“Don’t,” I warn, but it comes out thin, breathless.
He turns anyway.
The second his eyes hit me, everything I was about to say burns out of my head. I take a stumbling step backward, holding the train of the dress up like a shield, but it’s useless.
“Lily,” he says, and my name doesn’t sound like a name at all. It sounds like a vow.
I try to hide, but he closes the distance between us in three strides. His hand catches the silk and pulls it out of my grip, the other settling firmly at the curve of my waist, and I forget how to breathe.
“Stop,” I whisper, even as my body leans into him. “This is insane. This is bad luck. This is?—”
His fingers slide up my arm, to my shoulder, to the side of my neck, tilting my chin just enough that there’s no way out. His eyes search mine, holding me there in that charged, impossible moment.
And then he kisses me.
The second kiss of my life with him, and it hits like a freefall.
It’s nothing like the first. It’s deeper, slower, full of everything he just said—everything he’s been holding back for years. My back hits the edge of the desk, his body closing in, the heat of him bleeding through the fabric of my dress. His mouth moves against mine like he has all the time in the world, like this is the start of everything, not just a kiss.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, and his voice is rough and sure.
“This is the beginning of our entire lives, Lily. Because I have been obsessed with you, fucking in love with you, since I knew what love was. And it’s not enough to say I love you. I need you. I will always need you.”
I’m breathless, my hands fisted in the front of his suit jacket, staring up at him wide-eyed and completely undone.
“Holy. Fucking. Shit,” I whisper.
8
ALEKSANDR
Everything is fallinginto place exactly the way I wanted.
From the moment I opened my eyes this morning, there hasn’t been a single crack in the day. Ziggy and Mariana—Lily’s old college friends who flew in and stayed out too late—were the first to stumble out of the guest house, sunglasses already on, looking like they had barely survived the night. Good. They’re here, alive, and I don’t have to worry about them disappearing before the ceremony.
Gwen’s group is here too—Kelsey, David, Taylor—the people she swore could keep a secret as long as I made them sign on the dotted line. Every last one of them signed the NDA without a blink, which means no one outside these walls is going to hear a word about today until I want them to. That part was non-negotiable.
And while they move about the property like it’s a resort, I stand in the middle of the living room and take in what I built for her.
I stripped this room down to its bones for today. Every stick of furniture, every rug, every painting—gone. The walls are hiddennow beneath draped fabric, soft and light, so the entire space feels like it has been remade into something unrecognizable. Hanging from the vaulted ceiling are garlands of wisteria and roses, the whole place dripping in lilac and dusty blue. Hints of gold catch the light where the chandeliers have been wound with silk ribbon, and the floor beneath my feet will be covered in pale petals that lead in a clear line to where she’ll stand with me, once Mia, our flower girl comes down the aisle.
It looks like a spring wedding, like the wedding she once described when she thought I wasn’t listening, only I’ve forced it to bloom in winter. She deserved April, the warmth and the blossoms she wanted, but certain sacrifices had to be made. I could not risk a public venue, could not risk a day that was not under my absolute control. If she ever hates me for that, I will carry it, but I will not let danger touch her. So I gave her this, a private garden grown out of walls and determination, a fortress built from faux flowers that would withstand the chill of a New York December.
Every chair, every stem, every second of this day has been bent to my will. No surprises. I won’t allow it. I built this so Lily could walk into it without a single shadow from her past following her in, so there’s nothing left for her to worry about but me.
And watching it all move like clockwork around me—her friends laughing in the courtyard, the staff moving like a machine, the air itself still and waiting—it’s the first time I’ve felt that calm settle in my chest in months.
I wanted everything to be perfect for her. And for once in my life, I think I have it.
A single note of a guitar engulfs the room, soft and tentative, and then the familiar melody of “A Thousand Years” from oneof Lily’s favorite movies,Twilight,threads through the air like silk. I had it played acoustic, slow enough to feel like every note was suspended, stretching out the moment for as long as it could hold. From the corners of my vision, gold ribbons tremble faintly in the drafts, wisteria sways from the ceiling, and the entire space glows like spring caught in a jar.
Mia is first.
She comes skipping in a little cloud of pink, her puffy dress bobbing with every step, a halo of curls bouncing behind her. She grins the whole way, clutching the bouquet I gave her like it’s a prize, and I hear a few guests laugh under their breath, charmed by her complete lack of composure. It’s perfect. It loosens the room.
Then come Toni and Gio, small hands clasped together, each one of them in little penguin-tail tuxedos with periwinkle accents stitched in neat lines. Their jackets are too long, their polished shoes almost tripping them, but they’re determined. They carry the rings like it’s life or death, and I watch them walk, utterly serious in their duty, and for one sharp, strange second my chest aches.
And then there is Nik.
