Chapter 52
JAMIE
It’s the day before the full moon, barely three weeks since Morgan’s birthday, and today I’m getting married.
The venue turns out to be Morgan’s mansion—the one with the slide into the pool. It’s Victorian, extravagant in every detail, and I feel like I’ve stepped into a fairy tale.
All I’ve had to do so far today is follow directions. Every single minute is planned, which is good for my nerves, since it doesn’t leave me any time to overthink. Breakfast, hair, makeup, getting dressed—there’s not a second to spare.
My suit is white, embroidered tone-on-tone with delicate florals and bead flowers, as ornate as any dress. A white tulle cape with a diamond-encrusted hem drapes over my shoulders, dragging behind me like a train, and there are white roses woven into my half-up hair.
It’s perfect. It feels like… me.
With just a few minutes until the ceremony, Eileen comes and fusses with my veil, shifting it slightly before putting it back where it was.
“You’re so gorgeous!”
A blush rises to my cheeks. “Thanks, this is… it’s really a work of art.”
Eileen gives a proud nod. “And Morgan hasn’t seen it! Not even the concept sketches. She’ll be totally stunned. Getting her to pay for something sight unseen was no easy feat, of course. But she knows I know fashion. And… I may have threatened to quit if she peeked.”
Eileen’s fussing and rambling fill the last few minutes that I otherwise would have spent staring at the clock and freaking out.
So, it’s not until I’m standing just inside the house, looking out at the yard dripping with white roses like late summer snow, chairs arranged and leading up to a delicate white arch, Mom at my elbow, that it hits me.
“You look beautiful, honey,” Mom says, tearing up.
“Mom, if you cry, I’m going to cry…”
“I know, I know!” she fans herself. “Okay. It’s okay. I’ve got this.”
The string quartet—same as from her birthday party—starts playing the pop song that’s become ours. Longing and relief weave in the melody, a reminder of that lonely darkness I carried for so long and never have to face again.
That’s my cue.
I take a deep breath, and Mom and I step outside.
Even though it’s a small group, having so many eyes pointed towards me would normally give me an anxiety attack.
But I only see Morgan standing by the altar.
She wears a black tuxedo that fits her perfectly, with a low plunge in the front that shows off her chest. Her hair gathers in a chignon at the base of her neck, a few strands framing her face.
As she takes me in, her eyes soften with tenderness, tears welling.
My breath shakes. Oh no, if Morgan cries, I’m really going to lose it.
Her psychiatrist friend, Gia, is officiating.
She looks sharp and professional in crisp taupe pleats with her stark black hair and natural blonde money piece up in a slick high ponytail.
Now that I’ve met her, I like her a lot, even if two female alphas in the same conversation is totally overwhelming.
Gia’s golden eyes reveal subtle warmth as she leans forward and gives Morgan’s shoulder a squeeze.
Mom walks me down the aisle, and I’m floating. It’s all so surreal—until Morgan takes my hands at the altar, and her touch grounds me.
This is real. This is really happening.
Tears roll down her cheeks, and she doesn’t try to stop them. I reach up to brush them away.
“Look what you do to me,” she teases softly. “I swore I wasn’t going to cry.”
I laugh and stifle a sob. “I made no such promises.”
“You’re perfect,” she whispers. “Absolutely perfect.”
“Remember you said that when you want to divorce me in a year,” I mutter.
Morgan laughs, the sound ringing out over the lawn. “I will.”
“Avery does divorces,” Gia whispers to me, referring to Morgan’s lawyer friend. “She’ll give you a very good deal.”
Morgan rolls her eyes and elbows Gia.
The music fades, and Gia clears her throat.
I can’t focus on the words, so I glance out over the guests. It was a mistake—Mom is in the front row, crying her eyes out. Vance has his arm around her, gently rubbing her back, and he’s misty-eyed too.
Mom hasn’t said anything about her own romantic plans, but I think she feels it too. Vance is going to be around for a long time.
I turn back to Morgan, and she holds me in her gaze—locks me there.
I don’t really process what Gia’s saying, but then Morgan says, “I do.”
“And do you take Morgan Azalia Hunter to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“Yes, please.” Shit, that was the wrong thing.
Morgan pulls me into a kiss anyway. Grabs my ass to uproarious cheers.
She presses her forehead against mine.
“Now you’re stuck with me,” I whisper.
Tender words fall against my cheek. “I’m never letting you go.”
#
I’ve been dreading pictures, but I just keep looking at Morgan, and apparently that’s perfect. Mom stops crying just long enough for us to get a great shot of the two of us, and one of her, Morgan, Vance and me.
After pictures, we move inside for the reception.
Morgan’s fingertips brush down the sheer back of my suit coat, following the floral embroidery.
“Eileen really outdid herself… But this is going to look even prettier on the floor...”
I shiver as Morgan leads me into an area of the house I haven’t seen yet.
It’s like we stepped into a magical garden. Plants and flowers drip from every surface, as if sprouted there by magic.
“Morgan…” I breathe. “This is… incredible.”
She kisses my temple. “I knew you’d love it.”
It’s a small group, so it’s easy to make the rounds. On my side it’s just Mom, Vance, and Lily. I wasn’t sure if Lily and I were that close, so I pitched it as free food. I think she was honored to be invited—she seems to be having a great time, and she gets along well with Mom.
Morgan’s side is small, too. There’s Eileen, of course. A few of Artemis’s execs. Gia and the other female alphas from the party. Morgan has told me their names, but my brain always short-circuits when confronted with that much raw alpha-ness at once.
“You look gorgeous, love,” says the most femme of the group, the pink-eyed heiress who breeds racehorses.
“Quite a little treat.” The rugby player, the only one who matches Morgan for sheer mass and strength, licks her lips.
“You need to get him claimed before somebody else does,” the rockstar adds, crimson eyes glinting with challenge.
A growl rumbles in Morgan’s chest. “Watch it.”
The actress—Christine Evansworth, I remember her name, at least—laughs, electric blue eyes twinkling. “Oh, you are down bad, Mor.” Then she looks to me. “Good job.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?” asks Avery Quinn, the lawyer. Her auburn wolf cut frames her raised brow and sharp green eyes, and she wears another loose, effortless suit—it seems to be her signature look.
“Pretty sure,” I offer with a wry smile.
“You know why people call her ‘the Bulldog,’ right?”
I glance up at Morgan, remembering that Tobias called her that.
“The legacies at MIT liked to remind me that my father was a Yalie,” Morgan explains. The Yale mascot is a bulldog—I remember from my Wikipedia spree.
“That’s where it came from,” Gia says. “But that’s not why it stuck. See, when Mor sinks her teeth into something… she never lets go.”
A shiver rolls down my spine. The fantasy flashes to mind, of Morgan’s teeth sinking into my neck, of that claiming bite that’s mere hours away, the one I’ve been trying not to think about because every time I do my heat flares, and the last thing I need is Mom scenting my arousal.
“Gia,” Morgan says, tone laced with warning.
Which is not helping the problem of my arousal one bit.
Gia laughs. “What? I just want him to be prepared. And if he smells so good when he’s hot and bothered…” She gives a light shrug. “Just a bonus.”
Morgan casts a glare across her friends, though there’s a hint of humor as she growls, “Keep your fucking hands to yourselves.” She loops a possessive arm around my shoulder and pulls me towards the bar.
The whole group fits around the same dining table—albeit a massive one. The chandelier is a long oval overflowing with live flowering vines.
And I try to keep focusing on that, taking in all the little details, because the longer I spend next to Morgan, the hotter my blood runs.
Based on Gia’s calculations, I took my last dose of suppressants yesterday morning.
That dose might have been the last I ever take.
The thought gives me a little thrill, but Mom and Vance are here, and Mom’s sense of smell is just as sharp as mine, and I do not want to think about her noticing…
So we toast and drink champagne. I take off my veil and we go dance to the live band.
Finally, as the sun dips low, Morgan sweeps me off my feet and clears her throat. The whole room looks towards us on instinct—whether alpha, beta, or omega, none can resist her air of command.
“Thank you for joining us this evening,” she says. “We’re leaving now. The band’ll stay and the bar is open as long as you want.”
One of the other female alphas whistles.
“Ask Eileen if you can’t find your room.”
And with that, she turns and carries me towards the front door.
“Where are we going?” I kind of assumed we’d also stay in the mansion. It’s big enough for every guest to have a room and for us to still have a wing to ourselves.
“You’ll see.”
We step out front, and I almost choke. “Holy shit, Mor.”
There’s a literal white horse-drawn carriage waiting for us.
“Since you were so impressed by the pony,” she murmurs in my ear.
Morgan carries me inside, and we ride further up the property. As we take a corner around a copse of trees, I see a gorgeous, normal-sized house. It’s Tudor style, with fresh white stucco and dark wooden beams that give a cozy, cottagey feel.
“We’re visiting your neighbor?”
“Jamie. Please. This is the guest house.”
“Oh. What don’t you own around here?”
“Now you’re asking the right questions.”
Morgan kisses the base of my neck, grazing her teeth there. “You ready?”
Now that we’re alone, my body lights up for her. Her grip tightens as she inhales the change in my scent.
I am more certain of my answer than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
“Yes.”