Chapter 17 Adrianna
Chapter Seventeen
Adrianna
Okay, so, one second, I’m minding my own business—running my family’s bakery, raising my niece, living with my mother again like a responsible, semi-functional adult—and the next?
I’m in Las Vegas.
Wearing this dress.
This ridiculously tight ivory dress I bought during a panic-fueled retail episode at one of those pop-up designer warehouse sales New Jersey sprouts like mushrooms after rain.
It was on clearance—deep clearance—and, miracle of miracles, it was actually my size.
That never happens. I took it as a sign from the universe and snatched it up like a gremlin with shiny objects.
And honestly?
It’s gorgeous.
Little peekaboo lace panels.
A wraparound off-the-shoulder bodice.
Form-fitting in a way that toes the line between classy and damn, girl.
It hugs every curve I’ve ever been insecure about… and somehow makes them look like assets. It lifts the girls, cinches my waist, and makes my butt look like it deserves its own zip code.
Anyway, yes, I’m wearing that dress, standing inside a sparkly hotel chapel, about to marry a rockstar who also happens to be my childhood sweetheart.
Why? Because some asshole crawled out of the woodwork and decided he suddenly wants custody of my niece.
What the actual FUCK is my life right now?
My mother and Bella?
Absolutely thrilled.
They’re treating this like a Hallmark movie starring me and Nathan Thorn instead of a panic-driven legal emergency wrapped in rhinestones.
Mom gasped, cried, hugged Nathan, hugged me, cried more, and said, “I knew it!” like she’s been secretly hoping for us since puberty.
Bella latched onto Nathan like he was a human version of TikTok and declared him cool, which is high praise for a twelve-year-old.
And Nate?
Nathan freaking Thorn.
He’s standing at the altar of what might actually be the gaudiest chapel in Vegas—gold fabric everywhere, rainbow crystals dripping from the ceiling, a neon sign that says UNFORGETTABLE LOVE (all caps) blinking ominously—and does he look nervous?
Nope.
Not even a little.
The officiant appears to be dressed as Wayne Newton, hair and all, swaying gently like he’s permanently stuck in performance mode.
And Nathan?
Nathan looks hot, of course he does. Ugh. But he also looks ridiculously pleased with himself.
Smug, confident bastard.
And when his gaze lands on me?
HOLY.
SHIT.
His blue eyes rake over me like he’s remembering every inch of my body from years ago and mentally undressing every inch of it now.
I swear he’s thinking dirty thoughts.
About me.
ME.
Adrianna Bosco, bakery owner, flour-covered regular human woman with more curves than I had when he knew me.
Those also include some new stretch marks, dimpled thighs, laugh lines, stress lines, and an ass that is a whole different entity than it was at eighteen.
The fact that he looks at me like he wants to ruin me against a velvet wall?
I am fucking speechless.
Could it be that Mr. Rockstar is actually thinking about me like that?
After all these years?
After all the miles between us?
After all the mistakes?
After I grew into my body and out of that girl he once knew?
My brain short-circuits.
My heart free-falls.
And for one terrifying, electrifying moment—I forget why we’re even here.
Because Nathan Thorn—international sex symbol, music legend, heartbreak connoisseur—is looking at me like I’m the only thing in this chapel worth worshipping.
And if he plays his cards right? I just might let him.