Page 183 of Rebel Hawke

She pulls back slightly and offers a sad smile. “No, you certainly don’t.”

Of everyone, she’s the only person who truly understands what making that decision has done to me, the guilt that claws at my chest each time I wonder when Satriano will come for Coen and what he’ll make him do.

I look over her shoulder at all the security milling about in their own tuxes, blending in with the guests so well that, hopefully, no one notices the overkill.

Post-fight, we knew we didn’t have a choice but to triple everything, and the reason stands at the end of the bar with a drink in his hand.

The hard set of Coen’s jaw makes me clench my own.

All of this is his fault, but the way he looks at me, the way he acts, he certainly doesn’t see it that way.

If Uncle Stone had his way, Coen would be tucked away somewhere safe, where he would be untouchable, but the wedding threw a wrench in any plans to spirit him out of New Orleans and Satriano’s clutches.

No matter how tense things may be, no one was going to miss this—including Coen.

But as soon as this shindig dies down. He’ll be off to only God, Dad, Uncle Savage, Stone, and Saint, know where until they can try to negotiate something with Satriano on his behalf.

Good fucking luck with that.

Wren threads her fingers through my hair. “What’s wrong? You got quiet all of a sudden.”

I tug my head back and grin at her. “Nothing. I promise.”

Nothingsheneeds to worry about.

The song winds down, and Kennedy steps up to the microphone, giving it a tap that makes everyone wince. In her custom-made Vera Wang dress that fits her like a glove, she truly looks like the princess she is today.

“Hi, everyone!” She flashes a white smile between red lips. “I just want to thank you all again for being here today to celebrate with Cass and Charlotte and me on our big day. This would typically be the time that I throw the bouquet and all the single women beat each other up trying to get to it…”

Everyone chuckles, including Wren, and she gives me a little grin before refocusing on the stage. I tighten my grip on her waist, pulling her up against me.

“But…”—Kennedy waves the bouquet back and forth—“I have a little something different planned today.”

Questioning murmurs float through the crowd as she carefully climbs from the stage, the long train flowing down the few steps, and makes her way across the dance floor toward us in the bright-red heels I know are hidden by yards of beaded fabric.

The sea of people parts as she approaches, and Wren watches her with a furrowed brow. She glances up at me. “What’s going on?”

Before I can answer her, Kennedy stops in front of us and holds out the bouquet to Wren. “I don’t need to throw this because you’re next.” Her gaze darts to Isaac and Jack, who stand watching. “Since those two seem intent on waiting until Gio is old enough to participate in their ceremony.”

“What?” Wren glances between Kennedy and me, confusion filling her eyes. “Atlas, what is she—”

Kennedy slips the flowers into Wren’s hand and winks at me. “Here’s your chance, killer.”

Shit.

This is it.

I motion for the girls to come over, and Vivi and Charlotte race from the edge of the stage where they’re standing with Astrid to me, carrying their little purses that match their flower girl dresses.

Taking a long, deep breath, I slowly sink to one knee on the dance floor.

Wren’s eyes widen as she stares down at me. “Atlas, what the hell are you doing?”

WREN

Atlas stares up at me,his warm Caribbean-blue eyes brimming with so much love that it’s almost painful. He takes my left hand in his and squeezes it tightly. “What I should have done months ago. What I should have done themomentyou came back.”

My breath catches in my throat.

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