No one went to jail. Love you more, almost-husband.
I smile at the screen, a stupid, dreamy smile that doesn’t fade even as my eyes drift shut.
The city hums outside the window, neon reflecting off the harbor. My lashes flutter closed.
And just like that—still glowing, still grinning—I fall asleep.
Loved. Safe. Ready.
Chapter 24
Alex Sebring
I’ve played championship games in packed stadiums. Stared down cameras, crowds, a sea of doubters. But nothing has ever made my hands shake like putting on these cuff links.
Gold. Polished. Custom-engraved with our initials and wedding date. I slide one through the buttonhole with stiff fingers and catch my reflection in the mirror.
Black tux. Crisp collar. Hair combed back with almost military precision. I am a man ready to say “I do.”
There’s a soft knock at the door. First, it cracks and then Tina steps in, elegant in a black satin dress, her hair swept up, a soft shimmer at her throat.
She pauses when she sees me, eyes warm and soft. “I’ve never thought you looked much like your father,” she says as she crosses the room. “But right now, you remind me of him on our wedding day.”
She stops in front of me, eyes shining, and reaches up to adjust my tie.
“All buttoned-up and pretending you’re not about to fall apart inside.” A soft laugh leaves her. “He was the same way. Stoic on the outside. Wrecked on the inside. It’s how I knew he meant it.”
She steps back enough to take me in, her gaze tracing over my face. “I used to wonder if you’d ever let someone in—not just into your life but into your soul.”
Her hands land on my shoulders. Steady. Sure.
“And Magnolia came along.” She smiles, eyes glassy but full of pride. “I saw it on your face the night you brought her to the house. You looked at her like your entire world was sitting right next to you.”
A pause. A breath.
“I told Alexander that night—after you two left. ‘That’s the one he’ll marry.’”
“Magnolia is my everything,” I manage, voice rough.
“I know,” she whispers. “And she feels the same about you.”
She gives my arm a gentle squeeze and smooths the fabric of my jacket.
“Your bride is going to be breathtaking,” she says with a soft smile. “But it won’t be the dress or the flowers or the setting that undoes you. It’ll be her.”
She leans up and kisses my cheek. “You’re ready, Aleki.”
I manage a crooked smile and she slips out. The door closes, and I exhale, only for it to open again. This time it’s my father, his expression carved in quiet steel.
Dad walks in with the same silent weight he always carries—shoulders squared, tie perfect, presence unmistakable. He says nothing for a long moment, studying me.
“You ready?” he asks.
“As I’ll ever be.”
He nods. Steps closer.
“Love isn’t something you fall into once,” he says. “It’s something you choose every day. When you’re tired. When she’s mad. When life feels too damn heavy and you don’t like each other much that day.”
