Page 20

S omehow, I get separated from Balor.

It’s not intentional. One minute, I’m with him.

Next, I’m laughing with Cora and Jade and my aunt Sabina about how I almost tripped walking down the aisle, and when I turn around, he’s gone.

I scan the tent, the crowd spinning slightly with the champagne haze and the soft string music echoing in the air like something from a fairy tale.

White lights dangle from the ceiling like stars in a man-made galaxy.

My heels are pinching, my dress feels like a second skin, and everything around me is too loud.

But then I see him.

Balor.

Standing with Connor, my cousin Sammy, Nico Jr., his pal, Remy, and a few of the guys who work with my father.

They’ve got drinks in hand and jackets slung over chairs or tossed aside, laughing the way men do when they’re teasing one of their own.

He’s likely getting a healthy dose of ribbing.

“She’s too good for you,” or “Better watch yourself with the Volkovs,” or some joke about being whipped now that he’s married.

But he doesn’t look rattled.

Not even a little.

He stands with that quiet confidence he always carries, shoulders squared, the open collar of his dress shirt showing just the edge of a tattoo near his collarbone.

His mismatched eyes glint under the lights—one a deep, glittering green, the other sharp, stormy brownish-gray.

Like nothing I’ve ever seen.

He has a tattoo on his cheek, some ancient rune or character—and I don’t know what it means, but it’s hot.

So hot.

More tattoos cover his body, his neck, his hands— I want to memorize them all.

His mouth is curved ever so slightly, like he’s humoring them more than anything else.

God.

He looks good.

Devastating, really.

All broad shoulders and dark edges wrapped around something infinitely more dangerous— restraint .

Control.

Balor Cruz is not a man who blusters or shouts. He doesn’t showboat or posture.

He’s the opposite of the men I grew up around— loud, boisterous, commanding attention in every room.

Balor is quiet. Watchful. Contained.

And I want so badly to reach him.

Not just physically— though, yes, my fingers ache to slide under that shirt and trace the lines of ink across his skin —but emotionally. Spiritually.

I want to dig underneath all that silence and stillness and figure out what makes him tick.

What makes him burn?

What makes him stay?

“Hey, Diamond Girl,” a familiar voice chirps from behind me.

I turn, startled, to find Cora slipping through the edge of the tent with two glasses of champagne in one hand and an evil little smirk on her face.

“What?” I gasp, laughing a little.

“Don’t act like your sexy as fuck husband doesn’t call you that. Hot , by the way.”

I giggle. And snort.

Don’t be jealous of how cool I am.

She’s wearing the glitzy bridesmaid gown she and the cousins picked out in a rainbow of jewel-toned colors.

This one is gold. Her favorite color.

High heels, glossy curls, eyes lined in dark kohl and humor.

Beautiful and dangerous, like a socialite Valkyrie with a glittery purse full of secrets.

She hands me a glass.

“You looked like you were about to climb inside your own head and lock the door. Figured I’d interrupt.”

I accept the glass with a grateful smile, sighing as I take a sip.

“Thanks. You’re not wrong.”

“I’m never wrong,” she says, all mock arrogance. “Now spill.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Spill what?”

She hums, leans closer. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe how you’re clearly halfway in love with your husband of convenience already and trying very hard to pretend you’re not?”

I nearly choke. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t even try it,” she says, sipping her own champagne. “The moms all talked and everyone knows about what happened. Are you okay?”

I know she means well. I know it, but it stings to hear her call him that. Even if there is some truth to it.

“Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Good. But you know you’ve got that gooey look in your eyes. The one you get when someone brings you those ridiculous cupcakes from that place in SoHo. But this time it’s over that man there, isn’t it?”

I shrug and pretend I’m not rattled by her intuition. Because yeah, I am falling hard for that man. The one who looks like he could write code with one hand and strangle my stalker with the other.

“Well?”

I roll my eyes, heat flooding my cheeks. “It’s complicated, Cora.”

“It’s always complicated, cuz. That’s why we fall in love. Simple is boring.”

I stare at the swirling bubbles in my glass for a long moment, then sigh. “What if I’m just reacting ? What if I’m confusing adrenaline and safety for something else?”

She nods like she’s been waiting for this. “Totally fair question. But also? You’re not dumb, Lucy. You’ve been hit on by princes and models and guys who drive Lambos and smell like money and protein powder. None of them made you look like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying not to melt every time he walks into the room. Like you’re scared because you finally found someone who sees past your face and into your soul, and you’re terrified that it might actually last.”

I blink hard. “That’s a little on the nose, actually.”

“I have very good instincts,” she says lightly, looping her arm through mine. “And I’ve seen how he watches you. Like he’s in awe of you. Like you’re not just his wife, you’re his fucking miracle. And not just tonight, Lucy, he’s been watching you like that for months.”

My throat tightens. “Yeah? You really think so?”

“I know so.” She gives my arm a squeeze. “Look, I know what happened before messed you up. You were a kid. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t your fault. But hiding from love isn’t the same as protecting yourself. Sometimes the best armor is just letting the right person in.”

I don’t speak. I can’t.

Because she’s right.

And because for the first time in a long time, I think I’ve already let him in.

I glance toward the far end of the tent where Balor stands near Connor, still half-watching me even in conversation, his bi-colored eyes tracking every move I make like he’s memorizing me.

Like he already has.

Cora nudges me. “Go on, then. Make that man regret wearing a tie.”

I laugh, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. “I love you.”

“I know,” she says smugly. “Now go show your husband what a good decision he made.”

She leaves to go dance with one of our cousins, and I take a deep breath, watching as Balor straightens and stares at me.

Then, I start to move towards him. Towards our future. Towards us.