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“Trust me, Shane.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly the size of a straw. The way Willow is gazing at me, her full lips curled up at the corners, is nothing short of breathtaking. My next exhale tumbles from my tight lungs almost helplessly.

I love you.

I love you so much, and I don’t want them to hurt you.

None of those words escape my tight jaw, but with the way Willow’s eyes mist, it’s almost as if she heard my thoughts.

“Mr. Seaver, we need to start now, or you’ll be late to the ceremony.”

I grunt at the voice behind me before sliding my fingers beneath Willow’s hair and giving her one last all-consuming kiss. When she sways forward as I lean back, I find myself smiling for the first time today. Then her hazy gaze finds mine, and she gives me that classic Willow grin.

“Don’t forget. Ten thousand percent Team Shane,” she tells me, skipping backward toward the room while giving me goofy finger guns.

I can’t help myself.

A laugh escapes me as I follow her into the suite.

Ninety minutes later—but what feels like two years—Lucian announces that Willow is ready.

I pause in destroying the carpet in the main area with my pacing and adjust my cufflinks. Like my brothers, I’m wearing a designer tuxedo, but with a black shirt and satin tie instead of a white shirt and frilly bowtie. I checked in with them briefly, but since both them and my father were already three sheets to the wind and kept taking cheap shots at me, I excused myself as quickly as possible.

When Willow walks into the room, a gruff noise leaves me. It feels like I’ve just taken a sucker-punch to the gut. I thought I’d never see my wife look more beautiful than she did in her lace wedding dress, but I was woefully wrong.

The glamorous, form-fitting gown gives off a distinct Old Hollywood feel with beaded black and silvery floral motifs cascading down glimmering dusty-rose fabric. Every curve catches the light as Willow glides closer. One glittering strap over her shoulder draws my eyes to her unadorned neck and her black-stoned chandelier earrings.

Willow’s lips tug up when I swallow hard.

But when she stumbles at the last step, my hands fly to her waist, steadying her.

“Almost nailed it,” she mumbles.

“Trust me. You nailed it.”

My voice is a hard scrape as I slide one hand up her back until my fingers frame her neck. With her hair fastened in dozens of elegant swirls, my thumb rests lightly over her jumping pulse point.

“I chose this one because the beading reminded me of your tattoos,” she tells me, glancing up from underneath dark lashes.

Willow’s whispered confession makes my fingers tense, pulling a shuddered breath from her. I can’t help that I drift closer, that I can’t drag my focus away from her glossy lips.

“I almost put Zendaya in this Vivienne Westwood, but I’m glad I saved it. It was meant for you, Willow-baby.”

Lucian’s casual endearment does two things: it reminds me that we’re not alone and makes me scowl so hard my molars grind.

Willow’s hand comes to my chest, steadying me as I shoot daggers at the stylist.

“Easy, tiger,” she whispers.

I smirk. “Now I’m a tiger?”

Willow rolls her eyes at me before turning to face Lucian and Brittany. “Thank you both for such beautiful work.”

“It’s easy when the client is already gorgeous.”

I nearly growl at Lucian’s comment before reminding myself that this man isn’t the enemy. “Yes, thank you.”

Brittany checks her watch. “You two better head downstairs if you don’t want to make a dramatic entrance.”