Page 46 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)
EMILIA
The day of the wedding…
“I truly hope you know what you’re doing, Emily,” Katie murmurs as my hair stylist and makeup artists pack up their stuff.
I glance away from my reflection in the mirror to meet my best friend’s worried gaze, but I wait until it’s just us in the room before answering her. “I do.”
She’s on me in two steps, fingers wrapping around my wrist. “If you’re being blackmailed or threatened, you’ll tell me so I can help you, right? It’s not too late to put an end to this farce.”
I smile faintly. She’s been trying to talk me out of this since I went to check on her in the hospital earlier in the week, but my mind is made up now. Especially after I went to the bureau two days ago to hand in my resignation letter and badge.
A tense atmosphere hung in the air. The other agents were understandably wary around me, but I was able to get Matt to tell me what had happened. I was curious about what they’d been told, but I got other useful information instead .
Six of our agents on special missions in ‘Mexico’ had just been brutally killed by the gangsters they were trying to bring down. Six male agents. That’s the same number of men who attacked Katie and me. The same number of men that Rafael assured me suffered before taking their last breaths.
Coincidence? My ass.
I tried not to read into it, but it was impossible not to.
The news buried the last of my doubts, and my chin was held high as I dropped my letter and badge on Greg’s desk. I have no concrete proof, but I know the dead agents were the same people who hurt me.
And Stacey… God, Stacey’s been trying to reach out to me, but I’ve been avoiding her calls, because what the hell am I supposed to say? Sorry I found out you’ve been lying to me my entire career? Sorry I’m marrying the enemy? Sorry I chose him over you?
The lies—both spoken and unspoken—are piled up against her, and I’m angry, so angry at her. But underneath it sits this heavy, sick feeling. Like no matter how justified my anger is, part of me still hates the idea that I might be disappointing her.
But I can’t let that stop me. I have to protect myself. Rafael and I—we’re the only ones who can do that.
“I promise I’m not being coerced to do this. In fact, I–”
Three rapid knocks cut me off, and before I can even ask who it is, the door swings open and Elira, Gianna, and two older women carrying baby carriers flood into the bridal room, making the big hotel suite seem smaller.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My entire body goes rigid as my gaze meets Elira’s. I knew this moment would come eventually, but I figured it would be in the safety of the wedding hall, surrounded by other people. Not here. Not like this.
What do I say? How do I even begin to ? —
“Hey, it’s the woman who was going to ship me to Budapest last year.” Her lighthearted joke, followed by a chuckle, is the last thing I expect from her.
I blink, completely thrown off balance. The silence stretches until it becomes awkward, so I do what any decent human being would do and grovel. “I should never have involved you in my issues with the guys. I’m so sorry.”
I don’t bother trying to explain it was my misguided attempt to rescue her from a life of crime. What would be the point when I’m entering that same life through marriage today? A life she’s been in her whole life—and if I’m being honest, so have I.
Her smile is kind, warm in a way that makes my chest tight.
“I appreciate your apology, Emilia. I was furious when it happened—I won’t lie about that.
But I’ve had a whole year to think about it, and I realized your heart was in the right place, even if your methods were…
” She pauses, searching for the right word. “Spectacularly misguided.”
I almost laugh despite myself.
“Maximo told me you thought the guys had been involved in your father’s death. I can’t imagine how I would have reacted if I believed my ate was murdered by the love of my life.”
The love of my life. The phrase sends an unexpected jolt through me. Is that what Rafael is? Is that what this terrifying, consuming thing between us has become?
“Plus—” Elira glances at Katie, then leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that only I can hear.
“Maximo also told me you came to see him a few days ago. Thank you. I really mean that.” Her hand squeezes mine, and the tightness loosens in my chest. Forgiveness.
It’s more than I deserve, but I’ll take it.
“You know,” Gianna pipes up, and I turn to look at her properly for the first time.
She’s so pretty with her goldish amber eyes that catch the light and that baby blue dress that makes her look like she’s floating on air.
“I’m wondering if I should be jealous. You never tried to kidnap me. Was I never on your radar? ”
Oh God. “What? No, I–”
“Relax, I’m just messing with you.” Her laugh is tired but genuine. “Congratulations on the big day. You make a beautiful bride, and your ring…” She whistles low. “Absolutely stunning.”
I glance down at the ring on my finger and smile faintly. It still feels so surreal to finally be wearing this after all these years.
A movement brushes my shoulder, and I start a little, looking back. Katie. Fuck. I completely forgot she was here. “Oh, I’ve been so incredibly rude.” I clear my throat and gesture towards her. “This is Katie, my close friend. Katie, these are–”
“I know who they are,” she cuts me off mildly as she leans forward to shake Gianna and Elira’s hands.
“This is so weird. I’ve never been in a room with FBI agents before,” Gianna says. She turns to Elira with a mock-serious expression. “El, you’re the expert here—how do I contain myself?”
“It’s fine,” Katie chuckles, her professional mask slipping. “You can just be yourself and spill your husband’s deepest, darkest secrets to me. I’ll keep them safe, promise.”
Everyone laughs, and I feel some of the tension bleed out of my shoulders. Maybe this won’t be the disaster I’d imagined.
“Besides,” she adds. “I’m technically the only agent in this room now. Emily decided to throw away her career.”
Ouch. The judgment in her tone stings, but I can’t blame her. From the outside, this looks insane.
“Well, I–” Gianna starts, but she’s cut off by the most adorable little cry I’ve ever heard.
My attention immediately shifts to the infant carriers, and suddenly nothing else matters. These are Michael’s daughters—my heart nieces, if such a thing exists. I’ve never met them, and the oversight feels criminal now.
I trail behind Gianna like a moth to a flame, eager to finally see them up close .
“Oh,” I breathe as I peer over her shoulder while she picks up the crying child and cradles her in the crook of her arm.
The little one’s face is scrunched up, turning an alarming shade of red as she makes her displeasure known. But she starts to calm down as soon as her mother rocks her in a gentle rhythm.
She has a full mop of blonde hair and a tiny heart-shaped mole at the corner of her mouth. When her eyes flutter open, my breath catches in my throat.
Michael’s eyes. Unmistakably, undeniably Michael’s eyes.
My gaze flicks to the second twin in the carrier. She’s awake as well, watching the commotion like she’s patiently waiting for her turn, and holy shit, I knew they were identical, but seeing them in person?—
My heartbeat slows to a steady thud as I look back and forth between the two girls, something warm and strange unfurling in my chest. Is this what women mean when they talk about their ovaries exploding? Because something is definitely happening in mine.
“They’re so beautiful,” I manage when I finally remember how to form words. “Like little replicas of Michael.”
Gianna gives me a tired smile. “They’re as active and strong-willed as he is too. This is Emma,” she nods to the baby in her arms, “and that’s Nora.” She nods at the baby in the carrier. “She’s the calmer one, but don’t let that fool you—she can be just as demanding when she wants to be.”
I grin, picturing Michael as a father. “I can only imagine how overbearing and overprotective Michael must be. He’s probably already planning their bodyguard details.
” He acts cold on the outside, but he’s pure marshmallow fluff when it comes to the people he loves.
He’s definitely the type to be a helicopter parent.
“Oh God, don’t even remind me,” Gianna groans. “He almost didn’t let us come today. I had to threaten him with divorce. But no way was I going to miss the wedding of the century.”
Wedding of the century. I internally cringe at the dramatic phrase. Katie showed me the tabloid headlines this morning, and they’re all variations of the same theme:
Billionaire Businessman to Marry Government Official.
Crime Boss to Tie the Knot with FBI Agent—Alliance of the Year!
Wedding of the Century: When Two Worlds Collide.
It’s been a media circus. Half the articles can’t even get their facts straight—I’m not even an agent anymore, for crying out loud. My heart does this dull, painful thud at the reminder that I’m essentially unemployed now. No badge, no purpose, no idea what comes next…
Before I can spiral into a depressive state, the door bursts open and Sheily, my wedding coordinator, practically floats in.
“It’s time!” she announces, then stops dead when she sees me. Her hand flies to her chest in a gesture so dramatic it belongs on a soap opera. “Oh my days, you’re hands down the most stunning bride I’ve seen this year.”
Considering it’s December 21st, I’ll take that as the high compliment it is.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Are you ready?” She picks up my veil from the bed, and suddenly this is all very, very real.