Chapter 22 Adrianna
Chapter Twenty-Two
Adrianna
I’m dancing with DJ freaking Mars, and the moment is so surreal I keep waiting for someone to yell cut and tell me this is all some elaborate prank.
His hands are polite, his movements smooth, his presence large.
Not intimidating, exactly—just the kind of confidence that comes from being used to being the big guy in every room.
“I have to say,” David murmurs over the music, “if someone had asked me an hour ago what type of woman I thought Nathan Thorn would marry, I’d have been wrong as fuck.”
The words hit harder than they should.
Like a slap.
Or a sucker punch.
An echo of every insecurity I’ve had since we stepped into this glittering rooftop fantasy.
Embarrassment floods me.
Humiliation follows right behind.
Because no fucking duh.
I know I’m nothing like the public imagines at Nathan’s side.
I’m not a model.
Not an actress.
Not an influencer.
Not a leggy blonde or a sultry brunette with a million followers.
I’m a baker.
A small-town girl with curves in places social media health & wellness crowds would call problem areas.
A woman who bought her wedding dress at a discount warehouse sale.
“Yeah, well, I mean, we’ve known each other forever,” I say weakly, offering some half-assed explanation, because what am I supposed to say?
Oh, don’t worry, he didn’t marry me for love.
He married me so a mafia-adjacent stranger doesn’t steal my niece.
I swallow against the truth clawing up my throat.
Shit.
Was I wrong to ask Nathan for help?
Wrong to say yes to this Vegas wedding trip?
Wrong to let myself get swept up—even for a moment—in the fantasy of him being mine again?
David must see every emotion flicker across my face—embarrassment, doubt, fear—because he shakes his head instantly, expression softening.
“Hey,” he says gently, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “You misunderstand me, linda. I don’t mean it like you don’t measure up. Not at all.”
I blink, startled. “Then what do you mean?”
He grins, wide and sincere.
“I mean you are way too hot and way too damn good for that gnarly motherfucker.”
A shocked laugh bursts out of me.
“Yeah, right.”
“Claro, I mean it,” he insists, spinning me lightly under his arm.
And weirdly, I think he does.
There’s no mocking in his voice, no shallow flattery. Just truth wrapped in charm and a hint of sadness.
“Look,” he continues, leaning in, “you seem real. Sweet. Wholesome, you know? And that is not something men like us deal with a whole lot in our circles.”
Men like us.
Like Nathan.
Like him.
Famous.
Hunted.
Desired.
Devoured.
“I don’t know about wholesome,” I murmur, heat creeping into my cheeks, “but I wasn’t lying either. I’ve known Nathan since we were kids.”
“Then he’s even luckier than I thought,” David says.
I snort. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do.” He twirls me again, slower this time. “See, the world is full of vampires, linda,” he whispers, and suddenly his whole expression changes—haunted, exhausted. “And they all want a piece of us.”
A chill skitters over my skin.
Because I know that look.
I’ve seen it—more than once—in Nathan’s eyes since he’s been back.
I know little about who he became after he left. Who he had to become.
But I also know that once, long before the fame tried to swallow him whole, that I saw it hovering at the edges of that life as it crept toward us. Toward him.
“David, I want you to know that whatever you might have seen or heard, Nathan means a lot to me,” I whisper, unsure what I’m even trying to say.
His hand squeezes mine. “I get it. I can tell. So, protect him, yeah? Now that you got that ring on your finger, use it like a shield or a sword. Whatever you have to.”
My throat tightens.
“I will.”
I nod in agreement.
David looks at me long and hard. I don’t know this man from Adam, and what’s more, he has no idea how much those words hit.
How much I already want to do exactly that.
But then David’s voice drops lower.
“Be careful, though. Don’t lose yourself. Not in this shitstorm we call success, yeah?”
I swallow hard.
“I won’t.”
It’s a promise I’m quick to make because DJ Mars is right.
I’ll need to be prepared.
“If you get into trouble, call me. I’ll come,” he says, and I nod again.
“Don’t just say yeah. Tell me your digits, linda.”
“Sure,” I grin as I say my number out loud, shaking my head because it’s ludicrous. He can’t possibly remember it.
“Good, now smile because your man is watching and I wanna make him jealous,” he whispers, and I laugh again.
David is a flirt. Harmless, but still a flirt.
But I do smile because I can’t help it. But also, maybe it’s because I know I shouldn’t be remembering Nathan’s hands on my waist earlier—hot, confident, reverent.
Or the way he kissed me like a man who’d been starving for sixteen years and finally found food.
Or the way my heart has the nerve to hope.
I shouldn’t let my fantasies blur with reality.
I shouldn’t want him.
But God, I do.
And that is the most dangerous thing of all.
Because I can’t confuse this whirlwind marriage, this protective act, this desperate solution, with the girlhood wish I buried at seventeen.
That Nathan Thorn could ever truly be mine.
David spins me again, and I try—really try—to keep the mood light. But his words cling like smoke, curling into all my hidden doubts.
The world is full of vampires.
And suddenly I feel every pair of eyes in this glittering rooftop restaurant.
Staring. Whispering. Judging.
I’m out of my depth.
Out of my league.
Out of my damn mind.
Before the thought spirals any further, something warm and solid presses against my back.
A hand—big, steady, unmistakably familiar—rests at the small of my waist.
My breath catches.
“Nate?” I breathe.
I don’t even need to turn to know it’s him.
His voice rolls down my spine, low and possessive.
“Mind if I cut back in?”
David lifts his brows, amused. “Ah. The husband. I was wondering when you’d swoop back in, bruh.”
Nathan’s fingers tighten on my waist—subtle, firm, claiming.
He doesn’t speak yet.
He doesn’t need to.
His body radiates tension. His jaw is tight. His breath hits the side of my neck.
“Looks like I’m swooping in now,” Nathan replies easily.
David tilts his head. “I see you, man. But it was just dancing.”
“Damn right. And it’s my turn now.”
“Yeah, man, I get it,” David says, still not letting go of me. “You’re a lucky man, Thorn. Adrianna is a true beauty, yeah?
“That she is,” Nathan replies, and I swear I feel it in my toes.
“You know, I can take her for another turn around the room. I don’t mind at all. We move good together, don’t we, linda?” David winks, and he’s actually just full on goading Nathan.
“It was a nice dance, thank you,” I reply.
I’m biting my lip to stop from grinning because the whole thing is silly.
The top DJ in the world and one of the most beloved rockstars of our time are actually pretending to fight over me. Me.
What even is my life right now?
“One dance is all you get, Mars. I can handle my wife from here just fine,” he says, eyes locked on David with a smile that doesn’t reach them.
Then he looks at me.
And everything else disappears.
David lifts his brows. “That’s how it is?”
Nathan doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink.
“Damn fucking straight.” Nathan’s voice isn’t loud, but it vibrates through my spine. “My wife and I have to be going soon.”
Wife.
The word hits me like a spark to dry kindling.
David lifts both hands in surrender, a crooked grin tugging his mouth as he steps back.
“Alright, alright. Wedding night plans, yeah? I see how it is.”
Nathan doesn’t bother replying.
He simply slides a hand up my back, fingers splaying possessively, claiming space that—shockingly—I want him to claim.
His palm settles at the base of my neck—hot, steady, sure.
A shiver runs across my skin.
“Nathan—” I whisper, not sure if I mean to calm him or encourage him.
But then he turns me to face him fully, and his eyes—God, those eyes—are blazing.
Jealous.
Raw.
Hungry.
“Come here, Sparky,” he murmurs, and when I lean into him, his free hand slides to my waist and the one gripping the back of my neck guides me closer.
He’s so big. Tall and hard—not a gym rat, but I feel his muscles through his clothes and I know they’re there.
His eyes are burning as they meet mine. God, I love that ring of blue fire surrounding his pitch black pupils.
Holy. Fuck.
I breathe in and almost moan.
He just smells so good.
Like leather and mint and man.
Before I can think—or breathe—his hand tightens at my nape, conjuring a whole swarm of butterflies inside my stomach, and he pulls me in for a kiss.
And he kisses me.
Hard.
Deep.
Certain.
Heat crashes through me, melting every ounce of doubt as his mouth takes mine—slow but demanding, tender but fierce.
My hands grip his shirt instinctively. The hand not on my neck squeezes my hip, holding me firmly against him.
It’s the kind of kiss that silences every whisper in the room. At least for me, it does.
The music fades.
The only thing anchoring me to reality is Nathan Thorn’s mouth on mine.
“Fuck, Sparky, you taste like home,” he growls against my mouth.
He pulls back only when I’m breathless, dazed, buzzing.
Then, without giving me a chance to protest or blush or come up with some sane response, he entwines his fingers with mine and turns toward the exit.
“Nate—where are we—?”
“Out,” he says, voice low and final. “I’m done sharing you.”
My heart stutters.
And before I can say yes or no—oh, who am I kidding, I’m so not saying no—he’s leading me through the restaurant like he’s done waiting.
Like he knows exactly what he wants.
Like he’s ready to make this marriage very, very real.
He crosses the dance floor, my hand firmly in his, and we walk out past the glittering tables and celebrity diners, down the hallway lined with gold fixtures.
And for the first time all night, I don’t question it.
I don’t hesitate.
I don’t look back.
I follow him.
Because his hand is warm around mine, because my heart is pounding like it’s trying to escape my chest, and because—God help me—I want whatever is coming next.