Chapter 9 Delaney
DELANEY
Why do people insist on saying what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?
I’ve been through more hells in my lifetime than most will ever know, and I can tell you one thing—none of them made me stronger. I did that. I clawed my way out of hell and built a life on the other side. Me. Stop giving the monsters credit.
Take back your voice and scream it at the top of your lungs.
Own your strength.
— Delaney’s Secret Thoughts
Two beautiful women, who couldn’t look more different but are apparently both considered my husband-to-be’s family, greet us as Lenny—which Ryker’s mom insisted I call her—and Ashton force me through the door.
They don’t know that’s what they’re doing, but internally, I’m dragging my feet while they pull me by the arms, kicking and screaming.
The tallest one steps forward, with blonde hair that looks like it belongs in a shampoo commercial cascading around her shoulders. “Delaney?”
“Hey, Evie.” Lenny kisses the blond’s cheek and steps aside. “Everly Wilder meet Delaney Rousseau.”
Jesus. Could this be more awkward?
“Hi.” I try to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Everly is practically family,” Lenny reiterates, and I make a mental note. That means the brunette is actually family, according to the breakdown Ryker gave me this morning.
Her gaze get stuck on my black eyes, and I desperately wish I could walk right back out the door. I don’t belong here. This shop is crystal chandeliers and plush carpets, and I’m . . . not.
“Don’t duck away,” she murmurs a little softer. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Great.
Guess they all know.
Not like you can hide it when my entire body is a giant bruise.
“Ryker should have ripped his balls off and shoved them down his throat,” the petite brunette announces, and I choke a little. “Fuck that, and fuck him. I hope that man can never use his—”
“Caitlin,” Lenny interrupts her loudly. Funny, I think I could like Caitlin. “Why don’t you take Ashton to look at bridesmaid’s dresses?”
My eyes fly to Ashton’s, and I swear to God they scream, Don’t you dare leave me. I’m not just out of my element here, I’m in a different universe altogether. Pretty sure my element doesn’t even exist on this planet.
“That’s okay, Lenny. I want to help Delaney.” Okay, I may actually love my sister.
Thank you, I mouth, and she slides her hand in mine.
Everly’s eyes track the movement, and she smiles and runs her hands down her pretty silk shift dress. “How about you tell me about the dress you envision before I start sketching?”
“You really don’t have to make me something brand-new. Honestly, I’d be fine with something you have that maybe didn’t sell.”
“Why don’t you tell us what you’re thinking, and while Everly’s sketching, I’ll go in the back and see if we have anything that might work?” Caitlin offers, and I nod. I know when to stop fighting a losing battle.
“Plain.” I swallow, glancing between the women.
“I’m not a big princess ball gown kind of girl.
” I look at Ashton, relieved when she smiles.
I hate how uncomfortable I feel. I know this is part of the deal.
A small piece of the part I have to play to keep Ryker safe, and I’ll do it.
But this isn’t me, not even a little bit.
“I don’t want to wear something heavy. And maybe not a whole lot of crystals. ”
Caitlin and Everly both tilt their heads, staring at me for a moment. It’s like they’re having a silent conversation that doesn’t stay silent for long. Everly hums, and Caitlin nods.
“Backless?” Caitlin asks, but she’s not talking to me.
Everly nods. “Lace.”
“Silk.” This time, Caitlin isn’t asking as her eyes light up.
“Yes,” Everly practically hisses through a stunning smile. “Are you thinking?”
Caitlin nods. “Be right back.”
“Okay, let’s get you in a dressing room.” Everly turns to Lenny and Ashton. “Who wants champagne?” She focuses on Ashton’s baby bump and smirks. “Okay, wait. None for you.”
“I think it’ll just be Delaney and me, sweetheart,” Lenny tells her, and I cringe. Again.
“Just you. I’m not a fan,” I admit.
“Of champagne?” Ryker’s mom asks me.
“Of alcohol, actually.” I look around the space, ready to get the hell out of here before they ask more questions. “Where’s the dressing room?”
Caitlin comes out from the back with a white garment bag slung over her shoulder and a pair of heels in her hand. “I figured you were a size six shoe. Am I close?”
“Five and a half,” I murmur.
She nods toward a hall, and I follow her to a large dressing room with a padded pale-pink bench in the corner and weathered-bronze hooks along the wall.
A smaller chandelier draped in crystals hangs above me, and a floor-to-ceiling mirror sits in front of me.
It’s as pretty as the rest of the studio.
And so out of the ordinary for me, I’m scared to touch anything.
Caitlin hangs the garment bag on a hook and places the shoes beneath it. “Okay, strip.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Don’t worry about modesty.” She motions for me to turn around, but I stand stock-still, staring. “Delaney.” Her hand goes to her very tiny hip. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, and you’re going to need help getting into the dress. Leave on your bra and underwear. I’ll do the rest.”
I blink at her. Nearly eye to eye. She’s as short as I am.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her as I unbuckle my jean shorts. Can’t say I realized stripping in front of someone would be on the agenda today. “It’s a little intimidating to be getting naked in front of you.”
“Lucky for him, my husband tells me that every day. The beautiful part, not the intimidating part.” She turns back to the garment bag and takes a gown out as I slide my shirt off.
“Although, that man would be better off if he were scared of me most days. He’s on the Kings team with Ryker.
I’m sure you’ll meet him soon. I have no doubt Nonna will be insisting we all go over for dinner before the wedding. ”
When I turn toward her, I expect her to stare at all the bruising, but she doesn’t. It’s my sneakers she’s stuck on. “You cannot wear Converse with an Everly Wilder, sweetie. Socks and shoes off. Now.”
I feel like I’ve just been chastised by a teacher, but I’m not sure if I’m embarrassed or in love. There’s something about this woman that is so . . . just . . . honest.
I like her.
I kick off my shoes and socks, feeling ridiculous.
“Arms up.”
“I might need a little help.” My smile fades. “Cracked ribs.”
“Shit, sorry.” She wiggles it over my head as carefully as possible. “You’re going to have to take the bra off once the dress is on.”
“How are you related to Ryker?” I ask as I slide the straps of my bra down, and Caitlin settles the dress around my hips.
“Our moms are sisters,” she tells me as she fixes the tiny buttons on the back of the gown. “And our dads are brothers.”
“What?” I try to look over my shoulder, but this woman literally takes my face and turns it back to the wall.
“No peeking until I have you all fixed.”
“Fine,” I mumble and stare at the wall. “So your mom and Lenny are sisters and your dad and Bash are brothers?”
“Yup. It’s kind of a crazy story. I’ll tell you one day after Sunday dinner.”
“Nonna’s dinner?” I ask, remembering Ryker mentioning that before too.
Caitlin grabs the heels and places them in front of my feet, so I can slide them on.
“Yeah,” she hums. “Nonna has been big on family dinners the past six months or so. Pretty sure she’s a hundred years old now, and I think her mortality is getting to her.
She likes having us all under one roof as often as she can.
My oldest brother has been out of the country for a while, so we’ve been down a few of us, but the rest of us try to get there as much as we can.
It’s rare that it’s all of us, but we try. ”
“That sounds . . .”
“Insane?”
“I was going to say nice,” I admit while she takes my hair out of the bun it’s tied up in and fluffs it down my back. “Can I—”
“Wait,” she stops me, then pokes her head out of the door. “Evie, can I have—oh, thanks. Perfect.”
Without her even asking, she was handed a veil.
Almost like Everly and she share a brain.
A moment later, she has it fixed in my hair and is tugging the dress in a few directions.
“Okay, now you can turn around.”
I said yes to the dress
#futuremrsbeneventi
I swear I stare at my first Instagram caption for far too long before I give in and post the picture of Ashton, Lenny, and me all gathered in front of a pretty Everly Wilder Designs sign. What I don’t expect is for my phone to immediately ding in my hand.
Olivia
Good girl. Love the post. Now get one on there of you and my cousin. Women love him. Your follower count will skyrocket even more than it already has. Make sure to tag him in it too. I want this wedding trending.
Delaney
Thanks, I think.
I refresh the screen, then do a double take.
How do I have ten thousand followers already?
I lay out Tori’s food, then grab my cup of tea and the book I picked up today from Dillan and decide maybe I’ll read a little before I go to bed tonight.
But as I stop next to the couch, I’m struck again by the pillow sitting on top of the neatly folded sheet and blanket.
Ryker’s meticulous about straightening up before he gets moving in the mornings.
But he can’t go on like this. That man is too big for my tiny couch.
I step toward my bedroom as the bathroom door opens and steam billows out, followed by a very damp, very shirtless Ryker.
And, oh Mylanta. That ink I like so much covers every inch of his muscled chest. Not just muscled.
No, his chest looks like it’s been chiseled from granite.
And his abs . . . His abs have abs. Super defined ones.
Ones that lead down to a perfectly carved V that dips beneath the towel tied at his waist.
I suck in a breath so hard, my ribs protest at the action.
“Hey, Bambi. Like what you see?” The delicious ass in front of me asks, and lucky for me, the flush of heat that was curling up my body moments ago turns to a flush of humiliation instead.
“Oh, pretty boy, you know you’re nice to look at.” I roll my eyes with practiced condescension. It’s completely fake. He’s so pretty, he makes me want to drop to my knees and do things I’ve never done. I turn away, but he grabs my hand and spins me back.
“Eyes on me, Lane. I don’t have my hearing aids in.”
“Sorry,” I say and sign. “Put a shirt on. We need to talk about our sleeping arrangements.” Well, I know I got sorry right. Not too sure about the rest yet.
“Oh yeah?” He lets me turn away this time, but I don’t need to be looking at him to see his grin. “What do you want to do about the sleeping arrangements?”
Resting my tea on the nightstand, I cross my arms, then uncross them. Ugh. This man is infuriating. “You’re too big for my couch.”
“And . . . ?” he asks as he slides shorts up under the towel, then drops it to the floor. “What should we do about that?”
In just the few days since the night I wish I’d never have to think about again, Ryker’s beautifully tanned skin has almost healed. His black eye is so muted already, it’s hard to even notice. Meanwhile, I look like I was run over by a tractor trailer.
“We could probably fit a twin bed in here,” I tell him, not bothering to try signing that. I don’t know most of those words, which frustrates me beyond belief. “Or I could sleep on the couch, and you could take the bed.”
“No.” He crosses the room in two long strides. My room isn’t that big, and his legs are stupid long.
“Seriously, how tall are you?” I ask, shaking my head.
“Six, four.” He reaches around me and grabs a tee off the bed. “So too damn tall for a twin bed or a couch. You’ve got a queen in here. Share the wealth, Rousseau.”
“You want to sleep . . . with me?” Jesus, could I sound more like a child?
The delicious grin that slides across his face lets me know that Saturday night did not, in fact, ruin me for all men. Because apparently, this one can still fluster the hell out of me.
“You are going to be my wife, Delaney.” Ryker’s smile softens, and he slowly tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “We’re going to have to be okay touching.”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the thought of you touching me in bed, Ryker,” I admit softly, watching his eyes and needing to know he understood what I said.
His thumb caresses my cheek, tracing the spot right under my stitches. “Then I won’t touch you in bed, wife.”
The air around us thickens, or maybe that’s my blood.
What is happening?
“I’m not your wife yet, pretty boy.”
“Pretty boy,” he says and signs. “If you’re going to make the nickname stick, you might as well know how to sign it.”
He takes my hands in his and spreads my fingers. “Now take your hand, fingers spread, and move it around your face in a circle, bringing it together at your chin.” He does it once with me. “Pretty,” he says, then pinches an imaginary piece of paper between that same hand, up by my brow. “Boy.”
We do that two more times before we put the words together.
“Pretty boy,” he says as we both sign the words.
“Thanks.” I do it again, this time on my own and smile when he nods. “Okay, one more. How do I sign husband?”
Ryker shapes my right hand into a C up by my face, then has me bring it down to clasp in my left hand in front of my chest. “Husband.”
I try it by myself and smile when he nods. “Husband.”
“Good job, wife.”
“Not yet,” I groan and poke his very hard, very unmoving chest. “Fine, pretty boy. You can sleep in bed with me. But keep to your own side. No touching.”
He crosses his heart like a Boy Scout, and I bite my bottom lip.
“I highly doubt you were ever a Boy Scout.”
“I was too focused on football for anything else.” He grabs a container from his bag and places his hearing aids back in. “What about you? Was little Laney a Girl Scout?”
I can’t even stop the laugh that bubbles up. “Ahh . . . that would be a no. My childhood wasn’t exactly compatible with that.”
He sits down on the bed and grabs the remote. “Want to watch TV?”
“Other side of the bed, pretty boy. This is my side,” I tease.
“You’re going to make me regret teaching you that, aren’t you?”
I purse my lips and wait for him to move to the other side. “Maybe.”
“I missed your fire, Bambi. I like seeing it come back.”
I shove my feet under my blanket and look at him. “Me too.”