I’m starting to think my role is going to be as a minder rather than a husband.
"Jonah!"
I turn to find Mom approaching, Dad and my siblings flanking her like a protective detail. Relief floods through me so hard my knees nearly buckle.
"Are you okay ?" Mom's lavender scent wraps around me, familiar and safe.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I whisper, leaning into her embrace.
"Just be yourself," she says, but even she sounds uncertain.
Jonah Wells doesn’t belong in this world. I don’t know how to be myself here. I don’t think ‘myself’ is going to do very well in this world.
"There's our man!" Another silver-haired stranger appears. He presses a glass of champagne into my hand. "Congratulations. You are going to be so good for our Alex."
I stare at the bubbles rising in the golden liquid. I've never had alcohol. Not once. It's not exactly forbidden in our church, but it's... discouraged. Especially for omegas.
"I don't—"
"One glass won't kill you," He says, putting his arm around me "Beside, it’s your wedding night. You might need it." He grins and nudges me, then claps me on the back hard before moving away. I feel my face color.
I meet Mom’s gaze and she makes a face at his back. It should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. I’m not going home withMom tonight. I’m going home with Alex.
Across the room, I spot my new husband surrounded by his people. He's laughing at something, head thrown back, the perfect picture of easy charm.
That kiss.
My lips still burn from it. I can still taste the way he kissed me, something dark and hungry in it. The way he'd pulled me against him, like he wanted to devour me right there in front of God and everyone...
Heat pools in my belly at the memory, my omega instincts purring despite everything.
I look around for somewhere to put the champagne. If I were to ever have a drink, tonight isn’t going to be the time to start. Mom takes it from me.
“I’ll go get you something else, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
"Jonah." Diana materializes at my elbow like an expensive ghost. "You're needed for photos."
"More photos?" We've already done forty minutes of them between the ceremony and reception.
"The magazine exclusives," she says, like that explains everything.
She steers me away from my family despite Mom's worried look. The photographer—someone different from this morning, equally intense—positions us against a backdrop of the ever present white roses. Alex appears, still laughing with someone over his shoulder, not even looking at me until the photographer physically turns his face.
"Closer," the photographer demands.
Alex's arm slides around my waist, pulling me against his side. This close, his scent makes me dizzy. My whole body flushes with heat.
"Smile, church mouse," he murmurs against my ear, hisbreath making me shiver. "Only six more hours of this."
"Six hours?" I can't keep the horror from my voice.
"At least. Reception, dinner, speeches, dancing, cake." His thumb strokes my hip, just barely, but enough to send sparks through the fabric.
The photographer snaps away while we stand frozen in our fake embrace. Flash after flash until I'm seeing spots. Alex's hand never stops that subtle movement on my hip, and I hate how my body responds, how wetness pools between my legs, how I want to lean into him despite everything.
"Beautiful!" The photographer finally releases us. "Now some candids during dinner!"
