4. Hope
HOPE
The bridal boutique smells like expensive perfume and possibility. It's tucked into a quiet corner of the Strip, all cream walls and soft lighting, the kind of place that makes you feel like a princess the second you walk through the door.
Standing on the platform in the private fitting room, I stare at myself in the three-way mirror, barely able to breathe.
The dress is absolutely perfect. Ivory lace flows over champagne silk, and the fabric hugs my curves before cascading to the floor in soft waves.
The bodice is fitted, with delicate off-the-shoulder sleeves that make me feel both elegant and sexy.
There's a subtle edge to it, a low back, a hint of skin through the lace that feels right for marrying a biker.
Romantic with a hint of soft and sweet, yet powerful.
“Oh, honey.” Mom's voice cracks, and when I look at her in the mirror, tears are streaming down her face. “You're so beautiful.”
“Mom, don't make me cry,” I warn, but my own eyes are already burning. “I'll ruin my makeup.”
“You don't have makeup on, drama queen,” Amy says from the velvet chair in the corner, but even she looks a little misty. She's wearing ripped jeans and a Saints Outlaws hoodie, completely out of place in this fancy boutique, and I love her for it.
The seamstress adjusts the hem, pins between her lips, and I turn slowly, watching the way the dress moves with me.
“Frost is going to lose his mind,” Amy adds.
“That's the plan,” I say, grinning.
Mom dabs at her eyes with a tissue. “I can't believe my baby is getting married.”
“In nine days,” I remind her, and the reality of it hits me all over again. Nine days until I'm Mrs. Deacon Stone. Nine days until I marry the man who makes me feel like I can take on the world.
The seamstress finishes the final adjustments and steps back. “Perfect fit. You're all set.”
I change back into my jeans and sweater, and head to the front counter with my mom and Amy in tow.
The shop is insanely busy today. Women are oohing and aahing over dress choices as stylists rush to check out other customers.
After what seems like an eternity, we leave the boutique with my dress carefully packaged in a garment bag.
There’s a slight chill in the air that hits us the second we step outside, but I barely notice. I'm floating.
We end up at a little Italian place a few blocks away, tucked into a booth with red vinyl seats and checkered tablecloths. Mom orders wine, Amy orders a beer, and I get a lemonade because I want to remember every second of this week.
“So,” Mom says, once we've ordered. “The rehearsal dinner. We need to get everything finalized and over to the caterer.”
I pull out my phone and open my notes. “Okay. We've got forty-three people confirmed. Frost's family, my family, the wedding party, and a few close friends from the club.”
“Menu?” Amy asks, stealing a breadstick from the basket.
“We're doing family-style service,” I say. “Short ribs and salmon as the main entrees, roasted vegetables, garlic mashed potatoes, and Caesar salad to start.”
Mom nods approvingly. “Dessert?”
“Tiramisu and cannolis per Frost's request.”
Amy grins. “Man knows what he wants.”
“He does,” I agree, and I can't help but smile thinking about him, about the way he looks at me, and the life we're building together.
Mom reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. And I'm so happy you found each other.”
“Me too, Mom.”
Amy raises her beer. “To Hope and Frost. Hopefully I don’t have to bash any more kneecaps this week.”
I laugh and clink my lemonade against her bottle. “Let's hope not.”
By the time we pull into the clubhouse parking lot, the sun's starting to dip lower in the sky, casting everything in that golden glow. Amy parks her car, and I carefully lift the garment bag from the back seat, cradling it like it's made of glass.
“Easy there,” Amy says. “It's not gonna spontaneously combust.”
“It might if Frost gets his hands on it,” I joke.
Mom laughs. “He's going to want to see it.”
“I know. Unfortunately for him, he's not going to.”
We're barely through the door when I hear his voice.
“There she is.” Frost's grin is wide as he crosses the common room toward me, his eyes dropping immediately to the garment bag. “That it?”
“Nope,” I say, holding it away from him. “Nothing to see here.”
“Come on, darlin’. Can’t I have a quick peek?”
“Not happening.”
He reaches for the bag, and I twist away, laughing. “No, Frost. It's bad luck.”
“Bad luck's a myth.”
“Bad luck is real, and you're not seeing this dress until I'm walking down the aisle.”
By now, half the brothers have gathered around, drawn by the commotion like moths to a flame.
“Let the man see his woman's dress,” Chaos says, grinning.
“Yeah, Hope,” another brother chimes in. “What's the big deal?”
“The big deal,” I say, clutching the garment bag tighter. “Is that it's tradition. He sees it on the wedding day, not before.”
Frost steps closer, his hands settling on my hips, his voice dropping low. “What if I really, really want to see it?”
I look up at him, my heart doing that stupid flutter thing it always does when he’s around. “Then you really, really have to wait nine more days.”
He groans, and his brothers laugh.
“She's got you whipped, brother,” someone calls out.
“Damn right I do,” I say, smirking.
Frost shakes his head, but he's smiling. “Fine, but I'm holding you to that ‘walking down the aisle’ promise you made.”
“Wouldn't miss it.”
The teasing dies down for a second, and then Chaos, because of course it's Chaos, leans back against the bar and says, “So when are you two gonna start popping out kids?”
I blink. “What?”
“Kids,” he repeats like it's the most natural question in the world. “You want 'em, right?”
Frost's hand tightens slightly on my hip, and I glance up at him. He searches my face, waiting for me to respond.
“Sure,” I say slowly. “I suppose we want kids. Someday... not right now.”
“We want time,” Frost adds. “To get to know each other more. Time to build our life together first.”
Chaos snorts. “You're getting married in nine days, and you want time to get to know each other? Should've had a longer engagement, man, not a month and a half.”
Before I can respond, Hawk reaches over and smacks Chaos on the back of the head.
“Ow! What the hell?”
“Wait until you find your other half,” Hawk says, his voice calm but firm. “You won't want to wait either.”
Chaos rubs his head, muttering something under his breath, but he doesn't argue.
Frost pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my temple. “He's right. When you know, you know.”
I lean into him, the garment bag still clutched in one hand, and smile.
Yeah. When you know, you know.