Chapter 44 Nick
NICK
The energy coiling through me has nowhere to go.
I'm ready. I've been ready since I went to bed alone last night in an empty hotel room instead of going home to Avery. I’m ready to make her my wife… again.
Standing in front of a mirror in the church vestry, waiting for someone to tell me it’s time, I glance at the clock on the wall and heave an impatient breath. My reflection stares back at me from the gilt-framed glass. Charcoal tuxedo suit, crisp white shirt, black tie, every line precise.
I look like a man in control. Inside, I’m vibrating with anticipation.
Today I’m marrying Avery.
The Icarus ceremony was ours, and I wouldn't trade that day for anything. But now I want everyone to see her walk toward me. I want all of the three hundred people inside this sanctuary to witness her choosing me.
After today, the entire world will understand what I've known since the moment I first touched her. Avery is mine forever.
The door opens behind me.
Beck enters with Gabe a step behind him, both in dark suits, both looking sharp and serious. Beck's gaze sweeps over me approvingly.
"You look like a man on top of the world," he says, grinning now.
I smile too. "Never better, brother."
"I'm glad. Truly." He cuffs my shoulder, giving me a solemn nod.
After more than a decade of watching me operate, he knows patience has never been my problem.
But patience and restlessness are different animals, and the one currently pacing inside my chest isn't interested in strategy or timing.
It just wants my wife in front of me, where she belongs.
"Won't be long now," Gabe says, after his phone chimes with an incoming text. "Eve says the ladies are en route and almost here."
I let out a breath. "Fuck. Now, I'm getting nervous."
My two friends chuckle. I reach up to adjust the knot of my tie and Beck shakes his head. "Leave it alone. It's already perfect."
"You sure?"
He rolls his eyes. "You look like you just stepped off a page in GQ. Relax. Besides, you already locked this up. Today is just a formality."
"Yeah, but today is important, Beck. I want it to be everything Avery's ever dreamed about."
He nods. "Understood. You've got this, Nick."
I catch the look Beck gives me as I drop my hand from my tie—part amusement, and something warmer. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to.
These two men have seen me through more than I could enumerate, Beck across boardroom tables and late-night strategy sessions, Gabe through every security crisis and close call.
They're here with me today because they want to be.
Because after everything, I've somehow earned the kind of loyalty that always shows up, no questions asked.
Gabe steps up and holds out his hand to me. "Congratulations—again. I can't think of a couple who's more deserving than you and Avery."
"I can think of at least one," I say, reminded of his complicated journey with Eve as I shake his hand. When I let go, I give him a brief embrace and a clap on his back. "Thanks for being here, Gabe. You and Eve both."
"We wouldn't miss it." He draws back as his phone buzzes with another incoming text. He gives it a quick look, then glances back up at me. "The team outside says they've got the area cleared and secured a full block in every direction. We're ready for go-time, boss."
My mind drifts to Avery, the way it has been doing all morning.
The glimpse I caught of her a few weeks ago at House of Delaire comes back to me in a visceral flash.
Avery wearing nothing but ivory lace lingerie and pale-blue silk ribbon against her skin, the swell of her breasts above the delicate cups, the heat that flared in her eyes when she realized I was watching.
I've been carrying that image like a secret ever since, knowing what she'll be wearing beneath her wedding dress today. Knowing that tonight, after the ceremony and the reception and all the public performance, I'll peel every layer off her slowly and take my time with what's underneath.
The anticipation licks through me, a heat that intensifies every time I picture her body beneath mine, her fingers digging into my shoulders, the sounds she makes when I'm inside her. The way she says my name when she's close to coming and can’t hold back her pleasure.
A few hours from now, we'll be alone. Finally. Just my wife and the bed I’ve been dying to get back into with her, and every filthy, reverent thing I intend to do to her tonight.
I want the ceremony. I want the vows and the rings and her hand in mine while the minister pronounces us husband and wife. I want all of it.
But God, I just want her.
Another knock sounds on the door.
My pulse kicks harder. Every muscle in my body goes taut.
The minister enters, calm, kind-eyed, the placid demeanor of a man who’s performed this ritual easily thousands of times before.
But when his gaze finds mine, something in his expression shifts.
Perhaps he sees the barely contained energy that radiates off me.
Perhaps he recognizes a groom who's been waiting for this moment a hell of a lot longer than the hour he's spent pacing in this vestry.
"Your bride is here, Dominic. It's time."
It’s time. Everything else falls away. Just those words, and the open door ahead of me.
Beck’s hand comes down on my shoulder, firm, brief. No words are needed now. His touch says he’s proud, happy for me. It says he knew I had it in me to turn my life around, even when I didn’t believe it. He nods once and lets go.
Gabe straightens from his post at the window. He nods. "Here we go."
"Yeah." I take one steadying breath. Square my shoulders. Then I step out the door.
The corridor is dim, the sounds of the sanctuary filling the hallowed space.
Murmured conversation, the soft strains of strings warming up, the rustle of programs. My footsteps echo against stone floors.
When I emerge through the side door, the space opens around me and the scale of this moment registers fully for the first time.
High ceilings soaring toward stained glass.
Filtered light fracturing into rivers of cobalt, gold and crimson across the stone floor.
Rows of polished pews filled with faces that turn toward me as I take my position at the altar.
Bouquets of burgundy roses and white freesia cascade from the ends of each pew and on elegant brass stands at the altar, their fragrance heavy in the air.
I take my position. Beck settles beside me, a solid presence at my shoulder. The minister stands ready, leather-bound Bible in hand.
And then there's nothing to do but watch those doors.
A gathered audience of hundreds in this sanctuary, and not one of them exists for me. My focus narrows to a single point: the pair of carved oak doors at the far end of the aisle, still closed, holding back everything that matters.
Time stretches. The string quartet plays something soft that barely registers. I'm aware of my own pulse, the discipline it takes to stand still when every instinct strains forward. Toward her. Toward the moment those doors will finally open and she’ll appear.
The music shifts. Pachelbel's Canon unfolds through the sanctuary, the notes building, swelling, filling the sacred space with the weight of ceremony.
The doors swing open.
Zoe appears first—small and precious in a flouncy dress of dusty rose. She saunters forward, beaming as she scatters petals like confetti. Her dark curls bounce with each determined step. Tasha follows in wine-colored silk, her smile trembling with happy tears as she takes her position.
And then. There. Framed in the doorway with soft light spilling around her.
Avery.
My senses hone in on her and I drink in the vision of her.
The ivory silk draping curves I know by heart, the skirt spilling to the floor and flowing behind her as she moves.
The fitted bodice wrapping her in soft architecture, elegant and timeless.
The sleeves made of sheer lace from shoulder to wrist, scattered with hundreds of tiny pearls that catch the light like constellations sewn into fabric.
Pearls. Our pearls. Woven into the very fabric she's wearing to marry me.
My throat tightens.
Her long blonde hair is unbound, falling in soft waves. A diamond tiara crowns her head where the elaborate veil should have been. She didn’t wear it, and I’m glad. Whatever beauty the original piece held, it’s a part of our past now. It has no place here today.
The tiara suits her better. My wife doesn't need a veil. She’s a queen. She deserves to wear a crown.
At her throat, resting against the sweet little hollow I love to kiss, is the infinity necklace I gave her. Pearls and diamonds. My claim, visible to everyone in this room, yet understood by no one but us.
Her mother walks beside her, glowing with pride, her eyes bright with tears she's not hiding.
I acknowledge Brenda, register the emotion on her face, but my attention returns to Avery within the same breath.
Everything else is peripheral. She is the center, and I am locked on her completely.
Her gaze holds mine from the moment those doors open, her smile already forming, the silk shifting against her hips with each measured step.
The distance between us closes with agonizing slowness. Each step she takes registers somewhere deep in my body, pulling the coiled tension tighter.
But I don’t want to rush this moment. I want to memorize each second. Everything we’ve been through plays in a rapid loop of memories in my mind. Our journey to this place has been long, full of missteps and mistakes, but we’ve made it.
Avery’s tender smile—the private one, the one that's only ever been for me—says she knows exactly what I'm thinking and she's thinking it too.
At last, she reaches me.
Brenda lifts Avery's hand and places it in mine. The transfer is gentle, deliberate, and weighted with a trust I’ll never break. My fingers close around Avery's, and the rightness of it settles into my bones. This is where she belongs. Where she's always belonged.
Her mother's eyes meet mine, steady, lit with the quiet ferocity of a woman who loves Avery as much as I do. I hold her gaze, letting her see everything: the gratitude, the promise, the vow I'll spend the rest of my life keeping.
She nods. Steps back.
And then, it's just us.
Before the officiant begins, our eyes meet and hold. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth—small, private, tender with everything we share. The Icarus at sunset. The vows we've already spoken. The rings that have already lived on our fingers. The future we’ve already begun together.
"Hello, wife," I whisper, only for her ears.
"Hello, husband."
The music fades slowly as the ceremony begins. The minister's voice fills the church, traditional words that settle over us. Avery's hand is warm in mine, her pulse beating against my palm.
"Do you, Dominic Xavier Baine, take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to love, honor, and cherish her, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, as long as you both shall live?"
Memories flood me in an instant, all the moments Avery and I have shared before coming together right now. We've already lived these vows. Every word of them.
"I do."
"And do you, Avery Danielle Ross, take this man as your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love, honor, and cherish him, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, for better or for worse, as long as you both shall live?"
Avery's eyes glisten. "I do."
She does. I exhale slowly, lost in the love I see in her gaze.
The minister turns to Beck. "Andrew, do you have the rings?"
He nods solemnly. The rings emerge from his tuxedo pocket, gleaming in his open palm.
Our simple gold bands. Not the custom-designed platinum rings we originally selected for this day.
These. The ones I carried to Key Largo, and that we slid onto each other's fingers while our informal, heartfelt promises carried out over the water.
I take Avery's left hand, lift it gently. The ring slides into place, and this time I feel the weight of it differently, not the private promise of Key Largo, but the public declaration of what she means to me. My past, my today, my future. It all belongs to her.
The minister guides us through the rest of the words.
I smile as I hold my bride's teary gaze. "With this ring, I thee wed."
Avery's fingers are steady and warm as she guides the other gold band onto my finger next. "With this ring, I thee wed."
The officiant's voice swells with the final declaration. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife." A pause. A smile. "Dominic, you may kiss your bride."
He's barely got the words out before I'm already in motion. My hands frame her face, my thumbs stroking her cheekbones as I tilt her mouth up to mine.
Her lips part for me, soft and warm and yielding, and I take.
The taste of her floods my senses, familiar and staggering at once.
Mine. Her fingers fist the lapels of my jacket, pulling me closer.
A sound escapes her throat, quiet enough that only I can hear, and it takes every ounce of discipline I possess not to haul her against me and make this kiss indecent.
I pull back before I scandalize both of us and the church full of onlookers. My breath has gone ragged as I rest my forehead against hers.
"Forever, angel," I murmur against her lips. "You and me."
"You and me." Her voice trembles with joy. "Always."
Applause erupts through the sanctuary—thunderous, joyful, crashing over us in waves. We turn to face them, her hand clasped in mine, and I let myself feel it. The triumph. The completion. The reality of this moment I've been chasing since I first saw her.
Life can be dark and ugly and painful. But it can also be soft and beautiful and full of grace. Like the woman standing next to me. My wife.
I've never believed in fairy tales. At least, not the kind that end happily for someone like me. But I believe in her. I believe in us.
For the first time in my life, I believe in forever.
I can believe in happily ever after too.
I see it every time I look in Avery's eyes.