"I will not let her out of my sight." The words came out rough, dragged through his throat like gravel. The strain in his voice told me exactly how hard that decision had been. "I will not allow her to be harmed. I will not permit another male to touch her."
Chet smiled instantly, the expression sharp and victorious. "Agreed." He clasped his hands together as if sealing a business deal. "She'll be Contestant Number Forty-One. Officially part of the show. You'll have ample opportunity to… get to know her." His eyes flicked between us knowingly. "You just need to go through the motions on camera. What you do behind the scenes—in your private time—is entirely between you and your mate. Except for the mating cuffs. No mating cuffs until the finale."
For the first time since bursting into the church, Chet actually looked at me directly. His gaze skimmed over my face like he was assessing a newly discovered complication. "That is… if she agrees and signs the contract."
Contract? Absolutely not. I had spent the last few weeks signing enough paperwork to last a lifetime. Derek's lawyers had stacked documents in front of me so thick my hand had cramped before I finished the last page. "I'm not signing any contracts."
"My dear, just listen." Chet waved one of his assistants forward impatiently. By now the church was nearly empty, the last few guests disappearing through the broken doors. The chaos had quieted into an eerie stillness. Chet held out a tablet. I stepped away from Egon to take it, though the moment I moved his presence followed like gravity shifting around me, his hand now deliciously warm on the small of my back. It was like he literally could not bring himself to stop touching me.
I liked that. A lot.
"Look," Chet said quickly. "We need you now. Egon and the others already signed their agreements. You're… a complication. But since Egon apparently refuses to do the show without you—" He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "—you can name your price." He pointed at the tablet in my hands. "I didn't tell you that, by the way."
With a sharp flick of his wrist, he signaled the camera crew. "Cut the recording." The lenses lowered immediately, the operators stepping back but staying alert. Apparently, Chet didn't want the entire universe to have a recording of this part of the negotiation.
"Name my price?" I repeated weakly. The adrenaline that had carried me through the last few minutes was starting to fade, leaving my hands slightly unsteady. My fingers tightened around the tablet as the reality of everything crashing down on me caught up all at once.
Chet stepped toward me automatically. He stopped mid-step when Egon growled. The sound rolled through the empty church like distant thunder. "Do not touch her."
Chet sighed dramatically and raised both hands. "Yes. Yes. You beasts are so predictable." He planted his hands on his hips and looked at me again.
"Listen, sweetheart. You're it. You're his mate. That part is clearly settled. But he still has to do the show. If he doesn't, we're looking at doom and gloom for the next batch of bachelors. No show. No aliens allowed to come to our little blue planet to find their mates." He tilted his head slightly. "He'd be dooming them to death, really. Especially the Atlans with mating fever. You know about mating fever?"
"Yes." Of course I did. I'd watched enough episodes to know exactly what happened to Atlan Warlords who didn't find mates. The fever eventually drove them insane, turning them into violent killing machines. And the Atlan people—brutal as their culture could be—didn't tolerate that kind of danger. They executed them.
"Great," Chet said briskly. "Then you understand the stakes." He gestured between Egon and me. "So, here's the deal. We need Egon to do the show. Egon needs you. Therefore, you sign the contract, become an official contestant, and the two of you go through the motions for the next couple weeks." He glanced down at his tablet. "There are only ten days of filming. We start tonight."
I studied him slowly from head to toe. The sequined suit. The feather boa. The untied white shoes. "That would explain your suit."
Chet brightened immediately. "The season opener theme is Royalty Among the Stars," he announced proudly. "Very glitter-forward, as you can see."
He gestured at his electric-blue sequins before sweeping his hand toward Egon's bare chest, which was still dusted with sparkling glitter from whatever ridiculous television segment had brought him here in the first place. "We're already dressed for it."
"I can see that." I looked him up and down again, unable to stop the blunt honesty that slipped out. "You look ridiculous." He truly did. Egon, on the other hand… Egon looked like something I wanted to touch. Taste. Explore. But Chet? Chet looked like a peacock that had rolled in a craft store.
"Yes. Yes. It's theater, dear. Don't change the subject." Chet pointed impatiently to the tablet still glowing in my hands, his sequined sleeve flashing under the dim church lights. "The appearance contract is right there. All you have to do is enter what you want for the appearance fee and sign. On camera, the two of you pretend like you're just getting to know each other—which, technically, you will be. In private…" His gaze flicked toward Egon, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You do you. I don't need details."
He waved a hand dismissively. "You keep it quiet. No one can know. At the end of the show, he chooses you, puts his mating cuffs on you—which is clearly what he wants—and everybody wins. We get a fantastic season, the males on The Colony get their chance to come to Earth and find their mates, the network gets ratings that will melt their servers…" His smile softened as he looked at me. "And you, my dear, will be the biggest winner of all."
For a moment—just a moment—the showman vanished. The bright, theatrical persona dropped away and something more human peeked through. Concern. Sympathy. Maybe even genuine kindness. It lasted less than a minute. Then the salesman returned.
"Name your price," he said, spreading his arms wide and gesturing at the wreckage of the church around us. Shattered doors hung crooked on their hinges. Flower petals littered the marble floor. Abandoned chairs sat overturned between the pews. "This is already a mess," he added calmly. "What do you have to lose?"
He wasn't wrong. There was no undoing what had just happened. My fingers moved before I could overthink it. I tapped the tablet screen and opened the payment field. For a few seconds I stared at the blinking cursor. Then I typed. The number that appeared made my stomach flip. It was absurd. Impossible. Quadruple what Derek had promised me. A number no sane television producer would ever agree to. I turned the screen toward Chet.
He didn't even blink. Without hesitation he scribbled his initials beside the number, scrolled to the bottom of the document, and signed with a quick flick of his finger. "Ten days on set and you're rich," he said breezily. "If this thing with Egon doesn't work out, you still win."
A low sound rolled from Egon's chest beside me. It was unmistakably a growl. "She is my mate." The deep rumble vibrated through the air between us, making the hair along my arms prickle.
Chet shrugged as if alien Warlords growling possessively over brides was just another Tuesday. "That's between you and her." His gaze shifted back to me. "Sign it and we're good to go."
Holy. Shit. My hands trembled slightly as I stared down at the contract. Ten days. A ridiculous amount of money. An alien Warlord who had just crashed my wedding and claimed me like something out of my wildest sex dreams. My pulse hammered once in my ears. Then I signed.
The moment I handed the tablet back to Chet, Egon moved. One second I was standing. The next I was airborne. His arm slid beneath my knees while the other curved around my back, lifting me effortlessly as if I weighed nothing at all. My wedding gown—twenty pounds of silk, tulle, and crystal beadwork—might as well have been feathers for all the effort it required from him. He pulled me against his chest. The warmth of his skin pressed through the thin lace of my bodice. My cheek landed against his glitter-dusted shoulder, and the scent of him surrounded me instantly. My arms wrapped instinctively around his neck.
He held me easily as he turned toward the ruined church doors. Each step he took was steady and powerful, his boots crunching over splintered wood and crushed flower stems without hesitation. He didn't even slow as he navigated the wreckage. Being carried by him felt strangely natural. Safe. Like I had somehow always belonged right here in his arms.
As we passed the altar, I caught a glimpse of Derek. He was still sprawled among the destroyed flower arrangements, his expensive tuxedo torn and dusted with petals. His hair had fallen loose across his forehead, and his expression was twisted into something I couldn't quite decipher. Anger. Shock. Maybe something darker. But whatever he felt… it no longer had anything to do with me.
