“Hmm,” Morgan muses. “Anyone else think the boys would makefine as hellS.W.A.T. officers?”
Basia giggles into her champagne flute. “Please. Can you imagine Damien with a battering ram? He’d just glare at the door until it unhinged itself out of fear.”
Morgan smirks, unapologetically smug. “You’re not wrong.”
“Killian would definitely be the team leader,” Emily adds, her eyes going all soft. “He has that bossy ‘kick down the door first, ask questions later’ energy.”
I grin. “And Ethan would be the one who never follows orders but somehow gets away with it because he looks like that.”
The girls laugh, and Emily nearly chokes on her drink. “Looks like what, Barbara?”
“Moving on,” I say, inspecting my nails.
Basia raises a brow. “And Caleb?”
“Oh, he’s the one who’d quietly handle everything while the others argue,” Morgan says. “The steady one. The protector.”
Basia’s cheeks pinken. “Yeah. I can see that.”
Emily claps her hands, sparkling from more than just the champagne. “Okay, okay, new rule—if any of the men actually do start their own S.W.A.T. team, we get matching tactical gear. In pink.”
I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. “Please let that be Morgan’s bachelorette party theme.”
“I’m not getting married,” Morgan says sheepishly.
Basia wiggles her eyebrows. “Yet.”
The room bursts into laughter again, and for a moment it’s just that—light, warmth, the kind of easy joy that feels rare lately.
But then the coordinator pokes her head in. “Ladies? It’s time.”
The mood shifts in an instant, excitement rippling through the air. Emily’s laughter softens into a nervous giggle as Morgan hands her the bouquet, Basia adjusts her veil, and I smooth out the delicate lace at her hips.
“You ready to make an honest man out of him?” I tease.
She exhales, a trembling smile curling her lips. “I’ve never been more ready for anything.”
Morgan squeezes her hand. “He’s going to lose it when he sees you.”
Basia dabs at the corner of her eye. “So am I, apparently. Damn it, don’t make me cry before the photos.”
“Too late,” I murmur, blinking fast.
Then the music starts.
Emily’s wedding is the kind of thing you see on Pinterest boards. Fairy lights are draped through the old stone chapel, a thousand candles flicker against vaulted ceilings, and the air is thick with roses and nerves.
When she starts walking down the aisle, Killian’s expression hits me right in the chest. That man looks like he’s watching the sun rise after years in the dark. For a second, I forget to breathe. Will someone love me like that one day? Maybe Seb?
I glance to my left—Ethan’s already looking at me instead of the bride. He’s in a dark suit and tie that fits like sin, his hair perfectly tousled, his mouth curved into that half-smile that promises trouble. My stomach flips.
I quickly turn back toward the altar, but I canfeelhis gaze, heavy on my skin like a touch. He’s looking at me like he knows I’ve been thinking of him while touching myself.
By the time the officiant pronounces them husband and wife, I’m a mess of emotions—some romantic, some distinctly unholy.
I down the first drink at the reception like I crawled through the desert to get to it.
The ballroom looks like a fever dream of gold and champagne. Emily and Killian are the perfect newlyweds—dancing, laughing, sneaking kisses like they’ve forgotten the room full of people watching them. Morgan and Damien dance close, his hand low on her back, their movements slow and intimate. Basia’s on the dance floor too, laughing as Caleb keeps a discreet but constant eye on her from nearby.
