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Wasn’t that the definition of marriage? Permitting each other to reveal your real selves and yet leave room for each to grow and change. Putting up with quirks, idiosyncrasies, and habits while steadfastly supporting and cheering on each other.

“Are you ready?” Slash stepped out from the bathroom, looking like a dreamy vision with his dark hair slicked back, wearing a crisp white shirt, black slacks, and dark dress shoes. He’d recently shaved and smelled heavenly as always.

“I don’t know,” I answered, lifting my hands. “As ready as I’m going to get, I guess. I hope this is an appropriate dress for a luncheon.”

I did one rotation to show him the emerald-green dress with a soft, swirly skirt. “My mom loaned it to me. Is it suitable?” It felt weird to be borrowing her clothes, because it was something I’d never done before. But desperate times required desperate measures, and since most of my clothes had been ruined in the shoot-out, I didn’t have a lot of options.

Surprisingly, Mom and I were close enough to the same size, and everything fit reasonably well. Mom hadn’t said anything, but I could tell she was deliriously happy to finally be discussing clothing and fashion with me. Since I really needed her clothes and advice, I didn’t hate it quite as much as I’d expected. Overall, I guess it was a win-win for everyone.

“It’s more than suitable.” Slash pressed a kiss against my cheek. “You look incredibly beautiful in that color. Shall I wear a matching green tie?”

“You have a green tie?” I asked.

“I have a tie in every color. Just in case.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why do I have this weird feeling that you and my mom are ganging up on me?”

“Never,” he insisted, but I saw a twinkle in his eye.

I brushed my hair one more time and left it down around my shoulders instead of wrapped up in my typical ponytail. I swiped on some lightly tinted lip gloss, and a few strokes of mascara, and that was good enough for me.

Slash donned his suit jacket and the emerald-green tie and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

I stared at him. “That tie…it’s almost a perfect match to my dress. Are you sure you didn’t discuss this ahead of time with my mom?”

“A man never discusses his fashion choices, especially not with the woman he’s trying to impress,” he answered with an easy smile.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s not, is it?” He maneuvered me in front of the mirror so we stood side by side. “But we do look good together.”

I studied the two of us in the mirror. It was clear to me that one of us was significantly better-looking than the other (him!), but together, we didn’t look so bad. “Matching our colors as a couple is a logical fashion choice,” I admitted. “And since this luncheon features both of us, it makes sense. So, yes, we look good together.”

“That’s my girl.” He turned and gave me a long, lingering kiss. “You look so delectable you’re making it hard for me to want to leave right now.”

“Then let’s stay,” I offered.

“And leave our friends without their guests of honor?”

“They’d understand. But I do have to admit this is one of the few wedding events I’m actually looking forward to, as much as that’s possible.”

“Me, too.” He held out his arm. “Let’s go. We’re already fashionably late.”

When we arrived, our friends were already mingling and chatting, most with a drink or a hors d'oeuvre in hand. Sounds of cheerful conversation, familiar voices, and laughter filled me with a happiness I hadn’t expected.

A quick glance around the room indicated that everything was set up to our specifications even though neither Mom nor Amanda was there. Several round tables had been arranged intimately, covered with bright-yellow tablecloths, lovely white plates with gold trim, and colorful spring flower centerpieces with yellows, blues, and whites. We’d asked Amanda to arrange with the hotel a décor that was simple and springlike for our luncheon, and she’d delivered perfectly. It made me ill to think she’d either been duped or complicit in the attacks on us.

A long side table held the gifts to our friends, large wicker baskets tied with oversize yellow and blue ribbons. Inside were the hand-picked gifts Slash and I had chosen—silk ties, chic brass tumblers, the latest in high-speed wifi enhancers, virtual reality headsets, vintage cufflinks and necklaces, portable wine chillers, and hand-selected bottles of brandy and wine.

I took one step into the room and my heart stumbled.

Wills and Hulk stood chatting with Hands, Gray, my brother Beau and two women I didn’t recognize. Hulk roared at something Hands said and everyone laughed. Hands clapped his shoulder in an easy familiarity, a wide smile on his face. Wills had an arm draped lightly around Gray’s shoulder, seemingly teasing her about something. She smiled, then blushed, and I wondered just what they were remembering.

I stood there watching them when they all turned their faces toward the doorway, spotting me and Slash.

“Lexi!”

Hulk’s deep baritone voice rang out. I drank in the sight of him as if I still couldn’t believe he was alive. He stood as big and muscular as his nickname indicated, although he’d clearly lost some weight. His brown hair was cropped close to his head in a military hairstyle, but the brown skin of his cheeks had a color to it that had been missing the last time I’d seen him lying wounded on the floor of the helicopter. But what I noticed most was his huge smile as he strode toward me in a few large steps, sweeping me into a crushing bear hug between his massive, muscular arms. He laughed, lifting me off my feet as easily as if I were a child. “It’s good to see you, kid. You haven’t changed a bit.”