Page 89 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

“Mrs. Hawthorne-Pierce.” Altair lifts his glass. “Welcome.”

Just that. Welcome. Not congratulations. Not good luck. Welcome.

“To what?” I ask before I can decide whether that is an appropriate response to a man everyone at the Retreat practically treats like royalty.

The faintest hint of amusement touches his mouth. “Our world.”

My pulse beats once, hard.

I glance toward Lucian. Then Caleb. They offer no explanation.

Altair’s gaze moves among the three of us. “May you prove worthy of one another.”

That sounds less like a blessing than a challenge. Which is probably why it feels right, coming from him.

Without another word, he seems to glide away, disappearing among the gathered guests.

“That man is terrifying.”

Lucian takes a drink. “One of his better qualities.”

Before I can respond, another small group approaches.

And I recognize them. Not because we have met. Because I have spent entirely too much time researching the dangerous men who took over my life.

Dorian Vale. His wife, Isla.

The photograph of Lucian speaking with Dante Moretti at their wedding was one of the first pieces of evidence that sent me down the rabbit hole in the middle of the night.

Dorian shakes hands with both of my husbands. Then Isla turns to me. Her gaze is warm. Knowing, somehow.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“I know this crowd can be a lot.”

I glance at the men surrounding us. “That might be an understatement.”

Something in her smile suggests she understands far more than she says.

“We’re glad you’re here.”

Here. Another welcome. Another quiet assertion that there is apparently already a place for me in a world I didn’t know existed a few weeks ago.

Before I can think too deeply about that, Dorian and Isla move on.

Then I see the next trio approaching.

The woman is between two men. Not physically trapped between them. Simply there, as if the space belongs to her.

That is what captures my attention. She looks comfortable. One of the men has his hand at her back. The other stands close enough that their shoulders nearly touch. Neither seems to overwhelm her. And somehow she does not disappear between them. If anything, she seems to be the center of gravity holding all three together.

“Rylee,” Lucian says.

The woman smiles at me. “Sophie. I’ve wanted to meet you.”

Again with that.