Page 117 of The Florist and Her Alphas

“Not a chance.”

Behind him, the others close in, and there is nothing soft about them. Ezra with his jaw set and his hand coming to rest at the small of my back, steady, claiming, a promise of his own written all over his face. Cole watching me like he's already planning every place he intends to worship. And August leaning down to whisper in my ear how much he loves me.

Overhead, Pepper sweeps down the length of the aisle and lands on Ezra’s shoulder, making the guests dissolve into laughter and cheers.

I’m back in my family’s garden and full of flowers that I planted with my bare hands.

But this time, I’m surrounded by four alphas who chose me, and the two small hearts beating under my ribs.

Thirty-Two

LIANA

“So beautiful,” I say as Julian carries me down a path of candles in the night. The rest of the pack follows around me as I look at the hundreds of candles flickering against the night sky.

“This is it,” Ezra says quietly beside me, and I see a beautiful tent before us.

My heart stutters and pounds hard as I gaze at it.

It’s enormous.

White canvas, lit from within, glowing warm and gold against the dark trees behind it. The flap is tied open with thin cream ribbons that lift and fall in the night breeze. The air smells like jasmine and roses. My scent is all around me, rising more and more with anticipation.

“Fuck, she’s shaking,” Julian announces to the rest of the pack.

I am. My thighs are trembling against the silk. My pussy is hot and wet, and I can feel slick beginning to seep between my legs just from thinking about our wedding day.

Julian walks into the tent, setting me on my feet so I can admire the inside.

Oh, god.

Hundreds of candles. Everywhere. On brass sconces along the canvas walls, on low wooden tables, on the floor in glass jars, on the small iron stove in the corner filling the space with warm, shifting light.

The bed is platformed on a low wooden base at the center of the tent, dressed in layers of white linen and silk pillows in shades of cream and pale gray. A soft cashmere throw is folded at the foot. Loose flower petals are scattered across the wooden floor, crushed under our shoes as we walk in.

Whole bouquets stand in vases along the walls. Hydrangeas. Ranunculus. Sweet pea. Every flower I cut from the garden this morning, arranged here, waiting. In the corner, a small antique phonograph turns slowly on a mahogany table, playing something with strings. Violins, I think. Cellos underneath.

“Oh my god, it’s so beautiful,” I whisper as tears spring to my eyes. “This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Glad you like it, sweetheart,” says Ezra.

The five of us stand in the center of the tent without speaking. My husbands in their wedding suits, all of them watching me with eyes gone dark and hungry in the candlelight. Ezra reaches for my face. His palm cups my jaw, his thumb brushing the line of my cheekbone.

He leans down. Kisses me slow and certain, his mouth warm and firm against mine, his tongue sliding against my lower lip until I whimper into him.

He pulls back. Presses his forehead to mine. Breathes against my mouth.

“I have been waiting my whole life for you,” he whispers, moving behind me. His fingers find the zipper at the back of my dress and pull it down with careful, deliberate slowness. The silk falls open against my shoulders, and cool air kisses my skin.

Tears prick hot behind my eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you too.”

Julian comes to my left and slides the dress off my shoulder with one smooth motion. His mouth finds the bare skin there, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp.

Cole comes to my right. Helps slide the other shoulder free. The dress pools at my feet in a soft ivory puddle. He holds my hand steady as I step out of it, his palm warm and rough against mine.

August crosses to the small vanity in the corner. Picks up the dress and lays it across the wooden surface like it’s something precious.

I am naked in the candlelight. Ezra steps in close. Presses his forehead to mine again. His breath is warm against my lips.