Page 55 of Stolen for Keeps
Claire appeared, all smiles, and before I could stop her, she was adjusting my boutonnière. “You look so handsome!”
“I always look like this,” I said dryly.
“Huh.” Elia slung an arm around my shoulder. “Nah. You look lucky, little brother.”
I shook my head. “Can you just be happy for me for once?”
“Says the guy who does everything in his power to stay in the background,” Elia teased, but there was something else in his tone. Something I wasn’t sure I wanted to unpack.
Eventually, they left me alone with those knowing looksand quiet smiles, as if they were rooting for something I hadn’t even admitted out loud.
I gave my suit one last tug, smoothed my jacket, and headed toward the ceremony tent.
And there she was.
Maya.
My Blue Storm.
This should’ve been the moment I paused, took stock, and measured the risks like I always did before stepping into something I couldn’t control.
But I didn’t.
I’d spent most of my life choosing the easy road. The calm, predictable one. The kind of woman who never made a mess of my heart. Someone I could leave before they ever thought to leave me.
But the calm had never made me feel alive.
Not like her.
Maya wasn’t simple. She wasn’t quiet. She wasn’t built for anyone’s idea of a safe choice. She was the jolt, the storm that never came with a warning.
And maybe that’s why I couldn’t look away.
I used to walk away when the bolt didn’t fit. I never carved the groove, never tried to make it work. I’d disappear before things got hard, before anyone saw through me. Before it could hurt.
But now? Now I wanted the burn. I wanted the chaos. I wanted the woman who left dents and cracked rules. The woman who made me believe in the kind of wild I’d never let myself want.
I wanted to know what it felt like to be caught in her wind, drenched in her rain, and rattled by her thunder.
And somewhere in all that noise, my heart said yes.
15
MAYA
The wedding morning chaos had finally settled. Miraculously, I’d gotten into my dress just fine. It was tight, but doable. And no Spanx, thank God. If I’d needed them, I’d be holding my breath, waddling like a penguin, and praying I didn’t have to pee. Small victories.
Not that breathing was a luxury I could fully enjoy. My bruised side made sure of that. Sucking in too hard meant rolling the dice with pain, and if someone made me laugh, game over.
Another win? My last-minute foundation magic had successfully concealed the sporadic cuts along my shoulders and arms. Desperation, it turned out, was one hell of a beauty guru.
The day had delivered perfect summer weather, a striking contrast to the backdrop of the Rockies, their distant peaks still brushed with snow. Sunlight threaded through high, lazy clouds, casting playful streaks over the field. The air carried the scent of roses and pine. A fresh, earthy perfume, as if the land itself was offering its blessing.
Claire had outdone herself. The floral arch at the altar looked like something out of a dream, all lush blooms and delicate vines. When Sheryn saw it for the first time, she gasped, her fingers pressing to her lips.
“I promised I wouldn’t cry,” she sniffled, her eyes brimming.
I squeezed her hand. “Eh, let it out. It’s your wedding. You earned the tears.”
