Page 5 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“For my safety,” I said.

Mara followed my gaze. “The eastern gardens are not part of the wedding rental.”

“I can see that.”

“They are marked clearly.”

“Nothing says romance like legal boundaries.”

Tessa laughed too brightly. “Cassie jokes when she’s uncomfortable.”

“Cassie jokes when signs threaten,” I said.

Grant leaned toward my ear again, while Tessa turned to accept a glass of champagne from a passing attendant.

“You were less mouthy when I kept you busy,” he murmured.

My pulse kicked once. Sharp. Ugly.

I didn’t look at him. “That must have been someone else.”

“You sure?”

“Grant,” I said softly, still smiling for my mother, who was watching us with hopeful terror. “If you keep putting your mouth near me, I’m going to let everyone know what you’re doing with it.”

His silence was brief. Then he laughed, loud enough to pass as charm.

“Still Cassie.”

“Yes,” I said. “That has been the problem for several people.”

Mara’s gaze shifted between us.

She had heard. I could tell by the tiny stillness around her eyes.

Tessa had not. She was too busy cooing at the small white dog barreling toward her across the drive.

“Henry!” she cried.

The dog hit her shins in a white blur, dragging a pink leash and wearing a collar decorated with tiny silk flowers. Henry was technically a Maltese, though he had the soul of a demon and the survival instincts of a powdered donut.

Tessa scooped him up and kissed his head. “There’s my ring bearer.”

Henry stared at Grant with black, suspicious eyes. I respected that. Grant scratched under the dog’s chin and Henry sneezed in his direction.

“Smart boy,” I said.

Tessa hugged Henry to her chest. “He’s been so anxious since we arrived. I think it’s all the new smells.”

At the word smells, Mara looked at the dog.

“We recommend keeping pets leashed in all outdoor areas,” she said.

“He is leashed,” Tessa said, holding up the dragging pink strap.

“Held,” Mara said.

Tessa blinked. “Right. Of course.”