“Albanian weddings are something.” He straightened his cuffs, looking distinguished and very much the mobster in his dark suit, crisp white dress shirt, and dark sunglasses. “They go on and on, celebrating the couple for days.”
“Sounds… exhausting.”
I slipped my hand into his without thinking and his fingers closed around mine, warm and steady.
“We can leave whenever you’re ready.” He shot me a sideways glance. “I can’t wait to rip that dress off you.”
“Fair warning, Kian, if you do that, I expect two new dresses in return.” I feigned nonchalance while my insides buzzed with anticipation.
“I’ll buy out a store,” he growled. “In every country.”
I chuckled. “So wasteful, but that’s one way to keep the economy going.”
Dark cars lined the drive in tight rows, black and charcoal and deep blue, their mirrored sides catching flashes of movement. Men leaned against them in clusters, their open collars revealing tanned skin. Cigarette smoke curled around them, drifting low over the gravel.
Their heads were bent together, their hands gesturing vividly.Someone slapped another man’s shoulder a little too hard and laughter broke out.
“My first Albanian wedding,” I muttered, watching the scene unfold, “but it seems to start much like others I’ve attended. Men gathering outside to gossip.”
Kian huffed softly, amusement vibrating through his chest. “Give it five minutes.”
As we walked past, several eyes flicked toward us, widening in recognition as they offered a respectful nod at Kian and avoided looking my way entirely.
Some greeted him by name, their expressions shifting subtly when they noticed his grip on my hand. His thumb brushed over my knuckles, slow and deliberate, like he was reminding anyone watching that I wasn’t up for discussion.
“You’re sure I’m dressed appropriately?” I asked again, smoothing my palms over the bodice of my strapless emerald-green dress. It dipped low enough to be daring without crossing into obnoxious, the hem brushing just below my knees when I walked. My shoulders were bare, and the shawl draped around me was more decorative than practical, especially in this heat.
“You’re perfect,” he said as we walked, our steps falling into an easy rhythm.
The certainty in his voice made me smile.
“You really know how to make a woman feel special,” I teased, though the words couldn’t be more true.
Kian was magic for my self-esteem. Not that I’d ever been insecure, but I was human, after all. I noticed my flaws, and I compared myself to other women. I second-guessed myself. But when Kian looked at me, all of that fell away. His gaze held nothing but admiration, as if I were the most beautiful and perfect woman he’d ever laid his eyes on.
Under his attention, I didn’t just feel confident. I felt radiant, like I could walk into any room and own it.
The doors loomed ahead, tall and heavy, their gold handles worn smooth by generations of palms. With every step closer, the soundinside grew louder. The stone beneath my feet vibrated with the beat of the drums, as if the building itself were alive and impatient.
Then the doors swung open.
Colors spilled out, along with music that stunned me into stillness. Red fabric draped the walls in thick folds, gold embroidery catching the light and throwing it back in shards. Chandeliers blazed overhead, reflecting in polished floors already scuffed by dancing shoes. The air was heavy with roasted meat, sugar, smoke, and perfume.
Women in bright dresses moved through the space, their bracelets chiming, their laughter cutting through the noise.
And the bride and groom were in the center of it all.
Dina looked gorgeous, draped in a long dress alive with the most vibrant colors—deep jewel tones woven together and edged with gold accents that caught the light with every movement. She stood out effortlessly, radiant in a way that made the rest of the room seem muted by comparison.
When her eyes met mine, she broke into a smile and lifted her arm, waving before pointing to her wrist. A stack of golden bracelets chimed softly as they slid together, and I assumed my gift was nestled somewhere among them.
The sight eased some of the discomfort in my chest.
Kian had insisted I shouldn’t worry about a present, assuring me he had everything handled. But there was no chance in hell I was going to show up to a wedding—especially Dina’s wedding—without offering something of my own to the bride. So I cornered Sonya a few days ago and interrogated her about customs and traditions for gift giving. She had been more than helpful.
An elderly woman stepped forward to meet us and pressed a kiss to Kian’s cheek.
“Thank you for coming,” she said warmly, and in that instant the resemblance struck me—it had to be Dina’s mother. “And thank you for allowing Dina the use of the palace for her wedding, Kian. You truly shouldn’t have given them such a generous financial gift on top of that. It was far too much.”
