Chapter Thirty Cupcakes and Wedding Gowns #2
She hasn't taken her glasses off, and her dirty blonde hair is still falling in its usual messy beach waves. The contrast between her grounded, familiar style and the jaw-dropping elegance of the silk slip is absolute perfection. She doesn't look like a mannequin. She looks exactly like Skyler.
Grace covers her mouth with both hands, her blue eyes instantly welling with tears as she stares at her brother's future wife. “Sky...oh my God.”
“Does it even look like a wedding dress on me?” Skyler asks, her voice small, her eyes darting to the three-way mirror. She reaches up, her fingers finding the hem of the cowl neck. “Does it look like a nightgown?”
“Absolutely not,” Rylee assures her, stepping forward to adjust the train with a photographer’s eye for symmetry. “You're going to completely destroy Carson's ability to speak.
Grace snorts, “Which we all know is a near impossibility.”
Sutton disappears for a fraction of a second, returning with a short, shoulder-length tulle blusher veil.
Without asking, she steps onto the pedestal and pins it to the back of Skyler’s messy hair.
The bounce of the short veil against the sleek, sexy drape of the silk slip cements the look. It's the ultimate cool-girl bride.
Skyler looks at herself in the mirror, her shoulders relaxing as a slow, beautiful smile spreads across her face. She turns to me, her brown eyes bright behind her lenses.
“Thank you, Hadley,” she whispers.
“Don't thank me,” I insist, my throat suddenly tight as I look at her. “You look spectacular.”
Seeing her standing there, so entirely certain and beautiful in a choice she made on a whim, sends a strange, fierce ache through my chest. It’s a reminder of why we’re all here.
We’re here because life is short. After all, risks are worth taking, and because when you find the person who makes the chaos stop, you don't wait.
I look down at my phone, the screen blank, but my mind is counting down the hours until the guys arrive at the club tonight. Until Julian walks through the door.
Skyler found her dress, and tonight, I’m going to find my courage.
“Tonight,” Rylee declares, her voice cutting through the warm, neon-soaked desert air as we navigate the bustling crowd on the Strip, “we are celebrating the official independence of Hadley Sullivan and the bride-to-be, Skyler McKenzie. No beer. No cheap wine. We are doing this right.”
“Agreed, but we are also pacing ourselves,” Grace chimes in immediately, shooting me a pointed, highly meaningful look over her shoulder.
“Tonight, you are a legal adult, Hadley, which means we drink high-quality liquor and we chug a glass of water between every single round. No one is getting sick on my watch.”
“Yes, Mom,” I laugh, as a small blush creeps up my neck at the memory of Julian having to take care of my heavily intoxicated self weeks ago.
As we pass the sleek, dark glass of a high-end designer storefront, I catch a glimpse of my reflection. The emerald-green dress I’m wearing is tighter than anything I’d usually dare to pull out of my closet. My waves are pinned back elegantly on one side, exposing the line of my jaw.
I look older. More sophisticated.
Seconds later, the heavy brass doors of the club swing open, and we are ushered straight past the massive line and into the venue.
The atmosphere is louder and more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. The music is a physical baseline thumping against my ribs as the lights flash in rhythmic patterns across a sea of moving bodies.
“First rounds on me!” Grace yells over the roar of the crowd, shoving a small glass with a light blue cocktail inside. “It’s a Blue Lagoon. Delicious and not too strong
It looks pretty and fruity, so I raise the glass and take a healthy drink.
It leaves a warm, tingling trail down my chest, a sudden blooming heat that makes the flashing lights look a little softer, the music a little sweeter.
“Another!” Skyler laughs, her cheap plastic bridal veil bouncing as she clinks her glass against mine.
I don't protest and take another shot, and then a sweet, fruity cocktail that tastes like candy but burns like fire. By the third drink, I barely notice the noise of the club anymore. The nervous, tight coil that has been wound up in my stomach for two weeks finally snaps, unraveling into a loose, floaty warmth. I’m laughing, dancing with Stacey, and for a few minutes, I forget.
Then, the crowd near the VIP entrance shifts and there’s a small, excited commotion.
Even through the hazy, warm fog of the alcohol, my body reacts before my brain does. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I turn my head, my eyes cutting through the flashing neon lights, and my breath catches in my throat.
The guys have arrived. Skyler mentioned they’d probably show up. None of the guys were too keen on letting their women go to a separate club away from their protection.
Jensen, Carson, Jayce, Zander, and Owen stroll in, laughing and throwing arms around each other. My eyes don't linger on them. They lock onto the man walking at the very back of the group.
Julian.
He’s wearing a dark, form-fitting button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing the thick, heavy muscle of his wrists.
His long, dark curls are bundled up into a man-bun on top of his head, and his thick beard frames a mouth that I can still taste if I close my eyes.
He looks massive, imposing, and completely out of place in the sleek, neon-lit club.
Like a wild animal trapped in a glass cage.
I can’t look away. Within three seconds, as if he can feel the weight of my stare, his head snaps up. His eyes find mine across the crowded room.
Even from twenty feet away, through the smoke and the flashing lights, I see his entire body go rigid.
His jaw tightens, his shoulders locking into place.
The carefully constructed distance he has been trying to maintain for two weeks evaporates in a single heartbeat.
His gaze darkens, turning intense, and it’s focused entirely on me.
Seeing that look sends a violent jolt of pure heat straight down my spine, burning away the last remnants of my hesitation. The alcohol makes me brave, but the look in his eyes makes me reckless.
I am so incredibly done letting him avoid me. I am done letting him decide what is good for me, or what I am allowed to want. He doesn't get to hide behind his walls anymore. Not tonight.
I turn to the bar, grab a fresh shot of vodka sitting on a tray, and slam it down without even blinking, ignoring the burn in my throat. I set the glass down with a sharp clink, raise my chin, and walk straight toward him.
The crowd seems to part for me, the music swelling into a deafening roar as I close the distance between us. Julian doesn't move an inch. He stands there like a statue, his chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged breaths as he watches me approach.
I don't give him a chance to speak or put his armor back on. I step directly into his personal space, the heat radiating off his big body hitting me like a physical wave. Reaching out, I wrap my fingers firmly around his wrist, right over his heavy pulse point.
“Hadley,” he growls, his deep voice rumbling beneath the bass of the club, a warning laced with pure desperation.
“Come on,” I reply. “It’s my birthday. You have to dance with me.”
Before he can second-guess it or pull away, I tug him firmly toward the crowded, flashing heat of the dance floor.