Page 249 of What We Become

My jaw tightens. “Any issues?”

Odin’s mouth kicks up on one corner. “None that will blow back on you. Consider it a wedding present.” He tilts his glass toward Sage. “Go kiss your wife, detective. We’ll discuss more when you’re back from your honeymoon.”

I cross the yard in four strides and put my hand on Sage’s lower back. Low. Lower than appropriate for a public setting. My thumb traces the curve of her spine through the fabric.

“Detective,” she says without turning around.

“Wife.”

“Your hand is on my ass.”

“I think you’ll find my hand is on your lower back.”

“Your hand is migrating.”

It is. She doesn’t stop me.

“Everyone can see us,” she murmurs, picking up her champagne.

“Most of them aren’t looking.”

“And the ones who are?”

“Probably just Milo. He’s always looking. I’ve accepted this as a condition of the marriage.”

She laughs. “You love him.”

I grin. “Yeah,” I say. “I do.” Then I press my mouth to hers and squeeze her ass in front of everyone. Milo cheers.

The caterers keep the drinks flowing and the food coming. Nobody needs me to do a damn thing except enjoy my wedding. I’m managing beautifully. The playlist drifts from a speaker on the deck—Milo curated, Micah vetted—seventy percent danceable and thirty percent songs that are aimed at making Eli cry. So far, nothing.

Mars has stationed herself beside the catering table. I watch her accept chicken from Gene, swallow it, then move around the table to present herself to Dennis as a dog who has never been fed in her fucking life. He falls for it immediately. She’s halfway to Ray when she catches me watching.

“I know what you’re doing.”

Her tail wags.

I step aside so she can get through. It’s a wedding. Let her work.

Sage sets down her champagne, hooks a finger in my belt, and tugs.

“Come dance with me.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Holden.” She tugs harder. “It’s our wedding. Dance with your wife or I’ll dance with Knox, and you can watch.”

“You’ll dance with Knox anyway.”

“I will. But I want to dance with you first.” She looks up at me through those lashes. The gray eyes. The smudged lipstick from our constant kissing. “Please?”

I take her hand and walk her to the makeshift dance floor. The whole area glows amber from the fairy lights. The song is slow and about undying love. Eli still isn’t crying.

Her engagement ring has gone red. It was green out in the yard at two o’clock—some property of the stone, Milo explained it twice and I retained none of it. Under the fairy lights it’s the exact color of arterial spatter.

I don’t tell her. She’d like it too much.

“Get closer, wildcat.” I pull her in. One hand on her waist. The other on her hip. Not the polite ballroom position. The position that says mine and doesn’t apologize for it.