𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟔

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The flight to Paris stretched on endlessly, seven hours of claustrophobic confinement, broken only by the distant hum of the jet's engines and the occasional whisper of air. The discomfort gnawed at me, but it was nothing compared to the goddamn circus unfolding around us.

Jaxon and Liliana—those two—had somehow managed to disappear into the cramped, almost laughably small bathroom for a four-hour round. The absurdity of it was enough to make anyone lose their mind. The jet's bathroom was nothing more than a cubicle barely big enough for a single person, let alone two. Yet somehow, they'd made it work, their reckless lust an unspoken challenge to every inch of the confined space.

I didn't even know whether to laugh or scowl. The only thing I could think about was how, despite everything that had gone wrong, some things were still so wrong they could only be right in the most twisted way.

When we finally touched down and made our way into the hotel—where the wedding would be held, of all places—I could barely contain the mix of emotions boiling under my skin. The grandeur of the lobby made me feel out of place in my own skin. We had the entire suite booked for two weeks, a spacious paradise for some, a gilded cage for others. But no matter how luxurious the space was, there was a storm brewing in every corner of our collective existence. Damien and Christian weren't with us—thank God for small mercies. They were with Marcella's mom and Alessio's mom, who had graciously offered to take the babies while the two of them went off to Greece. But even that felt like a cruel joke.

Damon pressed the elevator button with the practiced ease of someone who was used to controlling everything around him. The doors slid open, and we all shuffled inside. His voice broke the silence, low and smooth, but carrying a weight of authority. "The wedding's tomorrow afternoon. We need to wake up early. We're not just guests tomorrow; we're involved. Avery's giving a speech at the reception, and the ladies are the flower girls."

His words cut through the noise in my head, grounding me. Tomorrow, we had a role to play—like actors in a grand performance where the stakes were too high to fail.

But of course, this wasn't just about the wedding. This was about us, about the tangled mess of our lives. Alex's father would walk Ava down the aisle, and we would stand at Alex's side as his best men. I was the one who'd suggested it, and God help me, I knew I was right. He hadn't wanted any groomsmen at first, but I pushed—because that's what I did. I made things happen. The connection between Alex and me was instant. We clicked in ways that didn't make sense, but it was real—our humor, our confidence, our unspoken understanding of each other. We might not have known each other long, but in this world, that didn't matter.

As we made our way through the hotel's labyrinth of halls, Avery muttered something under her breath, causing a brief, confused silence. "Cock."

It was an absurd slip, and yet Stella's laughter broke the silence like a whip. "I'm so sleepy, but I just realized 'cock' is chicken in French. That's pretty funny," she giggled.