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To each his own, he thought as he kissed the back of his lover’s hand. To each his own.
And he certainly had his.
—
Novo craned around Saxton and his mate, Ruhn, to catch a glimpse of Sophy coming down the aisle. The female certainly looked happy, her face partially hidden by a white veil, a long, puffy white dress making her pretty as a doll.
“You okay?” Peyton asked softly.
She shifted her eyes to Oskar up at the altar. The male was decked out in a tuxedo, standing stiff and remote next to a lineup of male friends who likewise seemed like they wished they were somewhere else. On the opposite side of things, all the females from that bachelorette party were dressed in unflattering pink gowns, clearly chosen with an eye to make them look heavier and less resplendent than the bride.
Atta girl, Sophy, she thought.
“Yes, I am.” She squeezed his hand and looked into his eyes. “I am very okay.”
Living with her “poor little rich boy,” as Peyton had taken to calling himself, had proven to be ridiculously easy. They seemed oddly compatible, and if there were arguments, they were over stupid stuff like what ringtone the alarm needed to be—dog barking for him, whereas she preferred the old-fashioned phone ringing—or how many darks could go into a white load of laundry—him, as many as were dirty at that particular moment in time, her, absolutely, fucking NONE.
In fact, everything seemed easier and more whole. And although she was sorry that he was now estranged from his bloodline, it certainly meant he understood why she was not interested in introducing him to her parents.
Maybe that would come later. Maybe it wouldn’t.
But in the meantime, she had all the family she needed in him.
Down at the altar, Sophy arrived in front of her groom/mate/whatever, and a human in ceremonial garb began speaking from a human book. Novo could only shake her head. Would they even do a vampire mating? Probably. More attention.
“I love you,” Peyton said.
Novo glanced at him again. The emotions she was feeling were complicated, and…exhausting: She was clear that she wished her sister well with her choices—and that was a change which was welcome. As for Oskar? She’d said her piece to him back at that bar, and so she was as good as she was going to get with that.
The thing that really mattered? She had her own happy life. And nobody was going to take it away from her.
Not even herself.
“You want to skip the reception,” she said softy, “and head back to our place to Netflix and chill?”
The pumping growl that came back at her was exactly what she wanted, but then her male was like that. Peyton always showed up when she needed him—and usually with an erection.
Okay, that was tacky. Even if it was true.
“I love you so much…” she declared, “that it doesn’t hurt.”
“That’s my female. That’s what I’m talking about.”
There was a pause. And then he got that look in his eye. “How about I just tie his shoelaces together?”
“Peyton,” she hissed.
“What? You know, accidents happen. And if he happened to fall through a plate-glass window when it does?”
“Shh. Before we get kicked out of here—”
“I knew I should have brought my air horn—”
As she started to laugh, she cozied up to her male. Whatever the future held, there were two things she was sure of: One, they were going to be side by side through thick and thin, and two? She was going to be laughing all along the way.
Life was good.