Chapter 27 Savannah
SAVANNAH
I'm perched on Emma's kitchen stool like some kind of wedding planning general surveying her battlefield, armed with three different colored pens and a timeline that could rival NASA's launch schedules, when Emma bursts through the front door carrying enough shopping bags to stock a small boutique.
Sweet Jesus, what now?
"Please tell me those aren't more wedding decorations," I say, not bothering to look up from my meticulously organized checklist because if I see one more piece of tulle, I might actually lose what's left of my mind.
"Because we literally have enough tulle in your spare room to clothe half of Pine Hollow, and possibly a small circus. "
Emma drops her shopping haul onto the kitchen table with the kind of theatrical flair that makes me think she's been practicing in front of mirrors.
"Not decorations! Survival supplies!" She starts yanking items out of bags like she's conducting some kind of magical grocery intervention.
"Wine, those fancy crackers you pretend not to love but absolutely demolish when you think no one's looking, overpriced chocolate, and. .."
She produces a bottle of champagne with a flourish that would make game show hosts jealous.
"The good stuff for our pre-wedding toast!"
I glance at my phone. Forty-seven hours and sixteen minutes until Emma’s a married woman. My brain immediately starts calculating all the things that could still go catastrophically wrong in that time frame. It's like a twisted mental habit I can't break.
"Pre-wedding toast? Em, it's Thursday.
Your wedding is Saturday.
Shouldn't we be panicking about something by now?" I look around frantically.
"Like, I don't know, did you forget to confirm the flowers? The cake? The existence of your groom? Your pack?”
Emma freezes mid-unpack and fixes me with a look that could melt steel beams. "Savannah Marie Hale. Are you seriously trying to jinx my perfect wedding timeline just because you're addicted to crisis management like it's some kind of drug?"
Crisis management is a survival skill! There's a difference!
She gestures around her kitchen, which honestly looks like Martha Stewart exploded in the most organized way humanly possible.
Wedding favors stand in perfect little armies across the counter, programs tied with ribbons that probably cost far too much, centerpiece supplies arranged with military precision that would make generals weep with pride.
"Look at this!" Emma spins in a slow circle, arms spread wide like she's presenting evidence in court. "Two days before my wedding, and we're not crying into takeout containers while emergency-ordering flowers online at three in the morning! Do you understand how completely unprecedented this is?"
I set down my pen and actually look around, because she's right.
Usually two days before any event I plan, I'm running on pure caffeine and spite, juggling seventeen crises while trying not to have a complete mental breakdown in public spaces.
But Emma's kitchen radiates the kind of calm efficiency that makes me deeply suspicious of the universe's motives.
"Okay, that is kind of miraculous," I admit, hopping off my stool to investigate her latest shopping expedition. “Are you sure that you didn't forget something huge? The marriage license? The rings? Your groom's actual existence?"
"Marriage license is framed on my dresser like a diploma, rings are locked in the safe like crown jewels, and Dax is currently at the vet clinic pretending to work while actually googling 'how to not cry during wedding vows.
'" Emma starts arranging her survival supplies with systematic precision.
"Double-checked this morning. He's definitely still planning on showing up. "
"And the rehearsal dinner?"
"Completely handled! Dax went full alpha-provider mode and booked Rosetti's back room, ordered enough food to feed a small army, and personally called everyone to confirm attendance like he's running for office.
" Emma pauses, notebook pressed against her chest, and her whole face goes soft with that disgusting happiness that makes me want to simultaneously hug her and make gagging noises.
"Savannah, he's been so stupidly attentive lately.
Yesterday he brought me coffee in bed, reminded me to eat lunch because apparently I look like I forget basic human functions, and texted me pictures of puppies during my break just because he thought I looked stressed. "
"Gross," I say automatically, though secretly I'm melting because Dax is being adorable and Emma deserves all the puppy pictures in the world. "What's gotten into him?"
Emma perches on the edge of her table, swinging her legs like we're twelve years old sharing secrets at the world's most organized sleepover.
"Pack influence! You know how alphas get when someone's about to mate?
Like they're trying to prove they can provide and protect and probably wrestle bears if necessary.
" She grins with the kind of wicked expression that makes me immediately suspicious.
"Speaking of pack behavior, Logan dropped off the wedding programs yesterday and spent twenty minutes asking about your favorite flowers. Very casual. Very subtle. "
My stomach does something weird and acrobatic that makes me wonder if I'm developing some kind of digestive disorder. "He was probably just making conversation."
"Sure! And Griff's sudden interest in cake architecture has absolutely nothing to do with impressing you.
" Emma slides off the table and starts pulling wine glasses from her cabinet like she's preparing for battle.
"And Xavier definitely didn't ask me three separate questions about what kind of music you like. Three! Separate! Questions!"
"They're just being nice." The words come out sounding pathetic even to my own ears.
"They're being territorial! There's a difference, and it's a big one!
" Emma pops the champagne cork with satisfying authority, sending foam spilling across her counter in a way that would normally make me panic about cleaning but somehow seems celebratory.
"Which brings me to my next point. When were you planning on telling me that you're basically living there now? "
I nearly choke on my own spit. "What?!"
"Oh please! You show up to coffee dates wearing men's flannel shirts that are three sizes too big!
" Emma pours champagne into two glasses while fixing me with a look that suggests she's been collecting evidence like some kind of romantic detective.
"Plus you smell different. Like you're carrying traces of three different alpha scents instead of just your usual vanilla bourbon.
It's like you're a walking scent cocktail! "
Heat floods my cheeks so fast I probably look like a tomato, and I busy myself rearranging wedding favors to avoid eye contact because eye contact means having actual conversations about feelings and I'm not ready for that level of emotional terrorism.
"It's not what you think."
“Finally, you’re letting yourself have something good instead of running away screaming every time happiness gets too close.
" Emma slides a champagne glass across the counter toward me with the kind of gentle precision that means we're about to have A Conversation with capital letters.
"What I think is that you've been sneaking around trying to figure out if this thing with them is real, and you're terrified to admit it might actually be working. "
I take a large gulp of champagne, letting the bubbles burn away the automatic denial sitting on my tongue like a reflex. Because Emma's right. She's always stupidly, annoyingly right when it comes to reading me like I'm some kind of open book written in giant fonts.
"Okay, fine! Maybe we’re all sleeping in the same room. Sometimes…”
"And?"
"Most nights! Happy now?" The words come out in a rush because apparently champagne makes me confess things I've been trying very hard not to think about. "There! I said it! I'm basically living with three alphas and pretending it's all professional and platonic when it's absolutely not!"
Emma's champagne glass hits the counter with a clink that sounds suspiciously like victory. "All three of them? In the same bed? At the same time?"
"EMMA!"
"What?! I'm your best friend….” Emma leans forward across the counter, eyes bright with curiosity that has gotten us both into trouble since we were fifteen. "I deserve details! Are we talking actual sleeping, or are we talking..."
"We're talking actual sleeping!" I interrupt quickly, though my face is probably the color of Emma's wedding roses by now. "Mostly! Sometimes! Look, it's complicated, okay?! Everything about this situation is complicated!"
“How?" Emma makes it sound so simple, like falling for the three alphas who dumped me is just another item to check off her perfectly organized to-do list. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks pretty straightforward.
You're crazy about all three of them, they're obviously completely gone for you, and you're all adults who can figure out whatever arrangement makes everyone happy. "
"It's not that easy!" I protest, but even I can hear how weak and pathetic the argument sounds.
"Why not?"
"Because!" I gesture wildly, searching for all the perfectly logical reasons why this situation is impossible and finding my brain completely empty of coherent thoughts. "Because what if they dump me again?"
"Sav." Emma's voice cuts through my spiral with surgical precision. "Shut up."
"Excuse me?"