Slipping it only confirms my instinct.
When I step out, Cole goes utterly still. His eyes drag over me slowly, and for once there’s no smirk, no teasing edge. Just awe.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “That’s it. That’s the one.”
It’s not the first time he’s said it. He would marry me in a garment bag. But this time, when I look in the mirror, half-expecting to hate it the way I hated the others, I don’t. I love it. This is the one. The black dye will make it perfect. Witchy, gothic, and mine. For the first time, I actually see myself getting married. Not as a parody of a bride, but asme.
Then I glance at the price tag. My stomach drops.
“Oh no. Nope. Absolutely not.” I whirl, already reaching for the zipper. “That’s highway robbery. I could buy a whole library’s worth of rare first editions for that price.”
Cole is off the white upholstered settee in a heartbeat, stepping into my path.
“You love it.”
“That’s not the point. I can’t drop that kind of money on a dress I’ll wear once.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. He pulls out his wallet like the conversation’s already over.
“Cole,” I hiss, batting at his hand. “Don’t you dare—”
“Too late.” He hands over his card to the saleslady, who looks like she might faint with relief after the lingerie incident. “She’s taking it home.”
I gape at him.
“You can’t—”
He tips my chin up with two fingers, his eyes locking on mine, steady and unmovable as the mountain we call home.
“Pretty girl, I’ve waited my whole damn life for you. If you want this dress, you’re getting it. Let me do this.”
My throat tightens. The words die on my tongue, stolen by his stern glare. He’s not just buying a dress. He’s staking his claim, showing me that I’m worth it, that he’s here for all of it. The vows, the future, us.
I swallow hard around the lump in my throat. I’mnotgoing to cry. This mascara isn’t waterproof, and my eyes will get all red and puffy. Blinking rapidly to clear my blurry vision I muster my best glare.
“You’re impossible.”
His mouth curves.
“Maybe. But I’m your impossible.”
And just like that, I have my wedding dress.
Cole
I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, but I’ve spent more than one night lying awake wondering what the hell Sabrina sees in me.
She’s twenty-eight. Beautiful, sharp, with the kind of fire that makes a man feel alive standing next to her. And me? I’m pushing fifty, with more scars than stories worth telling, and the kind of body that wakes up aching before the sun’s up.
At the bridal shop, she twirled in that gown, laughing, glowing, like sin wrapped in silk. I couldn’t breathe for how badly I wanted her.
But I saw the way the saleslady’s smile wavered when I gave her my card. The pity in her eyes. Like I was some sad old bastard paying to keep a younger woman.
Maybe that’s how folks will always see us.
On my way home from dropping Sabrina and her dress off, I stop at the gas station for a snack. Bad idea. The clerk, a kid barely out of high school, grins when he rings me up.
“Heard the news, Opolski. Bride’s real pretty. Don’t know how you landed her.”
