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As a result, a hundred Black Delphi assassins flank the other side of the aisle. They aren’t quite as loud as my soldiers, but I guess assassins never are. Still, they nod in approval. Their dark prince has become a powerful king.
I wave at them all as Leo carries me down the aisle, past his brother and his sister. Past the Kilpatricks. Past the two men I now recognize as those who helped save me from Retsos in that abandoned factory.
Ray Byrne and Maksim Smolov.
They each get a big smile before I turn to look back over my shoulder. Standing where my maid of honor would be, is the man who walked me down the aisle—well, limped me down it would be more accurate. Him and Leo have that in common now.
My two shattered protectors—they’re both stronger than any fully-abled man I’ve ever met.
Castor waves back at me, and I swear I see a tear stream down his weathered cheek before getting lost in his big scruffy beard.
My heart clenches, overwhelmed with happiness.
This is like a dream. A happy ending that I could have never seen coming, no matter how many fairy tales I read.
“Bedroom or shower?” Leo asks, stopping atop a long winding staircase, after we float inside.
For this joyous occasion, the Kilpatricks have lent us their mansion in the Catskills.
I almost feel guilty about how badly we’re going to defile one of their rooms.
Still, that guilt quickly melts as my toes curl and a familiar pressure begins to build up in my core.
My body knows what’s coming.
No matter how many times we’ve done it before, each time I’m with this man, it feels special.
It also reminds me that this is no fairy tale.
No. They don’t make fairy tales this dirty or depraved or this sinfully wonderful.
“Bedroom, obviously!” I gasp, playfully slapping my husband’s arm. “… Then the shower.”
“If you insist, princess.”
That deserves another slap, but this time, I don’t let my hand fall from Leo’s bulging arm.
“Don’t call me princess,” I tease, my voice breathy and filled with desire.
“As you wish, my queen.”
“That’s better.”
Hot waves of fluttering butterflies and molten pressure mix deep in my core as Leo carries me down the hall, then barges through our bedroom door.
Without another word, he tosses me onto the bed.
There isn’t anything more to say. We’ve shared our vows. Whispered our ‘I do’s. Expressed our love as much as words can.
Now, it’s time to turn this dream dirty.
That’s what we both really want, after all. It’s what we really love and need.
We’re not some sparkling royalty, gentle and regal and proper.
Hell fucking no.
And as I tear off my elegant white dress, and Leo rips away his custom-fitted suit, revealing his scarred, tattoo-wrapped, muscle-bound body, I feel myself fill to the brim with gratitude that I’m not in a fairy tale.
