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Lorenzo’s answer was instant. “Absolutely not.”

She tilted her head, watching his face.

“She never had anything to do with me. Not really. And she never will.”

Krystal’s shoulders softened with relief. She leaned back against the chair, sighing through her nose. “You’re right.”

His hand drifted instinctively to her belly, gently smoothing the fabric of her gown. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through the ceremony. I’m too excited. I keep imagining you walking up the aisle toward me. Our baby’s going to see himself in all our pictures.”

Krystal chuckled, the sound low and warm. “My bump isn’t even showing.”

“So what?” He leaned close, touching her forehead with his. “I’ll still tell him he was in our wedding. All his classmates are going to be so damn jealous of him.”

She burst into laughter at that, the sound light and full of joy. He pulled her close again, his hand protectively splayed over her lower belly.

***

The garden was bathed in a soft, golden glow, the evening sun kissing every petal and leaf with warmth. Rows of white chairs lined the aisle, filled with familiar faces, all turned toward the flower-draped altar at the front. White roses and delicate baby’s breath were woven into every detail—from the archway to the scattered petals along the path—turning the entire space into a living fairytale.

Grayson Moretti, suited in navy with a silver pocket square, sat proudly in the front row. One hand rested on his polished cane, the other casually swirling a glass of champagne as if he hadn’t just threatened to beat someone with the cane two hours ago.

He leaned toward Ana, who sat radiant in a pastel silk gown, her hand laced with Mason’s. “I told that boy not to let her go,” hesaid with a victorious grin. “Now look at them. Back where they belong. A Moretti never listens until a cane’s involved.”

Ana chuckled, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

Next to her, Mason stretched out, his arm draped loosely around Ana’s chair, scanning the crowd. His expression twitched. “Who gave Triston a microphone?”

Too late.

On a small stage set up beside the aisle, Triston—already buzzed and clearly thriving—was tapping the mic with an unnecessary amount of drama. Darren stood beside him, arm slung around Triston’s shoulder like they were co-hosting a Saturday night karaoke show instead of attending a wedding.

“Testing, testing,” Triston announced grandly, flashing a grin. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have made an executive decision—tonight, I serenade the bride.”

From the far end of the row, Stella groaned into her wine. “Someone take that mic before he and Darren start a boy band.”

Darren, already wobbling on his feet with a champagne glass in one hand and the mic in the other, belted out in a voice that had no business being broadcasted. “Krystaaaaaal, you beautiful glow stick! You’re lighting up Lorenzo’s soooooouuul—”

Gasps. Laughter. Someone snorted champagne through their nose.

Lorenzo, standing at the altar with all the composure of a man barely holding onto his sanity, didn’t flinch. He simply tilted his head and said, deadpan, “Darren, I will throw you in the pond.”

Darren grinned with no shame whatsoever. “Love you too, bro!”

Raiden, seated behind Ana and Mason with his arm around Jane, sighed. “Why do we let Triston do anything unsupervised?”

Jane chuckled, resting her head against his shoulder. “Because we’re all secretly addicted to watching this car crash happen in slow motion.”

Across the room, Kara leaned in close to Damion, her wine glass cradled loosely in one hand as she watched the chaos unfold with a spark of amusement in her eyes. “This honestly reminds me of our wedding reception.”

Damion raised a brow, already smirking. “You mean the one where Triston tried to do a backflip and ended up dislocating his shoulder in front of our family?”

Kara laughed, nearly snorting into her drink. “Exactly.” She bit her bottom lip, trying to stifle another giggle. After a pause, her voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. “Lorenzo’s still pissed at you, isn’t he? Because of that day Krystal ran to our place to hide and begged us to get rid of him and then came downstairs wearing one of my oversized shirts—half-naked—pretending she’d spent the night with you?”

Damion chuckled. “Yeah. That stunt nearly gave him a heart attack.”

Kara grinned, eyes twinkling. “He’s still mad at Krystal for that too. Every time someone brings it up, his jaw locks like he’s chewing on broken glass.”

“He can cry a river,” Damion said with a shrug, crossing his arms smugly. “I still get death stares whenever I call him ‘brother.’ It’s practically tradition at this point.”