Chapter 175
Dominic POV
I have negotiated trade agreements with rival packs.
I have broken up fights between grown men twice my size.
I have handled my father’s temper, my mother’s expectations, and an entire council of elders who think breathing too loudly is a sign of weakness.
None of that prepared me for standing outside a bridal dressing room.
The boutique smells like expensive perfume and steamed fabric. It’s so strong, I have to cover my nose with a cloth. Alpha problems. One the workers are panicking over.
There are too many mirrors. Too much white. Too many women speaking in hushed tones like this is a sacred ritual instead of a transaction involving lace and emotional instability.
Ellie chose her mother’s dress.
Which, for reasons I was not going to analyze too deeply, made this whole thing feel slightly less like a hostage negotiation and
more like a wedding.
She tried to play it off, of course. Said it was practical. Cheaper. Less dramatic. Like she hadn’t spent a full minute just standing there with the fabric in her hands, running her thumb along the lace like she remembered it from somewhere else. She held it carefully. Not fragile. Just… deliberately. Like it mattered.
She didn’t smile, not really. But her mouth softened for a second. Her shoulders loosened. It was the closest thing to enthusiasm I’d seen from her since this started.
I took it as progress.
I wasn’t technically supposed to be here. Normally Bernard handled her transport from here out, but Bernard had the flu, and apparently the rest of my staff thought letting their future Luna drive herself across town unsupervised was a worse offense
than bothering me.
Which was fine.
Driving her myself meant she couldn’t escape halfway through and claim she got lost. Also meant I knew exactly where she was, which, given her talent for wandering into emotional disasters and pizza shops, felt like a responsible leadership decision.
Not that I minded.
Vivian stands beside me with a clipboard, already halfway through taking over the room like she belongs here.
She speaks with the shop owner in that smooth, efficient tone she’s perfected over the years, the one that makes people listen without realizing they’ve agreed to something. Hem length. Seam tension. Delivery timeline. She doesn’t hesitate. Just steps into every gap Ellie leaves behind and fills it before anyone can look at me for answers.
If a maid asks Ellie a question and she shrugs, distracted with healer assignments or pretending she didn’t hear them, Vivian is suddenly there with a solution. Guest lists finalized. Tastings scheduled. Problems handled before they become mine.
It should make things easier.
It does.
And somehow, it makes everything worse.
Because every time Vivian says “we,” I can feel the absence of the person who’s supposed to be standing there instead.
I’m still not sure why that bothers me.
+30 Bonus
“She’ll need the final fitting two days before,” Vivian says, scribbling something down with quick, neat strokes. “We don’t want any last minute stress.”
We.
I nod once, because that’s the expected response. Because she’s right. Because everything about this wedding is being watched and judged and remembered, and mistakes are not something my family can afford.
Still.
It’s not Vivian’s opinion I want.
It’s Ellie’s.
I exhale through my nose, slower than I mean to, and Vivian clocks it. She tilts her head slightly, her voice softening as she steps closer into my space.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I say, which is both true and not.
Her hand settles lightly on my shoulder.
I shift half an inch away without looking at her.
It’s subtle enough that no one else would catch it.
I don’t need reassurance.
I need my fiancée.
“She’s nervous,” Vivian says gently, glancing toward the dressing room door. “It’s a lot for her.”
“I know.”
But the truth is, I don’t.
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