Just the truth.
He kisses my head, and I feel his breathing against my cheek even out as sleep pulls us under.
But one thing hits me just before I’m out.
I’m not lying here panicking about whether or not I’m making a mistake.
I’m not agonizing over every possible outcome.
I’m not trying to talk myself out of it.
I just feel peaceful.
Being wrapped up in him is exactly where I’m supposed to be right now.
His arm tightens around me, even in his sleep, and I know that this doesn’t feel like something that’ll go wrong. It feels like something that’s been right all along.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Saint
The courthouse is quieter than I expected.
I’m not sure why that surprises me. Maybe it’s because everything about the last few months has been loud—grief, lawyers, kids, so much paperwork, and the constant roar in my head that I can’t mess any of this up.
But standing inside the New York City courthouse with Presley beside me, Alie and Liam behind us … the world just feels still.
Presley is in a simple ivory dress. And her hair is down in loose waves. She’s holding a small bouquet that Alie had insisted on, even though Presley claimed she didn’t need flowers.
But she does. And not because the moment needs dressing up. But because she deserves something beautiful in her hands when she marries me.
I look at her face and feel my chest tighten.
“You doing okay?” I ask quietly.
She glances up, her lips curving. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“You’re sure?”
“Saint”—her smile softens—“I’m sure.”
Maybe I believe her because I want to. Or maybe because if I let myself question this, I’ll start thinking about all the reasons she deserves more than a courthouse wedding with a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders at the moment.
Alie steps up beside her and adjusts a piece of Presley’s hair. “You look gorgeous,” she says.
Presley rolls her eyes. “You’ve already said that, Al.”
“And I’ll say it six more times if I want to,” she huffs.
Liam stands beside me, hands in his pockets, expression soft and non-judgmental.
“How you doing, man?” he asks.
I look at Presley, then back to him. “I’m good.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Well, I guess we’re about to be brothers-in-law. Now you really can’t get rid of me.”
“Right,” I laugh.
