Page 136 of Devil's Tulip

It’s breathtaking. It’s perfect.

And it’s empty—except for Michael standing at the end of the aisle.

“You made it,” he says, sounding a little surprised, as if he’d prepared himself for disappointment, for me to reject this gesture. He stretches his hand out towards me.

I glance around the surreal venue in awe as I walk towards him. “Where is everyone?”

“You think I wouldn’t give you time to properly prepare?” His smile lights his face when I slip my hand into his. “Everything has to be perfect for you. The wedding is actually in three hours. I have a tailor and a seamstress here with the most perfectwedding dresses—all curated with you in mind. But if you don’t care for any of them, we can move the wedding until you have the best dress. That is… if you’ll marry me.”

I squeeze his hand tightly. “Why the hell do you think I’m here?”

“Gianna.” He tugs me into him, his voice thick with emotion. “I promise I won’t make you regret this.”

“You better not, or your kids and I will make you suffer so much, you’ll wish you never married me,” I threaten as I slowly wrap my arms around his neck.

“Never,” he repeats emphatically, lifting my hand to kiss the back gently. “And did I hear you mention kids, as in plural? Does that mean you’ll have more children for me in the future?” A complex swirl of emotions darkens his beautiful blue eyes—hope, desire, vulnerability—as he slowly lowers his head towards mine.

“Maybe,” I murmur against his lips. “But right now, I’m actually carrying two babies.”

He frowns at me, obviously confused. “You’re carrying two babies? Two–twins?” His eyes go wide, and he stumbles backward, his gaze dropping to my huge belly.

And then he just crumbles to the floor.

“Michael!” It takes me an embarrassingly long time to maneuver my pregnant body down beside him, and I’m panting with exertion as I slap at his chest. He blinks his eyes open. “Did you justfaint?”

He stares at me blankly for a moment, then he grins. “Of course not. I don’tfaint.” Before I can argue, he tugs at my hands until I’m unceremoniously sprawled on the floor beside him, his powerful arms enveloping me in a cocoon of warmth and security I’ve missed more than I care to admit. “We’re having twins,” he says dazedly.

The hall’s door opens before I can remind him that he absolutely, undeniably just fainted at my feet and can’t rewrite history that quickly, and a familiar soft voice says, “Are we interrupting?”

I turn to the sound, joy surging through me at the sight of my friend. “Elira!” I exclaim, struggling ineffectually to regain my dignity and vertical position. With a triumphant whoop, Michael jumps up, carrying me up with him.

“We’re having twins!” he announces to the room in general. Behind Elira, Romero drops the drink in his hand, and it shatters to the floor.

“What?!” Elira’s shriek of surprise cuts through the moment of stunned silence, and then the room descends into joyful chaos, every single one of Michael’s brothers circling us and hesitantly placing their hands on my belly in excitement while I field about a million questions.

Then the rest of the guests start arriving, and it’s finally time for the wedding.

I fall in love with the first dress the seamstress shows me—a fairytale ball gown that somehow manages to float around me while perfectly concealing my burgeoning belly and accentuating my figure in all the right places. I couldn’t imagine sealing this new beginning in anything else.

And the wedding itself is enchanting, filled with lots of love and laughter. And best of all, bright hope for the future.

EPILOGUE

GIANNA

“One of these days, I’m going to be the one putting a tattoo onyou,” I tease Michael, watching intently as he drags the tattoo gun over the delicate skin of my wrist.

He glances up, eyes glittering. “I’d love that. Pretty sure I still have some space on my inner thigh. I can paint your lips with my precum while you work on tattooing my flesh.”

“Michael,” I whisper, scandalized, my cheeks flushing hot. But damn it if my nipples don’t bead inside my bra, my core clenching so hard I actually worry I’ll destroy my panties and have to change themagainbefore we have to leave.

He just winks at me and continues his work like he didn’t just flood my brain with hot-as-hell images that I know I won’t rest until we recreate. Well, it’s his skin that will end up with a sloppy tattoo when my hands shake from wanting him too much.

Our babies kick my belly, and inhale deeply, feeling the pressure on my lungs.

Michael’s gaze darts up, artist’s focus instantly replaced by husband’s concern. “You good?”

“Just your spawns deciding it’s a good idea to stampede Mommy’s lungs,” I wheeze faintly. The panic in his eyes wouldbe sweet if I weren’t so busy trying to breathe around what feels like football practice happening inside me.

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