Ting. Ting. Ting.
The sound cuts through the music. A few heads turn.
Ting. Ting. Ting.
More people notice, and the DJ stops the music. The dance floor clears as people step back, creating a circle around us. Conversations die down, all eyes turning toward the center of the room, toward us.
"I apologize for the interruption," he says, his voice carrying across the silent room. "I promise this isn't a best man speech—I already subjected you all to that earlier." A ripple of laughter moves through the crowd. "But I couldn't let this night end without sharing something." He turns slightly, pulling me closer to his side, and the warmth of him against me is the only thing keeping me from bolting. "See, my brother here…" He gestures toward the head table where his brother sits, looking thoroughly confused. "He's always been the romantic one. The guy who writes love letters and remembers anniversaries without a reminder. Wears his heart on his sleeve."
More laughter. Laney grins, nudging her husband with her shoulder.
"Meanwhile, I'm the guy who, in all honesty, has an exit strategy before the first date ends, keeps people at arm's length like it's my job, and has made a career out of not taking anything too seriously." There are a few knowing chuckles from friends who've clearly witnessed this firsthand. "My longestcommitment before this was to my gym membership, and I still found reasons to ghost it half the time."
The room erupts in laughter. Even I feel my lips twitch despite the panic coursing through my veins.
But then his expression shifts, the lightness draining away. "Here's the thing, though, that was by design." His voice drops. "I had to keep things bottled up, had to keep my heart under lock and key, because it was never really available to give away."
The room has gone quiet again, hanging on his every word.
He turns to me fully, and the look in his eyes steals whatever breath I have left. "I gave it away a long time ago," he says, and his voice is soft enough that I almost believe him. Almost forget this is all an act. "And seeing all of you gathered here tonight, celebrating love, has inspired me. It’s made me realize I don't want to spend another day pretending. Another day without my heart."
My throat tightens. This isn't fair. He's too good at this.
His gaze holds mine for one more beat before he turns back to the crowd. "When you know, you know. And I know I don't want to spend another day without calling her my wife."
A collective gasp ripples through the crowd. My face is on fire as every single person in this room is staring at us like we've lost our minds. Maybe we have.
The room is so quiet I can hear the soft clink of silverware, someone's nervous cough. From the head table, his brother, London, and Laney stare blankly. They are both very aware of my predicament and how marriage is the only solution to my dilemma, but I don’t think either one of them actually thought this would happen, let alone like this, on their night. Then Trigger gives London a look. It's subtle, barely there, but I catch it. A slight tilt of his head, a raise of his eyebrows.I'm doing this. Are you with me?
He glances at Laney, who's watching with wide eyes and a hand pressed to her mouth. Then, he looks back to Trigger, and the corner of his mouth lifts, just barely, but I suppose it's permission all the same.
Trigger's hand tightens around mine, and suddenly we're moving again. He leads me through the parting crowd, and whispers follow as we pass. The wall of windows looms ahead, floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking Hale Ranch. Officiant Reynolds stands there waiting with a kind smile and a small black book already in his hands.
"So without further ado," Trigger announces, his voice carrying across the room as we reach the windows, "welcome to part two of the evening. The part where I take Asha Fairfield as my wife."
The sound of glass slamming against wood cracks through the room like a gunshot. Every head whips toward the source.
My father.
He's standing at his table near the back, his highball glass slammed down so hard I'm surprised it didn't shatter. His face is a storm, dark eyes blazing with fury. He didn't just hear an announcement. He heard a declaration of war. Trigger didn't ask him, didn't come to him for permission, didn't request my hand, as tradition demands. And this isn't a traditional Indian wedding…no mehendi, no sangeet, no seven pheras around the sacred fire. But worse than all of that is the look in his eyes when they lock on mine. He knows.
My father has built an empire on reading people, on spotting a con from a mile away. And right now, standing there in his tailored suit, with his reputation on the line, he knows exactly what this is. A lie.
He takes a step forward. Then another. The crowd parts for him as my father storms across the reception hall, his gaze never leaving mine. Panic starts to claw up my throat. This is it. He'sgoing to call us out. He's going to expose this whole charade before it even begins, and then everything I've been working toward will fall apart.
Unless…I step up. It's my turn to be convincing. My turn to sell this lie so thoroughly that even my father, the man who taught me how to spot deception, believes it.
I pull my hand from Trigger’s and move to meet my father halfway, closing the space between us before he can reach the windows, before he can make a scene in front of the officiant, in front of everyone.
"Dad—"
"Don't." His voice is low, deadly quiet. The kind of quiet that's more terrifying than yelling. "Don't you dare."
We're standing in the middle of the reception hall now, surrounded by guests pretending not to watch while hanging on every word. I can feel their eyes on us, can hear the whispers starting.
"I know what you're thinking," I start.
"Do you?" He takes another step closer, and I have to fight the urge to retreat. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? What this looks like?"
