Truths That Saints Believe (The Klutch Duet 2)

She’d muttered about buying us a jet or an island as a wedding present. I’d smiled, and Jay had ignored her. Karson, who was almost always present when Wren was around, displayed a little mouth twitch that was his version of a smile.

She’d also muttered about bad luck, seeing the bride on the wedding day. Jay had held firm and murmured later in my ear, “your luck was bad enough, crossing paths with me. I think we’re due for a break.”

That had irked me, but I’d let it slide, reminding myself that I had a lifetime to prove to Jay that he was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

And then there was his mouth in between my legs on our wedding day. His mouth, hungry, ravenous, knowing exactly how to make my toes curl, how to make me to try to rip apart the thousand thread count sheets.

“How are your feet?” I asked breathlessly when he was done giving me two orgasms on our wedding day.

Jay’s finger moved around my nipple lazily. “My feet?” he repeated.

“Getting cold? You’re not rethinking this whole marriage thing?”

I’d spoken in a lighthearted tone, but his face turned heavy, serious.

“Stella, I know I will not be able to erase what I did to you from your memory, I certainly can’t tear it from mine.” He brushed a hair from my face. “But I’m not leaving you. No matter fucking what. If I could walk you down the aisle myself, I would. But I’ll settle for standing at the end of it, waiting for you.”

I blinked away the tears prompted by his tone, the intensity thrumming through it. “Okay,” I whispered, not knowing how I was going to tear myself away from him to get ready for the wedding.

But Wren took care of that about five minutes later, banging on the door, shouting that she would come in and drag me out herself if I didn’t get my ass up and into her car.

One did not fight with a pregnant and hormonal Wren. So I got up. And I trusted that Jay would be waiting to marry me in a few hours.

I smoothed my hands over the bodice of my dress, taking a deep breath as I looked at myself in the mirror.

The white gown was beautiful. One of a kind. Made for me. Custom Vera Wang. Custom fucking Vera Wang. The silk fit like a second skin, the straps crossing over at my neck, the entire back down to just above my ass bare, draping to perfection. It skimmed over every single one of my curves, and the train was long behind me. I’d always thought I’d want something more detailed. Lace imported from Italy. Intricate sleeves. Okay, pretty much Grace Kelly’s dress. But the simplicity of this dress was beyond perfect for me. My hair was piled up in a messy bun, ringlets escaping here and there, showing off the teardrop diamond earrings that Jay had presented to me this morning.

I was wearing my diamond tennis bracelet and my engagement ring, nothing else.

“Honey,” my dad’s voice broke. I felt it in the bottom of my stomach, that crack in my father’s voice. Tears shimmered in his eyes then trailed down his cheeks. I bit the inside of my lip in order to attempt to stop my own from falling.

“Dad,” I whispered, blinking rapidly at my handsome father wearing a bespoke black suit. He was freshly shaved, his salt and pepper hair slicked back to expose his slightly creased face. Still handsome. I had hope that he found a second act somewhere. A love that he found comfort in, a woman to take care of him, to retire with.

He cleared his throat loudly, wiping his tears with the back of his hands. “If there’s a day a father can shed a tear in front of his child, it’s the day that child, that woman, is standing in front of him looking more beautiful than she ever has.” He moved forward to grasp my hands. “And happier than I’ve ever seen her,” he added quietly, wiping away one of my rogue tears with his thumb.

“I really am,” I replied honestly. Even with all the security that I knew were lurking around the perimeter of the party. Even though Jay had wound himself tighter and tighter these last two months. Karson, too, Wren complaining about how overprotective he was now that she was pregnant.

I was not complaining about that. The danger was real, I believed Jay about that, and I’d rather my friend, who I loved dearly, complained about being over protected instead of something, anything happening to her and the baby. The mere thought of it made me sick.

I’d never thought that on my wedding day I’d be worrying about the Russian Mob and my pregnant friend, but I was the one who had wanted to change my story.