Page 71 of SINS & Temptation

Having someone paternal and reassuring will ease what’s to come. No one pulls off being a father figure better than Bryce Jacob Sinclair, Esquire. Sin. My father’s best man and best friend for years. And a confidant to me.

No one is better suited to give my bride away. Thank fuck he agreed.

“She said yes?” I ask.

Sin nods. “She did.”

“To everything?” I ask, the weight of the question pressing on me. This small point had become an insurmountable wall I couldn’t scale alone. Meeting her dead father’s wishes is important to her, which makes it important to me.

But only Kennedy could determine if all his conditions were met, putting the ball squarely in her court.

Sin nods again. “Father Marc is on his way, with reinforcements. I’ve also assured her that once you are legally wed, she becomes a D’Angelo, with all the resources and protections that title affords.”

Dante pats me on the back. “What’s the rush? Are you pregnant?”

“I have my reasons. Primarily, Uncle Andre.” Just saying his name makes the vein in my forehead throb.

Mateo straightens his tie in the mirror. “So, instead of you two treating her like a wishbone, you’re bringing all of us in to go full-blown tug-of-war, Squid Games-style?”

“Yes.” That, and they’d never agree to go to war over a woman unless I was serious. And nothing screams serious like till death do us part.

Father Marc sweeps into the room like his robe is on fire, followed by another man lugging bolts of green and red fabric. “Okay, Enzo, I believe we have everything you need.” He glances around, eyes wide with urgency. “Where’s the bride?”

“Getting dressed.”

“So, when do we see her?”

“When she walks down the aisle.” Normally, Father Marc is the epitome of calm in Catholic tradition, but right now, I’m not so sure.

He blinks. “I need to see her now. Her and you.”

“Why?”

He pulls up the will on his phone and points to the screen. “Pre-Cana. Devotion. Attire.”

“And?”

“What’s Pre-Cana?” Smoke asks, quirking a brow.

Dillon shrugs. “Sounds kinky.”

Father Marc pinches the bridge of his nose, likely wondering if any of us can truly be saved. Then he collects himself. “Pre-Cana is pre-marital counseling. I meet with the couple weekly for about twelve weeks, discussing the gravity of choosing a lifelong partner and the principles of honesty and loyalty. It gives them time to let these concepts truly sink in. Twelve weeks is standard, though I’ve cut it back to six.”

Honesty.

Loyalty.

And a migraine that’s about to split my skull.

“Can’t I just give a girl a big diamond ring and say I do?” I stare at him like he just jerked off in front of us. Six to twelve weeks, my ass.

He catches my look and nervously tugs at his collar. “How much time do we have?”

“About an hour.”

“An hour?” He gulps, glancing upward as if doing mental calculations. “Fine. Okay. An hour.”

The funny little man he entered with unrolls bolts of fabric at my feet. “What’s this?”

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