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I turn my hand beneath hers and give her fingers a brief squeeze in return, offering her a small smile to ease whatever concern she might have.

“Perfect,” Liam concludes. “Then all that’s left is attending Mr. Rodrigues’ birthday tomorrow and mentally preparing ourselves for this event.”

“It’s going to be a complete media circus,” Noah groans.

We all agree.

The press won’t be allowed inside, but that won’t stop them from trying to get pictures or information. The entrance to the estate where the venue is located will be absolutely swarmed with reporters.

That’s one of the reasons Colt doubled security.

And the fact that Ethan was the target of that attack is another.

The main reason.

Because even if Ethan acts like he isn’t worried, the rest of us—and especially Thalia—are.

He’s already tired of how much we obsess over his safety, but he doesn’t complain because he doesn’t want to upset his wife.

Now all that’s left is making sure everything goes smoothly tomorrow at Lorelay’s father’s birthday party.

✨

“Are you ready, babe?” I call out to Selene from the living room.

She went upstairs to get ready over two hours ago, and she still isn’t done.

I spent some time reviewing a few contracts in my home office, and by the time I went upstairs to get dressed, she was in the bathroom.

Knowing we’d definitely end up late if I walked in on her, I headed straight for the dressing room instead and came back downstairs once I was ready.

I’ve called for her twice in the last thirty minutes, but each time, she answered with the same: “Almost done.”

With my back turned to the staircase, I don’t see her when she finally comes down, but the soft click of her heels on the steps catches my attention.

I turn, impatience giving way to anticipation as I finally get the chance to see her, but the movement dies halfway when my eyes land on her.

For the first time since we’ve been together, Selene’s hair isn’t purple.

It’s blonde.

Soft golden waves spill over her bare shoulders and cascade down her back, catching the light whenever she moves. For a second, I barely recognize her.

Then she lifts her gaze to mine, and there she is.

My Selene.

The dress clings to every curve of her body as though it was made specifically for her. Pale blue and shimmering beneath the lights, it’s covered in delicate embellishments that sparkle with every step she takes.

Feathers frame the top, brushing softly over her skin and drawing my attention to the exposed line of her shoulders and back. The fabric trails behind her in a dramatic train, following her down the stairs like a flowing ribbon.

She looks unreal.

Like someone pulled straight out of a fantasy I never could have imagined on my own.

And as she slowly makes her way to me, something tightens in my chest so suddenly it almost hurts.

“Your hair isn’t purple,” is the first thing I manage to say.