Page 145 of Picture Perfect

"Only for now," I tease, spinning her again, loving the way her laughter fills the air.

As the song comes to an end, Dre steps forward, his ice blue eyes holding a silent question. I nod, trusting him. He takes Princess's hand, and they start to move to the new rhythm. Chess isn't far behind, waiting for his turn with an easy grin. Mason, too, shares a dance, his protective gaze never leaving Princess.

But Wesley looms at the edge of the dance floor, his entitlement as palpable as the tension in his jaw. William, with his hawk-like stare, is beside him, and Preston hovers like a dark cloud ready to burst. None of them will touch what's mine. Not tonight, not ever.

"Stay close," I tell Dre, my tone leaving no room for discussion.

"Obviously," he assures me, and I know he understands. We're a united front, the protectors of our own, and Princess is the heart of us all.

Chess glides in next, his movements fluid and confident. "She's shining, Saint," he says over the music, his voice carrying that mischievous lilt.

"Because she's out of their shadows," I reply, watching Princess twirl under Mason's arm. "And she's never going back."

Chess cuts in smoothly after Mason, giving me a subtle nod. We may not be bound by blood, but in this moment, we're brothers in more than just name. His stance speaks volumes; we're her shield against the likes of Wesley, William, and the rest.

"Good work," Mason murmurs as we watch Mason sway to the music. "Old man Winthrop nearly had a stroke."

"Good."

I watch from the sidelines, my guard up, ready to intercept any unwelcome advances. This night is ours, a statement to the world that Mason is cherished, respected, and above all, loved. Because I do. Love her.

And if the way Dre and Chess look at her is any indication, they do too. She might be mine on paper but I won't ask her to choose. I can't. She deserves all the love she can manage. And so do they.

"Ready to claim your fiancé back?" Mason asks, as the dance comes to an end.

"Ready," I echo, stepping forward. "My turn, and then... we escape this place."

Princess looks up at me, her eyes alight with love and mischief. "Promise?"

"Promise." And with that, I sweep her into my arms once more, the rest of the world melting away.

Chapter sixty-three

Chess

From the shadowed fringe of the dance floor, my gaze is locked on Saint and Addy. They move with a grace that's almost too perfect, like they've been doing this dance for lifetimes instead of just tonight. The way wisps of her blonde hair fans out as he spins her, that little laugh escaping her lips—I can't help but burn with an envy that twists in my gut. Saint's got his hands on her, and I know how warm she feels under those fingertips. How she melts into a touch when it’s right. Because she's mine too, even if right now she's in his orbit.

"Looking sharp, Chess," Dre's voice is a low hum, vibrating through me as his body presses up against my back. His breath ghosts over the shell of my ear before his teeth catch my earlobe, a playful bite that sends an involuntary shiver racing down my spine.

"Can't say you're looking too bad yourself," I quip, though my voice betrays the heat his proximity stokes within me.

"Wait until later," Dre promises with a wicked whisper, trailing a finger down the side of my neck. "When we get Snowflake all to ourselves. Imagine her caught between us—"

I tilt my head back against his shoulder, a smirk curving my lips as I picture the scene he paints—a tangle of limbs, the contrast of our skin against hers. "We'll have to make sure she can handle the both of us."

"Trust me," Dre says, his ice blue eyes glinting in the dim light when I turn to face him. "She's more than capable."

"Then it's going to be a night to remember," I reply, the promise hanging between us, charged and undeniable.

As Dre's words continue to reverberate in the charged air between us, a discordant note hits my ears. It's the sound of venom laced with privilege, and it snatches my attention away from the thrumming anticipation of what's to come later tonight.

"Can you believe that piece of trash?" Wesley's sneer is a poison-tipped arrow aimed carelessly into the crowd, though his eyes are locked on Addy's lithe form on the dance floor. "Prime meat. She's gonna get what's coming to her."

"Watch yourself," Preston warns, matching Wesley's venomous tone. "She might be playing hard to get, but she can't ignore me forever. She and I aren't done."

"Don't worry, you can play all you want when that bitch is put in her place."

My grip tightens until my nails dig crescents into my palm. I cast a sidelong glance at Dre, reading the silent fury etched into his sharp features. We move as one, shadows slipping through the pulsating bodies, following the trail of contempt spewed by Wesley and Preston.

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