Page 15 of Broken Arranged Mate (Badlands Wolves #4)

It turns out, getting married is my own personal version of hell.

Party after party, more gatherings than I can possibly keep track of. I know it’s important to show both packs that we’re serious about this, to get public appearances in so they understand our union is coming, but I wish there were some other way to do it.

As I stand in the corner, I watch Ash, tracking her progress. She stops to talk to people, laughing and reaching out to put her hand on an older woman’s arm.

Somehow, she looks even more beautiful than at the engagement party. When I saw her in that dress, I thought I was going to keel right over, crawl to her on my knees.

But now, she looks beautiful and comfortable, in a sleeveless navy jumpsuit that cuts—a little too deeply—down her chest, revealing her cleavage. It’s fucking perfect, and it sets me on edge any time she talks to another man, because I know exactly where their eyes are going.

According to Raegan, this party is a wedding shower, which is, somehow, completely different from the engagement party. I didn’t know you could have a wedding shower—I thought those were only for babies.

Everything about this is proving me wrong. And torturing me in the process.

“Enjoying the party?”

Kira appears in front of me, wearing a floral, floor-length gown, her hair twisted up behind her head. Apparently, she and Dorian managed to find a babysitter, because this party is mercifully free of the children.

It’s not that I don’t like kids. It’s just that the splitting headache cutting through my head can’t take a single squeal from a single one.

“Mostly enjoying the food,” I admit, eyes darting to the little bite in my hand. All the bites are little, for some reason, but I have to admit they’re delicious. This one is some sort of crunchy bread, with a smear of jam and a dollop of creamy cheese. I’ve probably had about fifty of them.

“Now you’re just trying to flatter me,” Kira laughs, shaking her head. We chat for a while, and I try to subtly dig out why my sister might have been texting her. Kira catches on and draws her hand over her lips, miming a zipper.

“Fine,” I grouse, which makes her laugh. Someone else calls her name, and a moment later, she melts back into the crowd.

Even as Kira was talking to me, I’d kept an eye on Ash. She’s now in the corner, talking to Emaline. They must be talking about something hilarious, because Ash’s cheeks are flushed, her mouth open in that shape that tells me her laugh is open, brash in a way that I love.

It’s my favorite laugh of hers.

Looking at the champagne in my hand, I quickly lift it to my lips. I should not have a favorite laugh of hers.

Despite being in the Ambersky territory for more than a year, this is the first time I’ve been to Dorian’s home. It’s much larger than the house I designated for Ash and me. Maybe that’s why she didn’t like it—maybe she was thinking I might offer her something a little more like this.

Larger, more regal.

But after growing up in that ice palace, the last thing I want to do is move into a house where the rooms feel miles apart, islands moored away from one another, the rest of the house an impossible channel to cross.

Perhaps that’s how my father liked it. Maybe he engineered it to feel that way, so my mother, sister, and I faced too much space to come together.

“You know,” Dorian says, appearing beside me and handing me a new glass of champagne, his free hand going into his pocket. “You might have a better time if you mingle.”

I resist the urge to frown at him. “I’m not much of a mingler.”

“I know.” Dorian sighs, glances around. “It’s a good thing for you that the folks here love my sister, and her agreeing to marry you is a shining endorsement.”

How could anyone not love Ash? Genuine, funny, gorgeous.

“Or maybe they’ll hate me for taking their beloved princess,” I mutter, raising the glass to my lips, still watching her head as it bounces through the crowd.

Dorian laughs. “Less princess, more handyman.”

“What?” I turn to him, eyebrow raised. “What are you talking about?”

“People here love Ash because she’s a helper.

Always fixing something, finding the perfect color for your living room, whatever.

” He gestures to the fireplace on the other side of the room.

“She laid all those stones. Went out and got them from the land herself, brought them in, polished them, made that.”

I stare at the fireplace, the centerpiece of the room, the most Ambersky thing I’ve ever seen, featuring the red rocks of the land, the deep oranges and browns. It’s beautiful.

“Oh.” The word comes out short, and I realize something—maybe she wasn’t criticizing the house that day. Maybe she was already thinking about how to make it hers.

The thought ricochets through me, remaking the memory in my mind.

How many times has that happened? That I assumed she was thinking one thing, while she was really thinking another?

Dorian opens his mouth to say something else, but I never hear it. Because in the next moment, a man approaches Ash from the left, getting a little closer than I would like.

It only takes a few long strides through the room to be at my fiancée’s side. Ash startles, looks up at me, then smiles, looking surprised and— pleased ?

“Edward,” she says, not taking her eyes off me, “this is Oren, my fiancé.”

“Call me Eddy,” the man says, sticking his hand out, then eying me up and down, a sly smile spreading over his face as he does, lingering on my chest and shoulders. “It is so nice to meet you.”

A flush spreads over my cheeks, and when Eddy goes to talk to someone else, Ash turns to me, flashing her teeth when she smiles. “How nice of you to join me. What inspired you to come over to this side of the room?”

“I figured I’d better stop letting you do all the work,” I say, and then, in an attempt to stop her teasing, I drop an arm around her waist, tugging her in close to me.

It works. The words die in her mouth, which just makes them die in mine.

As does the feeling of her body near mine, her heat, her scent surrounding me.

The jewels at the waistband of her jumpsuit press into my fingers, and I focus on the sensation to keep myself from dragging her out of here, into a random room.

Every day, I feel my self-control with her waning.

Like in the watchtower that night, biting my tongue and drawing blood to keep from turning around, slipping my fingers under the hem of her T-shirt, weaving her hair through my fingers, tasting her once more.

“Well, hel lo,” someone says, and I turn to find an older woman standing in front of me, her watery eyes large, magnified behind her glasses as she looks up at me.

As she does, I get the sense that she’s looking right through me, every finger is covered in rings as she lifts her hand and holds it out to me, her smile thin but warm. “I’m Beth.”

“Oren,” I grumble, knowing I should smile, but still consumed with the thoughts of Ash. Beth’s hand slides into mine, and the moment our skin touches, I watch her face change, her gaze darting to Ash and back to me quickly enough that I could have missed it.

“What?” Ash asks, leaning in close to the woman. “Beth, are you okay? You don’t look—”

Beth takes Ash’s hand and pats it between two of hers, darting a glance at me before looking back at my fiancée.

I can’t help but notice the way Beth looks at Ash—like a mother looking at her baby for the first time.

It warms my heart and breaks it at once, the thought and realization that Ash will be leaving her people behind when she comes to live with me in the Grayhide territory.

“I’m just fine,” Beth says, a little wheeze on the end of her words. “And, love,”—she darts another glance at me, something sparkling in her eye—“you don’t have to worry about this one, darling. Not one bit.”