3. Chapter 3
Julia
I stand at the center of Windfall Manor's grand ballroom, clipboard in hand, watching my vision take shape.
Workers move across the polished marble floor, laying down blue tape to mark table placements and staging areas.
Sunlight streams through towering stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscope patterns that dance across the space.
"The fourth chandelier needs to be centered over the cake table," I call to the lighting technicians perched on scaffolding along the far wall. I flip to the rigging schematic clipped in my binder. "About three feet to the left."
The ballroom itself is breathtaking, vaulted ceilings arching overhead like the rib cage of some magnificent beast, intricate dragon carvings adorning every pillar and balustrade.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the cliffside view unfolds dramatically, waves crashing against rocks in a timeless rhythm.
"Julia?" Courtney approaches, hovering beside a table where two employees unpack crystal stemware. "Should we check each glass individually or just scan for obvious damage?"
"Every piece," I answer without looking up from my checklist. "The last thing we need is Silverine Draak serving champagne in a chipped flute." I check off another item in the blue logistics section of my binder, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach over the orchid situation.
Three suppliers have already told me there's no way to source Vanda coerulea within our time frame.
I need a miracle. Or a black-market flower connection. I’m fresh out of both.
"Julia?" Courtney's voice breaks through my thoughts again. "The sheriff is here for the security walk-through."
I glance at my watch. It’s two p.m. exactly. At least someone's punctual.
"Thank you, Courtney." I straighten my navy pencil skirt and smooth down my cream silk blouse, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. First impressions matter, especially with local authorities.
I turn toward the door, a professional smile plastered on my face.
Then he walks in, and the air in the room changes .
Sheriff Adrian Wolfsbane is the kind of man I’ve only ever seen on the cover of romance novels.
And not the sweet kind, either. He’s tall, at least six foot four or five by my quick guess, with shoulders that fill out his navy uniform to perfection.
His black hair is slightly tousled, as though he just ran his fingers through it.
A five o'clock shadow darkens his jaw despite the early hour.
And what a jawline he has. Sharp enough to slice through my thoughts and send my heart to flip-flop around in my chest like a crazed bunny.
But there’s more. His eyes nearly stop my heart from beating, green-gray and penetrating, with a reflective shine when they catch the light.
Werewolf. Definitely. That explains the surly, animal handsomeness of it all.
Damn. I have to stop staring or I’ll need a cold shower.
I step forward, hand extended in greeting.
"Sheriff Wolfsbane? Julia Schroeder, the wedding planner. Thank you for making time for this walk-through."
He takes my offered hand, his grip firm and warm, dwarfing mine. Butterflies storm my stomach at the contact. And maybe lower, too.
Forget the cold shower. A cold bath filled with ice cubes will be necessary after this meeting is over.
"Ms. Schroeder." His voice is deep, gravelly, like rocks rolling downhill. His gaze lingers on my face and his big, warm hand holds mine for just long enough for the butterflies in my stomach to fully migrate down in my panties. Then he finally releases my hand and pulls out a small notebook.
"Let's get started. This venue presents numerous security challenges. "
So much for pleasantries.
"I'm sure we can address all your concerns while maintaining the atmosphere of a high-end wedding," I say, keeping pace beside him as he begins to inspect the perimeter of the ballroom.
"I'll need visible security at all entrances and exits," he states, not even looking at me. "Every vendor needs photo ID verification and background checks, no exceptions."
I blink. "Visible security might disrupt the—"
"These hallways need restricted access routes with checkpoints," he continues as if I hadn't spoken. "My deputies will need direct access to all comings and goings on the day of the event. All deliveries must be scanned and logged as well."
“Sheriff Wolfsbane, while I understand your concerns, this is a wedding, not a political rally.” Heat rises to my cheeks. This alpha-male routine is getting old and fast. “I insist that any security measure you implement be virtually invisible, especially in locations visible to guests.”
He stops walking and turns to face me. His expression remains impassive, but his eyes narrow slightly.
"This is a gathering of all the high-ranking members of the most powerful and richest dragon clan this side of the continent. Both the current and future matriarch are going to be present. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how much of an opportunity this is for any enemies they may have."
"I'm aware of the importance of this event," I counter, keeping my voice level. "But checkpoints will disrupt the flow of the evening, and uniformed officers will clash with the bride’s aesthetic vision. "
Workers nearby pretend not to notice our exchange, but their movements slow as they eavesdrop. I try to ignore it, but it’s hard not to care when I’m offering such a spectacle.
"The Draaks want their guests to feel welcomed, not policed," I add.
Adrian crosses his arms over his broad chest, the fabric of his uniform pulling taut across his shoulders.
His wide, deliciously muscular werewolf shoulders.
Down, girl.
"The bride’s aesthetic vision is irrelevant if someone gets hurt."
Okay, now he’s just being a jerk. And I chew jerks for breakfast.
"And what exactly do you think your department will do here?" I gesture to my clipboard. "The guest list has been vetted by Silverine Draak herself. No one who doesn’t belong here will step a foot inside this house."
"It's not the guest list I'm worried about.
" His jaw tightens and that animal glint in his eyes flash again.
"It's those who are not on a list. Old wounds run deep among dragons and I’m not putting it past one of them to take advantage of a weak point in the security spurred by some aesthetic vision. "
He’s saying that like Seraphina’s dream day is some frivolous nonsense. I’ll show him nonsense.
I exhale slowly, trying to rein in my frustration.
"Perhaps we should continue this discussion while touring the rest of the venue. The reception will take place here in the ballroom, but the wedding ceremony will be in the rose garden."
Without waiting for his response, I stride toward the hallway, heels clicking against marble. Adrian follows, his footsteps nearly silent behind me, despite his size. The silence of this big man following me is unsettling, like being stalked by a predator.
In the ornate hallway, portraits of past Draak matriarchs watch our progress with iridescent eyes.
"Have you been sheriff long?" I ask, attempting small talk to break the tension.
"Eight years," he replies curtly.
"And you've handled security for dragon events before?"
"Yes."
I wait for elaboration. None comes. As we walk, I'm increasingly aware of him, the way he moves with controlled power, how his eyes scan each doorway, window, and alcove.
The scent of pine and something wild, distinctly male, hangs around his powerful frame.
I catch myself noticing how his uniform fits across his broad back and tapers down to narrow hips, to mold a perfectly round ass.
Jeez.
I quickly redirect my attention to my clipboard.
"The rose garden is just through here," I say, pushing open a set of French doors.
Afternoon sunlight bathes the terraced garden in golden warmth. Rosebushes bloom in riots of color, bloodred, silver white, pale violet. The air is heavy with their perfume. Stone pathways wind between them, leading to the cliff's edge where the ceremony will take place.
I gesture toward the ocean vista stretching to the horizon.
"This is where they'll exchange vows, then take their first flight together as mates."
Adrian's expression doesn't change, but his eyes track the movement of my hand .
"This is a security nightmare," he states flatly. "Open exposure on three sides. I’ll have to cordon off the garden access for this to work."
And we're back to arguing.
"The Draak matriarch has taken her vow here for three generations," I counter, frustration mounting. "This is what Seraphina wants and this is what she will get. No point in arguing here."
"And I’m the one in charge of security." His voice remains maddeningly calm.
"And I say that if Seraphina wants to take her vows out in the rose garden, then she needs to accept that there will be uniformed personnel stationed around the perimeter, and at least two officers with direct sight lines to the bride and groom. "
Oh, hell no! I’m not about to have this wedding sabotaged by some overbearing, overly sexy, gruff werewolf sheriff. Over my dead, color-coded binder!
"Absolutely not." I step closer, indignation propelling me forward. "You cannot have armed officers flanking the altar. Do you have any concept of the vision she’s trying to accomplish here?"
"Do you have any concept of the danger you're ignoring?" His jaw tightens. "I’m not about to let some whimsical impulse get in the way of doing my job."
Oh, no, you didn’t! I narrow my eyes, trying my best to be as intimidating as I can. Which, granted, is about as intimidating to him as a mouse shouting at a lion. Or at a wolf. Same difference.
"The bride has the last word," I argue, resting my hands on my hips. "And I doubt you’ll want to go head-to-head with her on this."
"And I doubt you want to go head-to-head with Percy Ashbane on this event’s security. "