Chapter 15 Maya
MAYA
The wedding morning chaos had finally settled. Miraculously, I’d gotten into my dress just fine. It was tight, but doable. And no Spanx, thank God. If I’d needed them, I’d be holding my breath, waddling like a penguin, and praying I didn’t have to pee. Small victories.
Not that breathing was a luxury I could fully enjoy. My bruised side made sure of that. Sucking in too hard meant rolling the dice with pain, and if someone made me laugh, game over.
Another win? My last-minute foundation magic had successfully concealed the sporadic cuts along my shoulders and arms. Desperation, it turned out, was one hell of a beauty guru.
The day had delivered perfect summer weather, a striking contrast to the backdrop of the Rockies, their distant peaks still brushed with snow.
Sunlight threaded through high, lazy clouds, casting playful streaks over the field.
The air carried the scent of roses and pine.
A fresh, earthy perfume, as if the land itself was offering its blessing.
Claire had outdone herself. The floral arch at the altar looked like something out of a dream, all lush blooms and delicate vines. When Sheryn saw it for the first time, she gasped, her fingers pressing to her lips.
“I promised I wouldn’t cry,” she sniffled, her eyes brimming.
I squeezed her hand. “Eh, let it out. It’s your wedding. You earned the tears.”
She huffed a wet laugh, dabbing beneath her eyes. “I’m ruining my mascara, aren’t I?”
“Nope.”
“Waterproof for the win,” she scoffed, pulling herself together.
“You look perfect.”
And she did. The dress, the flowers, the love in her eyes when she looked at Nick…it was all perfect. I watched as she stepped forward, her arm linked with her father’s, while Nick stood at the altar looking like a man who’d just had the breath knocked clean out of him.
The ceremony unfolded in heartfelt promises, vows exchanged beneath a Montana sky, and love woven into every glance. It was the kind of moment that made you believe in forever.
After everything she’d faced—cancer, her best friend behind bars—she deserved every scrap of joy life could offer her, and then some.
When Nick kissed her, the guests erupted in cheers. He dipped her, showing off, and Sheryn let out a breathless laugh against his lips. It was a snapshot of everything she’d fought for—happiness, love, and a man who looked at her like she was his whole world.
I clapped along with the rest, ignoring the small ache in my chest. It was not envy, never that. Only the bittersweet kind of longing. The kind that sneaks up when you realize how much time you’ve lost.
And having a cowboy-turned-groomsman within arm’s reach wasn’t helping.
Every inch of him said heartbreak, and still, I couldn’t look away.
Before I could decide whether Noah was actually flirting or just looking for an excuse to steal my attention, the wind shifted.
The sunlit day gave way to a cool gust sweeping across the valley, rustling through the roses. I shivered, but my priority was Sheryn. I grabbed a wide shawl and covered her.
Nick, ever the doting groom, had already shrugged off his tuxedo jacket, forming a mini umbrella over his bride. His arm tightened around her as the raindrops pattered against the tent. “Thank God for good timing,” he joked, his eyes alight with nothing but joy.
Laughter rippled through the crowd as we all made our way inside the main tent.
With that, the next part of the afternoon began.
The music swelled. The newlyweds twirled at the center of the dance floor, completely wrapped up in each other, the way two people should be on their wedding day. Sheryn was glowing, Nick couldn’t stop grinning, and the whole tent felt like it was spinning on pure joy.
Somewhere between the flutter of nerves and the ache of my bruised stomach, I found myself right where I shouldn’t have wanted to be—wrapped in Noah Lucas’s arms.
“Hello, Blue Storm,” he said as we started our dance. “You look absolutely stunning.”
And he was fucking amazingly unworldly handsome.
“How’s your side?” he asked. He was warm, his grip sure and easy.
His other hand rested lightly on my back, guiding me through the movements.
His smile reminded me that he would be my saving grace as tiredness crept through me, making sustaining the pain that much harder.
“I gotta say,” he murmured, “blue’s still your color. ”
I huffed a laugh, rolling my eyes. “Oh, come on. We’re really going back to that?”
“Well, it’s kinda hard to forget.” He smirked. “Y’know, walking into a tent and finding a woman in the middle of a wardrobe crisis. That kinda thing tends to stick with a man.”
I was blushing head to toe, but inside? I was a goner. Because yeah, that moment stuck with me too. “Right. I’m sure it haunts your dreams.”
His thumb brushed my palm as we turned. He was good. Too good. Funny, easygoing, and completely unfazed by the fact that I was carrying enough baggage to fill an airport.
He guided me through a twirl, smooth and effortless, but the moment I spun back into him, pain shot through my side. I sucked in a breath—too sharp, too telling.
Noah caught it instantly. “Hey, you okay?” His voice was low, just for me.
I forced a smile. “Yeah. Yeah. But I really need a breather soon.”
His gaze flicked around, assessing and taking in the rhythm of the other couples. Without missing a beat, he eased our movements into a simple sway. He slid his hands lower, bracing my waist and supporting me without making a big show of it.
This man…he touched my life like a rigged game, conquering impossible odds that made me a winner, whatever he did.
“Just hold on to me,” he murmured.
I looped my arms around his neck, grateful for the reprieve.
I wanted to lean into him, tuck my head against his chest, and maybe nudge his tie askew just enough to feel the warmth of him through his shirt. Just a little closer. Just for a moment.
But we were surrounded. A room full of people, laughter, clinking glasses, and champagne flutes held high.
Not now, Maya.
I pulled in a slow breath, every inch of his hold more honest than I knew what to do with.
He chuckled. “Told you—I’ve got you.”
I knew he did.
“So, Maya,” he asked, a gentle curiosity in his tone. “What’s your last name?”
“Belrose,” I said. Then, after a beat, I added, “It used to be spelled the French way, with two Ls and an E tucked in there. Bellerose. My granddad swore by it. Said our family came down from French trappers, when wild frontiers were still a thing. They staked their claim near Bridger Canyon. Somewhere along the line, someone trimmed it down and made it Belrose.”
He nodded as if tasting it. “Maya Belrose. Suits you.”
I ducked my head a bit. “Thanks. Guess it’s grown on me.”
“Where are you from, anyway? I mean, more recent than the wild frontiers.”
My heart stuttered. Here we go…
I should’ve dreaded the question. But something about the way he looked at me made me want to tell him the truth.
“You don’t know?” I said lightly, trying to deflect.
“No. I’m just a back-of-house guy. Never snoop around, don’t really ask questions.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I’m from Bridger Canyon?”
He whistled. No, of course he wouldn’t. “You didn’t look convincing,” he said.
Fair enough. Even if it were true, I didn’t do it like I was telling the truth, because I didn’t believe it.
But his smile sealed my fate.
For the first time, I felt tired of lying. And the vibe I had with him was like talking to Sheryn. Trust. Calm. Sincerity.
“I just got out of prison,” I murmured.
I braced for it, for his hands to tense, his arms to drop away, and that flash of judgment people try to hide but never quite can. But Noah?
There was surprise, sure. But no recoil and no polite step back like I was something moldy left too long in the fridge.
He just held my gaze, as if he were listening to something important.
“For what?” he asked.
My eyes drifted to the other couples dancing and the laughter bubbling around us, a stark contrast to what I was about to say.
“Three generations of the Belrose family used to live under one roof in Bridger Canyon. Mansion. Butlers. Stables. The whole thing. But after my grandparents died, it was our branch of the Belrose family that crumbled. My uncle played it smart. He outmaneuvered us and scooped up everything. The house, the money, the name. All of it.”
Noah’s gaze didn’t waver.
“But we were a resilient bunch. We made do and kept moving. Except there was one thing my mother never got over losing. Her necklace. It had been passed down from her grandmother. It was hers. So I took it back.”
“You broke into your uncle’s house?”
“Yeah. The house he stole from us,” I said. “Anyway, guess who got nailed for burglary? It was not great, but I was willing to face the music. Except he made sure it wasn’t just that. Someone planted evidence. Said I assaulted his daughter, my cousin, which was total bull. I never hurt anyone!”
My voice had edged too high, my face likely not dance-floor friendly.
Because Noah spun me then, just enough to turn us out of sync with the crowd, to shield me away.
And effortlessly, he made it look like nothing was wrong.
When we came back together, his hand found mine again, firm, as if telling me he heard every word.
He murmured, “I believe you, Blue. Your uncle was an absolute prick.”
“He denied it, of course. He made sure everyone saw his daughter as the victim. Even had photos of her face all blue and purple. But I didn’t touch her. She must’ve been in some kind of accident. Not that it mattered. No one believed a word I said.”
The next words stuck in my throat, but somehow, they still clawed their way out. “My dad had a heart attack the day I was arrested.” My voice faltered. “He—he didn’t make it.”
Noah inhaled, his fingers flexing against mine.
I stared past his shoulder, past the glittering lights, past the dance floor, and past the life I couldn’t have.