Picture Perfect - Page 172

And for those moments, we are lost in each other, in a place where the past doesn’t exist, and the only truth is the love that pulses through us—a love manifested in kisses, caresses, and the shared heat of bodies entwined.

Chapter seventy-five

Addy

The sun casts a warm, golden glow through the glass walls of the greenhouse, and my skin tingles with a mix of nerves and excitement. Gen’s fingers work deftly, braiding my hair in a way that feels both casual and intricate. It’s an art form, the way she plaits and weaves, leaving the rest to cascade down my back in waves.

“Almost done,” Gen murmurs, her tone soothing. The atmosphere is intimate, just close friends in a place that feels like a secret garden, lush and vibrant around us.

“Thanks, Gen.” I catch her eye in the mirror, grateful for more than just her help with my hair. She’s been a constant in the chaos that has become my life—steady and unwavering.

“Addy, you’re going to knock them dead.” Her eyes dance with mirth, but there’s a sincerity there that wraps around me like a warm embrace.

My makeup is minimal, a hint of mascara to make my green eyes stand out and a touch of blush to bring color to my cheeks. As Gen secures the final braid, I stand and let my fingers graze the fabric of my dress. The dress is simple and elegant with flowing lines, delicate straps, and a tulle bow at the back. It makes me feel like some ethereal creature.

“Are you sure about going barefoot?” Gen asks, watching as I take a tentative step on the cool soil of the greenhouse floor.

“Absolutely.” I smile, feeling every inch of the ground beneath me. “It’s only fitting. Feels more… real, this way.”

“Real is good. Real is you,” she agrees, giving me a nod of approval.

I take a deep breath, centering myself before the ceremony. It’s nothing grand, but it’s perfect because it’s us—Saint, Chess, Dre, Mason, and those few others who’ve become part of our chosen family. There’s something sacred in this simplicity, in the choice to celebrate where flowers bloom and life thrives unabated.

“Ready?” Gen extends her arm towards me, her smile contagious.

“Ready,” I reply, my voice steady even as my heart races in my chest.

Together, we walk, stepping into a moment that feels like the beginning of forever.

The filtered light of the greenhouse casts a serene glow on everything, turning the space into a cathedral of greenery. My bare feet whisper against the earth as Gen guides me down the aisle, her presence a comforting anchor amidst the fluttering in my stomach.

As we approach the makeshift altar, Saint’s eyes lock onto mine. His normally guarded expression is peeled away, leaving a raw intensity that halts my breath. I can see the muscles in his jaw clench and unclench, a battle raging within him not to let his emotions spill over. He’s always been a fortress, but today I see the flag atop his walls waving in surrender.

Behind him, Dre and Chess stand shoulder to shoulder, their forms relaxed but alert. The sleeves of their shirts were cuffed up to muscular, sun-kissed forearms that made me want to drool.

“Damn, Addy,” Chess mutters under his breath, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief and pride.

Dre doesn’t say anything, but his gaze—sharp and blue as winter ice—speaks volumes, etching silent sonnets into the air between us.

I finally reach Saint, and before I can fully process the end of my short journey, he reaches out. His thumb grazes my cheekbone so tenderly it feels like a benediction. I’m anchored by his touch, pulled back from the edge of overwhelming emotion by the gravity in his deep brown eyes.

“You look… fucking stunning,” he murmurs, his voice rough around the edges like torn silk.

A laugh bubbles up inside me, surprising in its lightness. “Only ‘fucking stunning’?”

“Understatement of the century,” Dre chimes in, his lips twitching.

“Words fail, hermosa,” Chess adds with a wink, and I can’t help but smile at their antics.

“Thank you,” I whisper to Saint, feeling a chapter close and a new one open with the weight of his hand against my skin. “For seeing me.”

“Always, Princess,” he replies, and the promise in his voice wraps around me, as tangible as the dress on my body and the soil beneath my feet.

The officiant’s voice fades to a soft hum as Saint steps forward, his eyes never leaving mine. The air in the greenhouse is thick with anticipation, the scent of blooming flowers wrapping around us like an ethereal shroud.

“I—I wrote my own vows.”

I stare at him in shock at that. But, he just offers a nervous smile and looks down at the pages he holds in his trembling hands.