Page 51 of Mated To The King’s Gamma (Lycan Luna: Abbie & Gannon #3)

THREE MONTHS LATER

D ustin sighs like this suit store is the pinnacle of hell.

He stands in front of the full-length mirror, arms crossed, his expression caught somewhere between brooding and constipated. He's dressed in a white suit jacket with subtle silver embroidery that shimmers when he moves—but based on his look, you'd think we forced him into a glittering thong.

“I hate it, I prefer the black one,” Dustin whines at Azalea.

“You are not wearing black,” Azalea says, for what must be the fifth time. She stands beside me with her arms folded, her empress energy dialed to highly annoyed and about to fry his ass.

“Why not?” Dustin says, deadpanning.

“Because you’re not going to a funeral. You’re going to your wedding,” she says, enunciating each word like she’s speaking to a challenging child.

Dustin glares at his reflection. “Black is classic. Clean. Tactical.”

“You wear black every day,” Azalea points out. “It makes you look like you’re still on shift.”

“I don’t wear a suit jacket to work,” he mutters.

Azalea rolls her eyes, stepping away from us toward a display. “Gods, you are impossible.”

She snatches a white suit off the rack, one that practically glows under the boutique lights, and holds it up. “Try this.”

“I’m not wearing something that looks like it belongs to a virgin prince at a winter ball,” Dustin grumbles.

Tandi snorts from her seat on a plush velvet bench. “Honestly? Just go nude. At least you’ll match Liam, who’s still threatening to wear that cursed apron.”

I cringe. “Please tell me that’s a joke.”

“He says it’s ‘sentimental,’” Tandi replies. “Which is terrifying.”

Dustin freezes, turning slowly. “He wouldn’t.”

“He can't wear it. I stole it and hid it in your trunk.” Azalea chimes in. “Well, technically, I ordered Gannon to steal it for me.” She giggles.

“You put it in my trunk.”

“Where else was I gonna put it, in my wardrobe? I think not!” she retorts.

I lift a calming hand. “Gannon said there’s no way he’s letting Liam wear it, you're both being dramatic.”

Dustin breathes a little easier. Just a little.

Until he smiles.

Azalea’s brows lift. “Why are you smiling like that?”

He doesn’t answer and Tandi sets her magazine down. “Yeah, dude. Why are you smiling like a Cheshire cat? You never smile, you're like the Queen's Royal Resting Bitch Face Guard,” she snickers.

“I will wear the white, but I got an idea.” He turns and walks straight out the door.

“Oh no,” Tandi mutters. “He’s gone rogue. I say we pick his suit because he is never gonna pick.”

“Should we follow him?” I ask.

Azalea shakes her head. “Let him go, if it means he'll pick a suit, I don't care what else he wears. My feet are killing me.”

Dustin returns a few minutes later.

Carrying it.

The apron.

The bloodstained, floral monstrosity Liam stole from Mrs. Daley, the same one he likes to wear while baking, gardening, or murdering people. The one that smells like sugar, copper, and death.

The boutique owner stiffens like Dustin’s just pulled a weapon.

“Can you copy this?” Dustin asks, holding it out like it’s a totally reasonable request.

The man stares, horrified. “Copy the… pattern sir?”

“All of it,” Dustin says calmly. “Blood and all.”

Tandi actually gags.

The man takes it between two fingers and dangles it like a diseased rag. “You’re not requesting an entire suit in this… ah… shade, are you?”

Dustin shakes his head. “No. Just a vest. For me.”

He turns slowly toward us.

I feel my soul shrivel.

“Oh, hell no,” Tandi says instantly.

“You’ll wear it,” Azalea says before he can open his mouth. “It’s his wedding. If he wants you to wear a paper bag you'll be wearing it.”

Tandi stares at her. “Are you serious?”

“I’m his matron of honor. I’ll wear the real thing if he asks me to.”

“Absolutely not,” Dustin says, mildly horrified. “That thing smells like someone bled out while baking cupcakes.”

“Exactly,” Azalea says sweetly. “So just tell me what this idea is.”

Dustin looks at the tailor. “Same design. But as sashes.”

The man sighs. “Very well. I’ll create sashes for the... ladies.”

“Groomsmaids,” I correct, smiling.

Tandi groans. “Why does that work?”

“Because he’s the bride,” I say.

“But he’s Dustin.”

Azalea snickers. “Exactly.”

Tandi narrows her eyes at him. “When I get married, I’m making you wear a hot dog costume and you'll be forced to krump down the aisle.”

Dustin’s lips twitch. “I’ll do it, but can we renegotiate the krumping?”

We all burst out laughing.

Azalea leans against my shoulder, eyes gleaming. “I can’t believe we’re here. Buying suits. Planning weddings. Arguing over sashes.”

I look at Dustin—serious and guarded Dustin—who’s holding a blood-soaked apron like it’s part of his sacred wedding aesthetic.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “It’s a little surreal.”

“Oh, we should get the floral arrangements to match,” Dustin says and I arch a brow at him.