“Lana,” she says in that beautiful southern drawl. “Does this text mean what I think it means?”
A silly grin is plastered on my face, and yet I am not embarrassed in the least. “And what do you think it means?”
“Hmm, I’m seeing a white dress and a tuxedo and a very beautiful surprise,” she says, and I can practically see the warm smile on her lips.
“You might be in the right line of thinking,” I tease. “Any chance you can make it down to New York?”
“I really, really wish I could, believe me, Lana,” she says, and I feel disappointment sink into my stomach. “But I’m eight and a half months pregnant. I’ve been having contractions for two days now. They might not be the real deal, but they could turn into it any day.”
“Shit, I forgot,” I say, smacking my palm to my forehead. “Duh. Of course, you need to stay in Boston.”
“I really wish I could be there,” she says, and I can hear how much she genuinely means it from her tone. “You and Ares deserve everything.”
“Thanks, Elle, that means a lot,” I say, biting my lower lip. I need to take another trip to Boston. There’s just something magical about this woman. “I want a picture when that beautiful baby comes, got it?”
She laughs on the other end. “Got it. I will definitely send you a picture. But congratulations, Lana. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you,” I say with a sigh. If things were different, I kind of wish we could live next door to each other and be best friends. We’re wildly different, but fuck it. I love her.
“Bye, Lana,” Elle says, and I say goodbye.
And, immediately, another call comes in, wedding business demanding attention.
An hour before the ceremony,I sit in a private suite at the venue.
The makeup artist lines my eyes with soft smoke and shimmer. The hairstylist pins my curls into a loose half-updo with the rest of my hair left to cascade down my back. There’s a mirror in front of me, and I can’t stop staring at myself like I don’t quite recognize the woman I’ve become.
Not because I look different. But because I feel it.
There’s no fear anymore. No uncertainty.
Only this glowing, grounded, wildfire kind of love.
I’ve died. I’ve been remade. I’ve hunted monsters and battled nightmares. But tonight, I get to be a bride.
And I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
It feels like just a blink later when I’m ready, and outside, the music begins—soft and instrumental, a rising cascade of piano and strings.
From behind the doors, I can hear the murmur of confused voices. Our friends and family all gathered, with no idea why.
The doors swing open.
And I step forward.
I think at most weddings, when the bride steps out, a hush falls over the crowd. Not this one. Because as soon as I step out, the reason for this gathering becomesveryapparent. Atthat same moment, Ares steps out from another door, taking his place at the front of the room.
I’m fucking beaming. And the crowd loses their minds. “No way,” someone mutters. I see Juliet slap Roman’s chest. Florence presses her hands to her mouth and begins to cry. Sysco, none too quietly, says, “fuck yes!” and then grins like an idiot.
It was probably obvious when they walked in and saw the aisle down the middle of the chairs and the beautiful, decorated arch at the front. But me in a white dress and Ares in a tux confirm it for the whole damn world.
I walk myself down the aisle, proud, calm, glowing. The room is awash in twilight—the backdrop is all floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan glittering beyond them like the city knows something magical is happening inside.
And at the end of the aisle stands Ares.
He wears a deep red tux, his dark hair swept back, his expression completely undone. He’s looking at me like I am the only light he’s ever known. Like the sun finally rose after a hundred years of darkness.
Our eyes lock. And I swear I forget how to breathe.
