Chapter 83: The Wedding Planning
The restaurant air felt thick with the scent of seared steak and expensive perfume. Aurora traced the edge of her water glass, her fingernails—painted a pale, shimmering pink—tapping a nervous rhythm against the crystal. The low murmur of other conversations wrapped around them like a veil. She’d worn a simple black dress, one Rhys had called ‘devastating,’ but now she felt exposed under the golden lights.
Rhys watched her from across the table, his eyes tracking the minute tremble in her fingers before they stilled. “You’re thinking about the garden again,” he said, not asking.
She looked up, caught.“It’s just… quiet.Simple. Just us, and the flowers, and the officiant.” She pictured the backyard of his craftsman house, the dappled sunlight, the privacy.“No staring.”
He leaned back, the fine fabric of his shirt stretching over his shoulders. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, the ice cubes clinking. “I’ve been thinking about that.About it being just us.”
“Yeah?” Hope flickered in her chest.
“Yeah.” He set the glass down.“And I don’t want it.”
The hope sank. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she knew he saw the flash of disappointment.
“Aurora.” His voice dropped, a rough note that pulled her gaze back to his. “Before, with the last one… it was small.Secretive, almost.Like something we were hiding. This… you…” He shook his head, searching for the words. “I don’t want to hide you in the backyard.I want people to see. I want them to watch you walk towards me and know, without a fucking doubt, that you’re choosing me. That I’m yours.”
Her breath hitched. The intensity in his eyes wasn’t about spectacle; it was a raw, visceral need for public claim.It was the opposite of everything she feared. It wasn’t about being stared at—it was about being seen as his.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“I’m not talking a circus,” he said, his hand reaching across the table to cover hers, his thumb stroking her knuckles.“But our friends. My guys from the shop. Rina. Family. Not a horde. But a witness.”
She turned her hand under his, linking their fingers. The bond between them hummed, a steady current of his certainty bleeding into her anxiety.“A garden… but with chairs. And more than just the officiant.”
A slow smile spread across his face, relief softening the hardened lines. “A garden with chairs.And a caterer so neither of us has to cook. And you in a dress that’ll ruin me.”
She blushed, looking down at their joined hands. “And you in a suit that doesn’t have engine grease on it.”
“Deal.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers right there in the middle of the restaurant. The gesture was so unapologetically possessive that her stomach fluttered.“Medium-sized.Outdoor. Ours.”
The tension bled from her shoulders.A compromise that felt like a victory.“Ours,” she echoed.
Later, in the soft gloom of the car, the city lights streaking past the windows, she pulled out her phone. She’d taken a picture of her hand earlier, the elegant, vintage-inspired diamond catching the candlelight.She sent it to Rina with a simple message: He asked. I said yes.The reply was almost instantaneous. A screaming face emoji, a sparkling ring, a heart, a bouquet.Then: DETAILS. NOW. SIZE. DATE. VENUE. EVERYTHING. Aurora giggled, the sound bright in the quiet car.
“Rina?” Rhys asked, his eyes on the road, a smile in his voice.
“She’s demanding a briefing.”
“Tell her medium.Outdoor. Soon.” He reached over, his large hand settling on her thigh, a warm, heavy weight. “And tell her the best man is terrifyingly good-looking.”
Aurora laughed again, typing. She leaned her head back against the seat, watching his profile in the dashboard lights—the strong jaw, the stark line of his tattoo curling up his neck.The bond thrummed with a contented, deep-seated joy that felt entirely new. It wasn’t just happiness; it was settlement. A final, satisfying click of a key in a lock.He pulled into the driveway, killed the engine, and turned to her. The domestic glow from the porch light washed over his face.“Come here,” he said, his voice gravelly.
She unbuckled and slid across the seat into the space he made for her, his arm looping around her shoulders.He didn’t kiss her immediately. He just looked at her, his gaze tracing the lines of her face as if memorizing them for the thousandth time.
“You’re sure?” he asked, the question stark in the quiet.She knew what he meant. Not about the wedding size.About everything.The forever part. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I want to be your wife, Rhys.”
He closed the distance then, his mouth capturing hers in a slow, deep kiss that tasted of whiskey and promise.It was a seal.A confirmation. Outside, the world moved on—cars passed, neighbors argued, the city thrummed. Inside the car, it was just them and the silent, swelling certainty of the path ahead.He finally pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. “Then that’s all that matters,” he breathed.“The rest is just noise. You meet me at the end of the aisle, the rest of it…” He shrugged, a barely-there movement. “I don’t care what happens.”