, and not one of them exists for me. My focus narrows to a single point: the pair of carved oak doors at the far end of the aisle, still closed, holding back everything that matters.
Time stretches. The string quartet plays something soft that barely registers. I'm aware of my own pulse, the discipline it takes to stand still when every instinct strains forward. Toward her. Toward the moment those doors will finally open and she’ll appear.
The music shifts.Pachelbel's Canonunfolds through the sanctuary, the notes building, swelling, filling the sacred space with the weight of ceremony.
