Chapter 7
SEVEN
SOPHIE
The bridal suite smells like roses and champagne. There’s underlying current of of nerves around us.
Winter sits tall in the makeup chair, her shoulders pulled back like she’s trying to channel calm. Her stylist carefully pins the last few strands of her soft updo, while the rest of us flutter around the room with lipstick tubes, steamers, and tiny bottles of Prosecco.
It’s chaos—but the perfectly wonderful, happy, beautiful kind.
“You good?” I ask, crouching beside Winter and gently squeezing her hand.
She meets my eyes in the mirror, her expression both radiant and overwhelmed. “I think so. Maybe? I don’t know. My stomach is doing weird somersaults.”
“That’s love,” I tease.
“That’s indigestion. I knew I shouldn’t have had that breakfast burrito,” she groans.
“You’re glowing.” I laugh and press a quick kiss to her temple. “Slate is going to cry the moment he sees you.”
“He better,” she mutters, but her lips curve into a grin.
Before I can answer, there’s a soft knock at the door.
A beat later, the door cracks open and Cliff steps inside—and the room goes still.
Or maybe that’s just me.
Because holy hell.
He’s wearing a dark tuxedo that hugs his broad chest and shoulders like it was custom-made for sin. His hair is neater than usual, though a few unruly strands still fall across his forehead.
And his beard—God help me—is freshly trimmed. But it’s still scruffy enough to make my thighs clench with the memory of what that scruff felt like on my skin when he made me cum with his tongue.
“Wow,” he says, eyes fixed on Winter. “You look…”
“Like someone who might pass out?” Winter offers.
Cliff chuckles and crosses the room to her, completely ignoring the rest of us. “You look stunning, Baby Sis.”
Winter swallows hard and blinks fast.
He bends, whispering something just for her ears. Whatever it is, her eyes well up.
I look away, giving them a moment, but not before catching the way Cliff wraps her in a careful, protective hug—the kind that says I’ve got you. Always.
A man like this—gruff, quietly loyal, unexpectedly gentle—it’s no wonder my brain keeps fantasizing about the big grand dream instead of the one I’ve mapped out for myself.
When Cliff pulls back, his gaze drifts to me.
“Sophie,” he says, his voice is low and rumbles in my chest.
“Hey.” I smile, trying to play it cool even though my knees are suddenly shaky. “You clean up well.”
He steps away from his sister and closes the distance between us, his eyes drinking me in like he’s trying to memorize every detail.
“You look…” He lets out a breath. “Fucking hell. You’re stunning.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Thank you. So you look well too.”
He leans in, voice dropping to that low gravelly register that gets me every time. “I’m gonna be hard all day thinking about you in this dress.”
My breath catches. “Cliff…”
“Will you save the first and last dance for me?” His thumb brushes mine, slow and teasing.
“Of course.” I can barely get the words out. “
His smile is wicked and warm all at once. “Good. Because I plan to remind you just how good we are together. Even with your clothes on.”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me. “You’re bad.”
He leans in and kisses my cheek, his lips lingering. “You like it.”
I do.
God help me, I really, really do.
I step out onto the grass with the other bridesmaids, the soft crunch of gravel under my heels quickly replaced by the lush whisper of grass.
The mountains rise behind the ceremony arch like silent witnesses. A light breeze stirs the ribbons tied to the chairs, and the whole thing feels magical.
Winter stands just out of sight, waiting for her cue. Slate is already at the altar, shifting from one foot to the other as the music starts. He looks handsome and terrified. Like a man who knows he’s about to have everything he’s ever wanted—and still can’t quite believe it’s real.
Cliff appears, offering his sister his arm.
There’s something about the way he looks at her—so steady and full of pride—that makes my throat tighten. Winter loops her arm through his, blinking back tears as they take the first step together.
He’s walking her down the aisle. Their parents are no longer in the picture. So he’s doing what he’s done for her all her life. Being the one she could count on.
I press a hand to my heart.
Cliff’s face is all fierce devotion as he leads her toward the altar. But then, halfway there, his eyes flick to me.
The air punches from my lungs.
He doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t wink.
But something passes between us. A current. A knowing. A promise.
I see you.
And somehow, it’s more intimate than if he’d stripped me bare in front of everyone.
They reach the altar, and Cliff gently presses a kiss to Winter’s temple before placing her hand in Slate’s.
The officiant says something about love and family and new beginnings, but I’m too busy watching Cliff move to stand beside Slate, taking his place as best man.
He folds his hands in front of him, stoic and silent.
Except when he glances my way again.
I’m doomed.
I knew that already, but standing there in a borrowed dress with a bundle of flowers clutched to my chest, I can feel it in my bones. This isn’t just a fling anymore. This isn’t just hormones or the magic of a wedding weekend.
This is… more.
And it terrifies me.
Because I’ve already made my decision.
I’m going home.
I have appointments. Frozen eggs. A plan. A future that doesn’t include waiting around for someone to maybe love me back.
But when he looks at me like that?
I want to forget all of it and imagine a life where this isn’t just a fun fling but forever. A life where this is real.
Winter and Slate share a kiss that makes the whole crowd sigh—and then they’re turning to walk back down the aisle, hand in hand, all glowing and giddy.
Cliff steps forward to offer me his arm. “Can I escort the most beautiful bridesmaid back down the aisle?”
My heart flutters like it’s trying to make a break for it.
I slip my hand into the crook of his arm. “Only if you promise to behave.”
He chuckles low in his throat. “Not a chance.”
We walk in sync, his arm solid beneath my fingers, his scent messing with my ability to think straight. When we reach the end of the aisle and round the edge of the seating rows, he tugs me slightly off course—toward a quiet corner behind the tent.
Before I can ask what he’s doing, he pulls me behind a tall hedge, out of view.
His hands are on me in a second—one firm palm sliding down to cup my ass.
He pulls me flush against him, and his hard cock presses squarely against me.
His mouth is on mine. My lips part, inviting his tongue.
I want him again. Last night and the night before were something else. But we didn’t go far enough.
I know he was being a gentleman by not taking me too far.
But tonight? Tonight, I want to keep my wits about me. Because I don’t want him to be a gentleman.
I want him to claim me. Completely.
I bite on his lower lip, and he groans into my mouth. He grinds against me. My hips move in response, instinctive and greedy. I’m seconds from asking him to find a broom closet or linen tent when the speakers crackle.
“Would the brother of the bride please report to the head table? It’s time to begin our toasts.”
We break apart, chests heaving. As if that’s even possible—I’ve been breathless since the moment our paths crossed at the airport.
“Fuck.” Cliff rests his forehead against mine, then lowers his arms to wrap around my waist.
The DJ repeats the call, louder this time. Cliff raises his head, his dark eyes lock on mine.
“I better go make my toast.” He rubs his lips together like he’s still savoring the taste of me. “You’ll still save a dance for me?”
“Sure.” My voice is barely a whisper. Does he even have to ask?
“Which one?”
He brushes his lips against mine, and my body shivers.
“Would I be greedy if I said I wanted all of them?” He kisses my cheek and lowers his voice. “Especially the ones back in your room?”
My heart skips a beat.
It would be too easy to fall in love with this man.
It’s a good thing I’m leaving soon. Otherwise, I’d be starting out my pregnancy with a broken heart when things inevitably end.
But I have him now.
I might as well enjoy this for as long as I can.
I give him a light squeeze and step back. “They’re all yours.”
As he starts to turn away, he pauses. “Wait. Before I go…”
He gestures to the photographer, who’s herding the wedding party together for post-ceremony shots. “Would you mind taking a photo with me? Just us?”
Just us.
Something about those two words hits different. It’s not just a snapshot he wants.
It’s a moment.
It’s something to keep.
“Okay,” I say, a little breathless.
We step into the frame together. His arm curls around my waist. Mine loops up to rest lightly against his chest.
“Closer,” the photographer says.
We already are.
She snaps the photo. I already feel captured.