Page 18 of Knot Ruined

I snort, rolling my eyes, but I don’t miss how she’s actually looking at me—not just at the dress, but at me like she’s seeing something new and more.

Odette snickers, shaking her head as she steps up beside me. But when her gaze meets mine in the mirror, her expression softens. “You look so beautiful.” Her voice is gentle, warm, and sincere, which makes my chest ache. She reaches out, smoothing a hand over the delicate fabric of my sleeve, taking in every detail—the soft sage green tulle, the structured bodice, the way the cape cascades like something out of a fairytale.

“I love that you chose this dress,” she murmurs. “It’s not a typical wedding, and white just feels… too—”

“Virginal,” I supply, arching a brow.

Violet barks out a laugh while Odette nods, smirking. “Exactly.”

I turn back to my reflection, exhaling slowly. “The last thing I want to look like is a timid woman.” And I don’t. Not with the way the dress hugs my frame like it was made for me, the way the soft glitter catches the light, or the way my confidence has started to settle over me like armor. Not with my best friends beside me, dressed in deep emerald green gowns contrasting beautifully against my softer sage.

Violet’s dress is sleek and fitted, hugging her curves with a deep V neckline and delicate lace detailing along the sleeves. Her short purple hair is styled in soft waves, and she’s already adjusting her black lipstick in the mirror, preening like she’s the main event. I love her all the more for it. My friend is beautiful and owns it.

Odette’s gown is more flowing and elegant, the fabric pooling around her feet like liquid silk. The deep green complements her fiery ombre hair, and her delicate gold earrings catch the light when she moves.

We look good together—a trio of troublemakers ready to shake the foundations of the world.

My mother finally steps forward, brushing a soft curl back from my face, her hand lingering against my cheek. “You are going to be unforgettable,” she whispers, her voice full of so much love it nearly undoes me.

I let out a shaky breath, squeezing her hand before turning back to my friends. “Alright, ladies. Let’s get me married.”

The venue is breathtaking, something out of a dream I never let myself have. How they managed to find a garden fairytale setting in the middle of a Chicago winter is beyond me. But looking around at the towering frost-kissed trees, the delicate blooms draped in cascading flowers, and the thousands of fairy lights twinkling like fallen stars—I have to believe it’s magic.

I inhale slowly, trying to steady the nervous energy thrumming under my skin as I step up to the grand French doors, sheer white curtains fluttering softly with the faintest winter breeze.

My hands feel clammy, my heart a relentless rhythm in my chest, but then I feel two familiar squeezes—one from each side.

Violet and Odette. My best friends. My sisters in spirit.

They don’t say anything, but they don’t have to. I feel their unwavering support in how they hold my hands, grounding me for a moment before they step into place.

None of us are carrying flowers. I never saw the point. They’re just there to keep your hands busy, to distract you from your nerves. And I don’t want a distraction. I want to feel everything.

The doors sweep open, revealing a curving cobblestone aisle, worn smooth by time, footsteps, and rain, framed by arching trees intertwined with trailing flowers. The soft glow of fairy lights weaves through the branches, lighting the path like something out of a fairytale.

A shiver rolls down my spine, part nerves, part awe.

Violet and Odette step forward first, moving in perfect sync with the hauntingly beautiful melody that fills the air. The music wraps around me, sinking into my bones, making everything feel surreal yet utterly, terrifyingly real at the same time.

I inhale again, but this time, it’s shaky and uneven. Because I still can’t see them. The aisle curves to the left, hiding the guests—and my husbands—from view. Then, the music shifts. My cue. A warm, steady hand slides through my arm, and I turn to see my mother standing beside me. Her amber eyes are already glassy with emotion, but she holds it together, giving me a soft, knowing smile as she squeezes my hand.

We step forward together. The soft clack of our heels echoes over the stone as we follow the bend, my dress whispering around me, catching the glow of the lights, making me feel like something ethereal. I feel dozens of eyes on me, but I don’t look.

Not at first. The guests are a blur, a mix of familiar faces—friends, acquaintances, people who have been a part of my life in one way or another. The ones I don’t recognize watch me with quiet appreciation, and I assume those belong to my husbands.

But none of them matter. Because when I finally lift my gaze, my breath catches. And there they are.

Kingston. Voss. Jace. Romano.

Waiting for me.

The first one stands tall and unwavering, his presence commanding and effortless. His body is full of muscle and strength, filling out the deep green suit that fits him to perfection. My eyes flit up to his face, to those piercing green eyes that lock onto me with something intense—something profound. His expression is soft but heated as if he’s seeing something he never thought he’d have. His brown hair is perfectly styled, parted just enough to frame his sharp, chiseled features.

Kingston.

The second man is leaner but no less dangerous, his long black hair braided back from his face, though the rest hangs loosely around his shoulders. He looks coiled to strike, a predator waiting, sensing, watching. His brown eyes clash with mine, and a slow, knowing smile tugs at his lips, his beard twitching slightly with the movement.

Voss.

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