Naomi
Fuck this and fuck him.
“This is bullshit, you know?” I snap, pushing myself between the front seats, as I glare at Jaxon’s stoic face. He keeps his eyes on the road, not even acknowledging me with a side glance.
There are four of them. Fucking Four.
The moment I step foot outside this SUV, it’s going to look as if the Secret Service is crashing my engagement party.
Yeah, it’s a black-tie event, but this? This is ridiculous.
Did they really have to show up looking like a coordinated death squad?
Matching black suits, earpieces tucked neatly into pristine white collars.
I rip the earpiece from Jaxon’s ear and slam my point home. “THIS. IS. BULL. SHIT.”
“Heard you the first time, Reina,” he says, calm as ever. Still, he doesn't look at me as he makes the final turn towards Christian’s house. “Now, sit back in your seat.”
“Oh yeah?” I lean closer, dropping my tone to a low whisper. My lips brush the shell of his ear. “Then why the hell are you igno—ooop!” I squeak.
Before I can finish my tirade, Nyx’s fingers curl around my hips, yanking me back between him and Cade, and tossing me into my seat behind them.
I roll my eyes, sinking into my chair just like Jaxon ordered me to do. I fucking hate when he does that. It’s even worse when his friends back his crude behavior.
Nyx’s gaze darkens, with a flicker of something lethal in his eyes.
“His mood is fucked today,” he grumbles, tugging my dress back down where it’s ridden up my thighs. His fingers linger a moment longer than necessary before his eyes flash to mine. “Just put your seat belt on and quit pushing it.”
Then, just like that, he goes back to staring out the window, slipping his headphones on. Ever the tortured soul, “Code Mistake” blasts in his ears, shutting out any attempt at a rebuttal.
As the SUV rolls to a stop in front of Christian’s house, I let out a slow breath. Any chance to argue slips away as Jaxon shifts the truck into park. He looks exhausted—and the night has only just begun.
I could kill Max for this. Smother him in his sleep. I told him I don’t need a bodyguard, especially not when my whole family will be here. But does he listen? No. Instead, he sends a fucking battalion.
“Xay, walk her to the door. Then meet back here,” Jaxon says, handing me off like a chore to Aisha’s boy toy in the passenger seat.
I slide myself back between Nyx and Cade, aiming my displeasure at Jaxon. “I’m perfectly capable of walking ten feet on my—”
Jaxon’s gaze snaps to mine, ice cold, freezing my words dead in my throat. His look burns deep into my soul, sending a chill racing down my spine, but igniting a fire in my core.
“Do you think I want to be doing this today?” His tone is just as frosty as his eyes. His fingers lock around my neck as he pulls me close, so close I can feel his breath feather over my lips. “Do you think I want to be here?”
There’s a flash of something raw behind his eyes, a pain that steals my words. The silence stretches thick between us, deafening. My pulse races under his grip, and for a moment I think he won’t let go. For a second, I don’t want him to.
“Xay, take her.” He grits out. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, his grip stalling before he releases me, leaving me breathless and rattled.
Xay moves, finally, when Jaxon’s frigid gaze hits him, releasing me from the tension.
Cade's jaw tightens as he watches Jaxon, whose knuckles go white against the steering wheel.
The muscle in his cheek twitches—once, twice.
Cade casts me a side-long glance, his eyebrows lifting slightly, that familiar crease forming between them.
As if to say, “What the hell is going on?” Sir—Fuck if I know.
I shift toward Nyx, my knee bumping his. His gaze flicks from the window to my face, then to Cade, then back to me. He shrugs one shoulder and picks at a loose thread on his jeans, the corner of his mouth quirking up before he turns back to the window.
I clear my throat. "Jesus Christ, are any of you going to let me out?"
Nyx doesn't budge an inch. Just sits there, one eyebrow raised, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. His thighs spread slightly wider in the seat.
I roll my eyes and shift toward him, my dress riding up as I maneuver across his lap. His hands find my waist, and before I can process what's happening, he's lifting me out of the car like a goddamn rag doll.
My stilettos hit the pavement at an awkward angle, and I wobble. "Hey!" My voice cracks as I steady myself, tugging my dress back down. "What was that?"
He slides out after me, all fluid grace, and shrugs. "Looked like you needed some help, Dollface."
My pulse hammers in my throat. I press my thighs together, hating how his casual touch leaves fingerprint-shaped heat on my skin, how Christian's ring suddenly feels two sizes too tight on my finger.
Taking a deep breath, I shake it off and toss Nyx a glare that could freeze hell before stalking away.
The cool night air slides between the silk of my dress and my skin, raising goosebumps along my thighs. The fabric whispers against my body with each step, reminding me of hands that shouldn't be there. Just as I reach for the door handle, a low whistle cuts through the darkness behind me.
I glance back to find Nyx leaning against the car, one corner of his mouth lifted just enough to reveal a hint of gold piercing between his teeth. His mismatched eyes—one blue as the Atlantic, one green as absinthe—track from my ankles upward, leaving heat in their wake. My pulse trips over itself.
My fingers drum against my clutch. My weight shifts from one heel to the other. Again. Again. I can't seem to stand still under that gaze that somehow sees way too fucking deep.
"You're making it hard to focus on anything tonight," he says, voice rough like gravel.
I bite down on my bottom lip until I taste copper. "Stop ogling me and do your damn job."
When I finally force myself to turn away, I catch my reflection in the glass door—pupils blown wide—and hate the betrayal written all over my face.
I sweep my hair over my shoulder, with more attitude than I mean to, biting back to look at him again. My pulse thunders in my ears, but I straighten my spine and stride toward Xay. Indifferent. But who am I trying to prove that to— him or myself?
As Xay walks me to the entrance, his lips move in a blur—I catch fragments of “protocol” and “guests,” but my head is too crowded with Jaxon’s clipped words and Nyx’s mismatched eyes haunting me. I force a nod, offer a thin smile, and pretend to follow along, though I nearly miss the staircase.
A rough tug on my forearm yanks me back. Xay’s fingers squeeze my skin, his voice softening. “He’s gone for you, too, you know?”
My heart lurches. “Huh?”
“Jaxon. You’re the reason he’s been off all night. He cares about you—a lot.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “No offense, Xayvion, but if he felt that way, wouldn’t he say it himself?”
Xay holds my gaze, unblinking. For a heartbeat, I think he’ll confess everything, lean in and tell me to understand—I can tell there’s something on the tip of his tongue.
Instead, he exhales, shakes his head, and tucks his hands in his pockets.
“Okay, Naomi.” He turns on his heels and treks back to the Escalade, leaving me with my anxiety-laced thoughts.
Through the cluster of arriving guests, I spot Jaxon propped against the SUV’s gleaming bumper.
He looks good in his tux, one foot hooked on the chrome step, shoulders rigid.
Under the glow of lights, he meets my eyes and offers a tight, hollow smile.
Then he taps the face of his watch, “Tick, tock,” he mouths, silently urging me into Christian’s arms, for the second time.
My stomach twists, and my heart stutters—I have to accept the facts.
What happened between us was nothing more than two people, just two people carried away in a spark-lit moment.
So, I pack it away. I knew what it was. But for a moment, I wanted Xay to be right.
I stare at him for a second more before shaking the thoughts out of my head and heading for the front door.
With every click of my heels over the stone floor, I lock onto a one-way train barreling toward matrimony—no stops, no getting off.
The decor has always been a bit garish, but who am I to judge?
Standing here trying to compose my face is made all the more difficult by the new monstrosities in the foyer.
Two massive golden lions— their manes sculpted in rigid curls that catch the light—rear up on either side of the marble archway.
Their paws meet overhead, forming a gaudy gateway to this tacky hell.
Walking under their joined claws, I turn to gaze at them, marveled—not even in a good way.
Their eyes are inlaid with what must be rubies, glinting bloodred against the burnished metal.
My future mother-in-law has never shown interest in becoming a client. Still, at this point, I would gladly do an overhaul of this pretentiously lavish nightmare for funsies if I never have to see another scrap of Versace gold again.
“Naomi!” Courtney skates to a stop in front of me, pulling me into a tight hug. “You look beautiful.”
Taylor’s only two seconds behind, wrapping his arms around her.
“Congratulations, Naomi.” He gives me a quick peck on the cheek.
Why can’t all men be as sweet as Taylor?
His southern accent, more intense than mine, and he has the warmest hazel eyes—like my brothers, but more vibrant. He’s a hug in human form.
“Thanks, you guys.”
The couple oozes the kind of love that is plastered on the silver screens, the type that makes you either want to gag or cry. I’m still deciding which, myself.
But they’re adorable; it’s as if they were made for each other, if you believe in soulmates, destinies, and all that jazz.
I do.