Page 164 of Sinful Sacrifice

I jerk back. “What?”

“I have sweats in my bag. I’ll go change. That way, we match.”

I stare at him, slack-jawed.

“This is your wedding. No one else’s. If you feel more comfortable in sweats right now, then wear sweats, baby. In fact, I think you might be onto something. Sweats sound better than this lame-ass tux too.”

I hold back a laugh. “You wear a suit nearly every single day.”

Only a few people have seen the man walk around in sweats. Which is fine with me because him in gray sweats is mouthwatering. I nearly jump his bones every single time.

I narrow my eyes. “They’d better not be gray sweatpants.”

He shakes his head, a wide smile building. “Baby, you told me those are meant for your eyes only. They’re black, basic as fuck.” His hand returns to my stomach, and he massages it in small circles with his thumb, causing goose bumps to form. “What do you say, baby?” He nods, as if the baby is talking. “Oh, you think Mommy should definitely wear her sweats? Okay then.” His gaze travels back to mine. “Baby Bellini suggests her mom wear whatever she feels comfortable in.”

“You’re crazy,” I say around a laugh.

He clamps his hand around my waist and slowly assists me to my feet before standing. “I’ll go change and be right back, baby. Do you want me to send the girls in to help you?”

I bite into the corner of my lip. “Yes, please.”

He smacks a kiss to my lips. “I’ll meet you at the altar.”

“Will you walk me down it?” I mutter. “Be there with me?”

“I’ll see you at the front of the aisle,” he corrects.

This man … God, he’s perfection.

He leaves the room, and the girls return.

They touch up my makeup and hair.

I change into black sweats and The Ballet Studio zip-up jacket.

“So, I just thought of a great idea,” Genesis says as I sit to tie my sneakers. “Why don’t we all put on the clothes we wore here? Screw being formal.”

I nearly squeal in delight and wrap my arms around her.

This is what true friends are—ones who always figure out a way to make you comfortable.

“Oh my God,” I groan. “Please do.”

They change, and fifteen minutes later, we leave the suite.

As promised, Damien waits for me at the front of the aisle.

His best men have also changed out of their tuxes.

Not fitting into my dress isn’t a bad omen.

It’s just proving another reason Damien is the perfect man for me.

He will change anything, go against everything, to make me happy.

“My beautiful bride,” he says, turning to kiss me. “God, you look amazing.”

While we won’t have that moment where the groom watches me walk down the aisle, we’ll have the one where the groom made his wife comfortable while making that walk with her.

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