“Oh no,” I say, eyes darting to Leilani. “Did you⁠—?”

  She grins like a villain. “Already paid for.”

  “I don’t want whatever he’s coming over here to give me.”

  “Well, I’ll happily take it then,” she says, grabbing his hand before I can protest.

  He doesn’t miss a beat—grinding on Leilani, all smooth hips and ridiculous confidence. Leilani eats it up.

  I bury my face in my hands. “This is not how I thought my bachelorette party would go.”

  Krishna leans in. “It’s better, right?”

  I peek through my fingers. Leilani’s fanning herself with a drink menu while the man grinds against her. “I love her… but I fear her.”

  The moment the first routine ends, the single girls take it as an open invitation to abandon all reason.

  Leilani’s already on stage—yes, on the fucking stage—with a man in leather pants. Chloe is shimmying like her life depends on it, arms up, hair wild, eyes locked on a dancer with abs like a Greek statue.

  Sefina, who needed three drinks just to look at the pole on the party bus, is now body-rolling like she’s been doing it since birth.

  Malie would be appalled.

  I blink. “Omigod. Is Chloe… kissing him?”

  Julia leans forward. “Holy shit, she is. Mouth open and everything.”

  Cheers erupt from the crowd as Chloe fist-pumps, looking far too proud of herself.

  “Should we stop her?” I ask, half rising from my seat, unsure if I’m supposed to be the responsible one.

  Laurelyn sips her drink, unbothered. “Let her have her moment. After this year, she deserves it.” She smirks, casual as can be. “They make penicillin for those types of mistakes.”

  The whole table howls.

  I sit back, heart tugging. I still don’t know the entire story with Ben. Chloe doesn’t talk about it, but I’ve seen the way her expression goes tight when someone mentions his name.

  But tonight, she’s free. She’s wild. She’s laughing. And honestly? That’s a step in the right direction to healing.

  Back at our VIP table, the rest of us have settled into the role of amused spectators.

  Violet lounges beside me, one leg crossed over the other, sipping champagne like a duchess on vacation. It’s alarmingly tame for her, borderline suspicious, actually.

  Julia’s perfectly composed, as always, while Laurelyn is already halfway through another drink and snorting at Leilani’s latest dance move.

  “Does anyone else feel like we’re chaperoning?” I say, watching Chloe attempt to spin on a pole she definitely shouldn’t touch with bare hands.

  Krishna laughs. “If we are, we’re terrible at it.”

  “I’m not stopping her,” Laurelyn says. “That girl’s earned a scandal.”

  Another dancer struts out, and the crowd loses it. This one has biceps the size of a rugby ball, and a cowboy hat that may have its own zip code.

  “He’s pretty,” Julia says, studying him.

  “He’s someone’s very dirty dream,” Violet says. Then, lowering her voice, “But honestly? What I’ve got waiting for me is better.”

  We all nod, a quiet, shared truth settling in.

  “Don’t tell Elias I said that, though,” Violet adds with a grin. “He might think I’m in love with him.”

  “You are in love with him.”

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t know. Yet.”

  “Hate to break it to you, Vi, but he definitely knows. You’re not exactly subtle about it.”

  She laughs. “Okay, but in my defense, he looks at me like I’m his whole world. It’s hard to keep the mystery alive.”

  I sip my drink, letting it all wash over me—the laughter, the music, the ridiculousness of the night. But mostly, the women beside me. My circle. My heart.

  The music thumps steady, lower now, a heartbeat slowing after the high. Most of us are winding down—hair tousled, makeup kissed off by laughter and cocktails.

  But not Leilani. She’s still dancing. Her dress clings to her and her hair’s a mess of curls and glitter. Her smile is pure chaos—the beautiful kind.

  I watch her, chin resting on my hand, heart pulled tight in my chest. She’s beautiful. Strong. Loud in the best way. And underneath all the glitter and jokes, she has the biggest heart. A person who makes room for everyone—no matter how crowded life gets.

  It hits me then—she gives so much, but I’ve never seen her ask for anything. Not really. Not when it comes to love.

  She throws her hands in the air, head back in laughter, and I swear it’s the most honest thing I’ve seen all night.

  “Go, Leilani!” Chloe screams beside her, clapping off beat but happy.

  Leilani turns toward us, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. “Someone better be filming this for future blackmail!”

  “No phones, remember?” Julia calls back.

  Leilani shrugs and twirls, arms wide. “Then I’m dancing for the gods, babes!”

  And maybe she is.

  Because tonight, under neon lights and with zero apologies, she’s magic.

  The ride back is a slow unraveling of glitter, cocktails, and whatever dignity we left at Thunder Down Underneath.

  Leilani is the first to fold… as she should.

  She slides into the seat beside me, her dress wrinkled, lipstick smudged, and eyes wide and glassy with tequila truth serum. “I love you,” she slurs, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I’d marry you if Alex hadn’t gotten there first.”

  I laugh, tipping my head against hers. “You’ll make someone a great wife one day.”

  “Damn right I will. I’d only throat-punch him as a warning if he snores like a chainsaw. I’ll let him think he’s the big spoon—even when he totally isn’t. And if I’m mad, I’ll only shave one leg—because that’s compromise.”

  Her grin widens, and I laugh, but she’s just warming up.

  She leans forward. “For the right man, I’d wreck this body for babies—let my tits go south to feed his kids, swap a designer clutch for a diaper bag. I’ll do all the damn things.”

  She’s being funny, but something tells me she means every word. “You sound ready to commit.”

  “Here’s my level of commitment. I’d walk away from a buffet of top-shelf, commitment-phobic dick and lock in with one man for life. No take-backs.”

  The party bus goes silent for a beat. Then we all burst into laughter.

  I choke on my drink. “That’s pretty bold.”

  She grins. “I’m ready to give up the dick train for the right person.”

  Before I can answer, she sits up fast—too fast—and fumbles for her purse.

  “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Don’t do it, Lei,” Sefina says.

  Leilani fumbles with her clutch, flips it open, and hunches over—using it as a makeshift barf bag without a second thought. It’s horrifying, and a little impressive, but mostly horrifying.

  “Oh my God, Lei. Are you all right?”

  She waves me off, dignity abandoned somewhere back at the club. “Well, damn. That was a character-building experience.”

  Krishna counts us beneath her breath, managing us like a kindergarten field trip. “Everyone’s here?”

  Leilani moans and stretches out on the seat, putting her head in my lap. “If I die tonight, tell my tinā I went out hot. She’d want to know I looked amazing on my way out.”

  “You’re not dying, Lei,” I tell her. “Drunk and dramatic? Absolutely, but you’re not dying.”

  I glance around at the chaos—half-eaten snacks, empty flutes rolling on the floor, a pair of glitter-covered high heels lying in the middle of the floor.

  It’s a mess. A beautiful, unforgettable, soul-lifting mess. These women—this wild, hilarious, chaotic circle of mine—are everything to me.

  And it’s my special night. I wouldn’t trade this night—or these girls—for anything.

  By the time we stumble into the suite at the hotel, my cheeks hurt from laughing and my feet ache.

  Everyone’s crashing in different places—Violet’s face down on a chaise, Leilani is curled up with a trash bin as if it’s her boyfriend, and someone’s shoes ended up in the minibar.

  I toe off my heels and slip into the quiet bedroom. I collapse onto the bed, veil crooked and makeup half melted.

  My phone buzzes.

  Hope your girls didn’t get you arrested. Love you, almost-wife.

  No one went to jail. Love you more, almost-husband.

  I smile at the screen, a stupid, dreamy smile that doesn’t fade even as my eyes drift shut.

  The city hums outside the window, neon reflecting off the harbor. My lashes flutter closed.

  And just like that—still glowing, still grinning—I fall asleep.

  Loved. Safe. Ready.

  Chapter 24

  Alex Sebring

  I’ve played championship games in packed stadiums. Stared down cameras, crowds, a sea of doubters. But nothing has ever made my hands shake like putting on these cuff links.

  Gold. Polished. Custom-engraved with our initials and wedding date. I slide one through the buttonhole with stiff fingers and catch my reflection in the mirror.

  Black tux. Crisp collar. Hair combed back with almost military precision. I am a man ready to say “I do.”

  There’s a soft knock at the door. First, it cracks and then Tinā steps in, elegant in a black satin dress, her hair swept up, a soft shimmer at her throat.

  She pauses when she sees me, eyes warm and soft. “I’ve never thought you looked much like your father,” she says as she crosses the room. “But right now, you remind me of him on our wedding day.”

  She stops in front of me, eyes shining, and reaches up to adjust my tie.

  “All buttoned-up and pretending you’re not about to fall apart inside.” A soft laugh leaves her. “He was the same way. Stoic on the outside. Wrecked on the inside. It’s how I knew he meant it.”

  She steps back enough to take me in, her gaze tracing over my face. “I used to wonder if you’d ever let someone in—not just into your life but into your soul.”

  Her hands land on my shoulders. Steady. Sure.

  “And Magnolia came along.” She smiles, eyes glassy but full of pride. “I saw it on your face the night you brought her to the house. You looked at her like your entire world was sitting right next to you.”

  A pause. A breath.

  “I told Alexander that night—after you two left. ‘That’s the one he’ll marry.’”

  “Magnolia is my everything,” I manage, voice rough.

  “I know,” she whispers. “And she feels the same about you.”

  She gives my arm a gentle squeeze and smooths the fabric of my jacket.

  “Your bride is going to be breathtaking,” she says with a soft smile. “But it won’t be the dress or the flowers or the setting that undoes you. It’ll be her.”

  She leans up and kisses my cheek. “You’re ready, Aleki.”

  I manage a crooked smile and she slips out. The door closes, and I exhale, only for it to open again. This time it’s my father, his expression carved in quiet steel.

  Dad walks in with the same silent weight he always carries—shoulders squared, tie perfect, presence unmistakable. He says nothing for a long moment, studying me.

  “You ready?” he asks.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  He nods. Steps closer.

  “Love isn’t something you fall into once,” he says. “It’s something you choose every day. When you’re tired. When she’s mad. When life feels too damn heavy and you don’t like each other much that day.”

  He meets my eyes—steady, sure.

  “She’ll see the best and worst in you, Alex. She’ll love you anyway. So give her a man she can be proud of. Not perfect. Not always right. But honest. And when you can’t fix what’s wrong, simply listen.”

  I clear my throat. “Is that what you did with Tinā?”

  His eyes soften, a rare crack in the armor. “Every damn day.”

  He offers me his hand, and I take it. We’re not men who say much about how we feel, so he pulls me in and hugs me tight. And I don’t fight it.

  This is a moment worth remembering, and I’ll never forget it.

  A knock, louder this time.

  “Yeah?”

  The door creaks open and Jack Henry steps in first, already smirking. “You decent in here?”

  “Barely,” I say.

  Elias, Kye, and Nate follow close behind, tuxes crisp, swagger on full display.

  “Special delivery for the groom from his bride,” Jack says.

  Elias grins, holding up a white box with a black satin ribbon. “This has your name on it.”

  I take the gift from him and loosen the ribbon, lifting the lid. Inside, is a velvet slipcase. Sleek.

  I open it and pull out a slim black flashlight. My thumb traces the faint engraving along the side.

  LO’U ALOFA

  Samoan for my love.

  A note rests beneath it—folded, deliberate. Magnolia’s handwriting.

  You’ve always been the one to see me clearly. Now you’ll always know where to look. Use the light. Find the truth in white ink on my body.

  –Your wife.

  Silence follows.

  Kye whistles, low. “Damn.”

  “She tattooed herself for you?” Nate asks, eyes wide. “That’s next-level.”

  “Does this mean she inked a treasure hunt on her body?” Jack asks. “This woman is elite.”

  I think she did.

  But I say nothing, simply hold the flashlight as if it’s the most precious thing I’ve ever been given.

  Because it is.

  She could’ve given me something traditional––a monogrammed tie clip. Custom cuff links. A bottle of cologne with a love note tucked beneath the lid. A framed quote about forever. A watch engraved with “Always.”

  But no, she gives me this––a flashlight and a secret message written on her body only visible to me.

  Magnolia has never done ordinary.

  At this moment, she should be opening the gift I sent to her suite. A memory in brushstrokes. A painting, commissioned by William Bloom, his version of the photo we took the night we told the truth. The night I realized she wasn’t a fling, a game, or a phase. She was the one I’d been waiting for all my life.

  My note I sent with her gift is short. Just the truth.

  This is the moment I knew. Not only that I loved you—but that I always would.

  –Your husband

  Nate claps me on the back. “You good, mate?”

  “Yeah,” I say, voice rough. “I’m good.”

  But what I don’t say—what I can’t say with them watching—is that I’ve never been more undone in my life. But in the best way.

  Someone knocks. This time, it’s the wedding coordinator. “It’s time.”

  The guys fall quiet. Jackets are straightened. Ties adjusted one last time. I check my watch and realize I haven’t looked at the time all day. Not once.

  We take the back corridor through the hotel, a quiet hallway that spills out into the courtyard through a set of arched French doors. I step outside and the evening air wraps around me—cool, sweet, kissed by the scent of flowers.

  Golden light bathes the courtyard, candles flickering along the aisle. Every inch of this place looks like her—designed with intention, layered in thoughtfulness, more poetry than decor.

  And as we take our places at the front, the first notes rise on the air. The music begins softly—strings lifting the air with “Can’t Help Falling In Love,” the same song I had played in Charleston when I proposed to her.

  Now I stand at the front of the aisle in this garden—the garden where we shared our first kiss—and I feel the weight of every step it took to get here. Every scar. Every second chance.

  The groomsmen move into place—Jack Henry smooths his lapel one last time. Nate grins wide. Kye nods once, steady. And Elias claps me on the shoulder before stepping into line beside me.

  The string quartet swells, and the bridesmaids begin their walk.

  Laurelyn appears first, graceful and glowing, her dress catching the last of the sun.

  Then Leilani, fierce and stunning, chin high.

  Sefina follows, soft elegance with a smile.

  And Violet—Magnolia’s maid of honor—doesn’t look at me at all. Her eyes find Elias instead. A long, quiet glance. No smile. No wink. Only heat and history and something that hasn’t happened yet.

  Then the music shifts and softens, and the crowd stills.

  My heart does the opposite.

  She steps into view. My sweet Magnolia. Hair down the way I love it. Chestnut waves falling over her shoulders beneath a sheer veil floating like air around her.

  She doesn’t wear a dress that demands attention. It’s elegant, simple, and perfect. And I swear she’s glowing. Each step she takes undoes something in me. Unravels every scar, every detour, every version of my life before her.

  My lungs stall. My hands curl. My pulse loses the rhythm it’s always known. And when our eyes meet, I know. This is what forever looks like.

  The moment locks into place, sacred.

  Not loud. Not bright. Reverent.

  The world stills as Magnolia’s hand finds mine—warm and steady. The string quartet’s last note hovers in the air and fades, swallowed by breathless silence.

  She stands before me, veil fluttering in the breeze. Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, everything around us disappears. I don’t see the crowd. I don’t hear the soft sniffles or feel the weight of a hundred gazes.

  It’s only the two of us.

  I wonder if she understands what I see when I look at her. Not just the beauty that everyone else sees—though, God, that’s staggering. I mean the weight of what she’s carried.

  The way she’s loved me even when I wasn’t sure how to be loved.

  The way she pulled me back when I was disappearing into myself.

  The way she made me a man who wanted more than just survival.