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We moved the coffee table to clear a space in the living room and started running through it.

Just practice.

That’s what I told myself.

I stood behind her, hands hovering near her shoulders. She turned to me, face tilted up like she wasn’t about to punch straight through my chest just by looking.

“Do I flinch or melt when you ‘bite’ me?” she asked.

I deadpanned. “Ideally? A little of both.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away. I stepped in close. Leaned forward. My mouth hovered near her neck…close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.

I didn’t touch her. I didn’t breathe. But her scent wrapped around me anyway. Soft and sharp. Like cedar and morning. Like heat. Like her.

My pulse stuttered in my throat. My wolf pushed forward, clawing inside my chest. He knew what this was. He wanted it for real.

But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

She deserved to choose. To understand. To say yes with her whole self.

I closed my eyes and pulled back. The air between us felt electric. Dangerous. Like one wrong move would light the whole room on fire.

“Okay. From the top,” Maggie whispered.

I nodded and stepped back. Reset.

Again.

If I played this wrong, I could lose her.

If I played it right, I still might.

The bell above the bridal shop door chimed softly. Inside, everything smelled like lavender and money—some expensive candle combination that warned me not to touch anything unless I could afford a spontaneous destination wedding.

I followed Maggie in and immediately regretted every decision I’d made that brought us here. Cream walls. Rose gold racks. Mirrors everywhere. Some vaguely witchy music playing low under the buzz of recessed lighting.

A saleswoman glides toward us with a terrifying amount of enthusiasm. “Welcome to Precious Lace! Here for a dress fitting?”

I opened my mouth to say no, but Maggie nodded like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Yep,” she said. “He’s the mate. I’m the problem.”

The saleswoman laughed like that was cute. I tried to smile. It probably looked like a grimace.

Words like purity fabric, ceremonial layering, and lunar silk started flying around like confetti. I stood stiffly beside a mannequin wearing a dress that had more crystals than fabric and kept my hands shoved in my pockets, pretending I wasn’t dying inside.

Maggie disappeared behind a curtain with a handful of options. I could hear her voice—casual, a little snarky, and a whole lot of strain underneath it all. She was pretending too. That’s what we did. Because if we pretended well enough, maybe no one would notice we were both a little broken under the surface.

I tried not to pace.

My wolf didn’t understand what we were doing here. He kept scratching at my chest, confused, growling in circles. This should’ve been a mating moment. Real. Sacred. But it wasn’t.

“Ready?” Maggie called, then pulled the curtain aside.

My brain stopped working.

The dress was simple. White, fitted, no glitter or lace. It hugged her waist and hit just above the ankle. Her shoulders were bare, and the light caught her skin, making it look like she belonged in a painting. Her hair was piled on top of her head in careless elegance, a few strands falling out like they’d gotten bored of perfection.