“Come on.” Alena straddles me on the sofa. I’ve got a hot handful of her, and I’m never letting go. Even as she insists, “They help with puffy eyes.”
“I don’t have puffy eyes.” I laugh, but I’m a smart man. I let my woman do whatever the fuck she wants to me. Like stick dumbass gold patches under my eyes, making me bat them at her. “I only have eyes for you.”
“Aw.” She tilts her head, kissing my lips. “Will you put that in our vows?”
“Babygirl, I will sayyeehawand do a line dance down the aisle foryou.”
“Promise?”
“I’ve already practiced.”
I’m not lying. With all the hoops Nash and Axel have me jumping through to pull off this wedding. Making them my groomsmen and shit. All to keep Alena safe and blissfully unaware because all hell is breaking loose around us?
Damn right, I told my brothers we’re doing a groomsmen dance for Alena. Jace suggested we “Put A Ring On It.” Nick wants to “Save A Horse (Ride A Cowboy).” Sire needs to bring “SexyBack,” while Axel said he’d shoot the DJ, and Nash said he’d just shoot me.
So we’re doing a mashup. Grant’s got the choreography down. We’ve been practicing all week.
How are we getting away with them being my groomsmen? It’s all the bullshit stories Nash has devised about who knows whom and how, and a plan for a non-existent, canceled flight that will prevent my fake family from joining us.
Honestly, I stopped fighting it. I’m too focused on making Alena smile.
And when there’s a crazed trafficker we were interrogating who’s escaped? One who’s on the loose and looking for revenge? For the first time, I agree with Nash—let’s keep Alena in the dark so she can have her dream wedding.
Normally, I think she’d see through the ruse, but she’s been so happy, she doesn’t suspect a thing. She’s too cute, twisting her lips, studying my face.
“Now, about your eyebrows,” she says.
“What about them?” I raise one.
“Can I just?—”
“Nope.” Gently, I grab her fingertips about to pluck a hair. “A man’s gotta draw the line somewhere.”
Sweetly, she pouts. “But it’s for our wedding.”
“I like them,” Vale chimes in about my eyebrows. “They’re all masculine and thick. Leave him some hair and dignity.”
“Thank you, her bestie.” I smile at Vale, bowing my head slightly.
She sits, snuggled in her chair, sporting golden under-eye patches too. Relaxing in a pink satin pajama set, hers match Alena’s.
We’re staying in condos on the Charleston golf course we own, at the resort where we’ll have our nuptials and reception. It’s safe, secure, and the perfect Lowcountry wedding venue.
My mom’s relaxing in a chair beside us, sipping wine in her black silk pajamas. She’s here as Alena’s like a grandmother figure, proudly smiling with her golden eye patches.
But Mom’s gotta feel the twinge of guilt.
The way Alena doesn’t know the truth.
Except that we love her.
I’ve tried bonding with Vale, without Vale knowing who I am, and it hasn’t been easy.
Vale is Nash’s queen now. They could fight their secret love like gravity; you can’t. They fell in it—love, that is—and landed here. With Nash and Vale ready to tell Alena about their relationship after the wedding.
Still, Vale can’t know who I am, that I’m Seven, the youngest king. Because as best friends, Vale will tell Alena, and I respect that.
So I went to Vale’s initiation wearing a mask, praying she didn’t recognize me.
