I nod without looking back. The door closes behind me and I'm in the hallway, then the stairs, then bursting onto the street to hurry to my car. To my relief, there is no press waiting to pounce on me. I climb behind the wheel, my entire body shaking.
I have to talk to Nick. I fumble in my purse for my phone, pulling it out with trembling hands. Then I hit Nick’s savednumber and wait for it to connect, doing everything I can to hold back the dread and panic that’s clawing at the back of my throat.
Pick up, Nick. Please, pick up fast.
6
NICK
"Credentialed entry at everydoor. No exceptions."
“Absolutely,” Gabriel Noble assures me. My former chief of security, now head of his own private outfit, sits on the other side of the desk from me. Beck occupies the chair beside him, legal pad covered in his sharp handwriting.
Gabe’s got his tablet in hand, running through logistics with the same tactical precision he always brought to Baine International. His voice is steady, methodical, but I'm already three steps ahead, mapping the gaps in what he's proposing. The church is defensible. Limited access, controlled sightlines, one main entrance we can bottleneck. The reception venue is the problem. Multiple service entrances, catering staff rotating in and out for the duration of the event.
"Do we have guest list verification covered?" I ask.
He nods. "Cross-referenced against your approved roster. Photo ID required. Anyone not on the list doesn't get through the door." Gabe scrolls through something on his screen, then turns it to show me the floor plan schematic. "Press will beconfined to this designated area. Roped off, supervised. No opportunity to roam."
"And if they try?"
"My team will escort them out. Quietly, of course. But firmly."
I nod, but my jaw tightens at the memory that surfaces unbidden. Yesterday afternoon outside House of Delaire. The swarm descending, a dozen photographers materializing from nowhere, cameras already raised, shouting ugly questions.
"Nick! How does it feel marrying a woman whose mother's a convicted killer?"
"Did you pay for your mother-in-law’s parole, Nick?"
"Avery, what do you say to people who think you're a gold-digger?"
The sonsofbitches. I wanted to break every one of their cameras with my bare hands and shove them down their throats.
"The photographers outside the wedding dress designer’s studio yesterday," I say, keeping my voice level. "It seems like they were coordinated. They had their cameras up before we stepped outside."
Gabe's expression sharpens. "Yeah, that doesn’t sound random. Someone must’ve tipped them off about the appointment."
The possibility sits wrong in my chest. A leak somewhere. I can’t imagine any of Avery’s friends betraying her like that. Serena Delaire’s reputation for confidentiality is impeccable, so it’s equally difficult to think that she or her employees would jeopardize the house’s reputation just for a personal payday. But who does that leave? Someone else in our orbit? The thought courses through me, leaving cold anger in my veins.
"I'd recommend a protective detail on Avery," Gabe continues. "Discreet. Two-person rotation, plainclothes, maintaining distance. Not bodyguards, just a buffer between her and anyone who gets too aggressive."
Every instinct I have screams yes. Lock it down. Shield her. Keep her safe from the vultures who think they have any right to her space, her peace, her person.
But I can still feel the way she pulled back this morning when I suggested she let Patrick drive her to the studio. The flash of something stubborn and proud in her green eyes.I love my freedom. I don’t want to let a few assholes take that away from me.
She drove herself. Insisted on it.
Avery values being free to move through the city without feeling surveilled, controlled, caged. She spent too many years trapped by circumstances beyond her control. I won't be another cage, no matter how gilded.
But yesterday's assault isn’t going to leave my memory anytime soon. Her hand tightening on my arm as the photographers closed in. The way her breath quickened, shallow and fast. The smile she wore like armor while her pulse raced beneath my fingers.
I can't let that happen again.
The war inside me is brief but brutal. Protect her. Respect her. Both demands pulling in opposite directions, and no clean way to satisfy them both.
"I'll talk to her first," I say finally. The words cost me something. "I won't put a detail on her without her agreement. But have the team ready. If she says yes, I want them in place within the hour."
Gabe nods once. "Understood."
