“Tomorrow.”
I bark out a laugh. “Seriously?”
She turns her head, completely unbothered, lips curving. “Yes. Seriously.”
I shake my head, disbelief and delight tangling in my chest. “You can’t be serious.”
She pushes away from me, studying me—then she tilts her head, that familiar glint sparking in her eyes.
“Aren’t you the king of urgent weddings?” she says sweetly. “Surprise me, Mr. Rusnak.”
Then she winks.
And walk away.
She crosses the room, climbs onto the bed, and stretches out like she owns the world—and me. One knee bent, hair spilling over the pillow, eyes dark and inviting.
She crooks her finger at me.
My pulse kicks hard.
“Careful,” I murmur, straightening slowly, predatory calm settling over me. “If you tempt me like that, I’ll forget I’m supposed to plan a wedding.”
She smiles, lazy and knowing. “Multitask.”
I move toward her, every step deliberate, shedding control with each one. “Tomorrow,” I say, voice low. “Fine. Tomorrow it is.”
I lean down, bracing myself over her, my mouth hovering just above hers.
“But don’t think for a second I won’t make it unforgettable.”
Her breath stutters.
Good.
Because this time, there will be no fear.
No blood. No ghosts in the room.
Just her.
Chosen.
Cherished.
Mine.
***
Because I’m incapable of doing anything halfway—and because I owe her a legend—I plan the wedding myself.
Every detail.
The venue is quiet and private, tucked away from the world, in the Rusnak estate, like a secret meant only for us. Stone, light, snow just beginning to melt at the edges. No crowds. No spectacle. Just intention.
I choose her dress.
Simple. Elegant. No armor this time. No weight. Something that moves when she breathes, that lets her be soft without being small. I choose her hair—loose, touched with restraint, the way I like to slide my fingers through it when she thinks I’m not watching. I pick her bouquet too. White and pale green. Clean. Alive.