Page 73 of Devil's Iris
“How do you feel about us wearing blue?” Emily asks, and I shrug, not minding it one bit.
“I think you guys would look stunning in blue.”
“I’m wearing gold since I’m the matron of honor. It suits my hair,” Elira preens, running a hand through her gorgeous red locks.
“Wait, who decided you were matron of honor?” Gianna demands, brows shooting up. “If anyone should have that role, it should beme.”
“And why exactly should it be you, Gia?” Emily jumps in.
Before I know it, they're bickering like sisters over who has the better claim to the title. Despite everything, my lips start to curve upwards. The ridiculousness of it, the way they’re so invested in my wedding that they’re actually fighting over who gets to stand closest to me—it’s sweet. And hilarious.
“She smiled!” Elira suddenly exclaims, pointing at me with the enthusiasm of someone who has just solved a difficult puzzle.
“What?” I giggle as all three women turn to stare at me with matching grins.
“You’ve been out of it all morning, so the girls and I were trying to figure out how to snap you out of whatever funk you’re in,” Emily explains, her expression softening. “Did you and Romero have a fight?”
“What? No! No—we’re fine.” The denial comes easily. Buttheir concern—genuine, heartfelt concern from women who barely know me—makes my chest tight with unexpected emotion. No one has ever paid close enough attention to notice my mood changes, let alone actively tried to improve them. “You guys...” My voice cracks embarrassingly as I pull them all into hugs.
“Hey, now.” Gia pats my back with the same gentle rhythm I imagine she uses with her daughters. The gesture is so motherly, so naturally soothing, that I sink deeper into her embrace. “It’s okay. It’s probably just pre-wedding jitters hitting you.”
If only it were that simple.
I nod anyway as I pull back from the hug. “I guess so. In just one more day, I’m going to be Mrs. Lombardi.” I glance down at my engagement ring, twisting it around my finger. A month ago, I couldn’t have even imagined how much my life would change.
“It’s totally normal,” Elira says, patting my hand. “Everyone gets nervous before their wedding. But if it’s more than that, you know you can tell us, right? If you want to call off the wedding, it’s not too late. We’ll help you, whatever you decide.”
“Yeah, you’re our friend, Leni,” Emily chimes in, her voice fierce with loyalty I haven’t done anything to earn. “We’ve got your back no matter what.”
“Shit, you're going to make me cry.” I wipe my eyes, sniffing to hold the tears at bay. “No, I don’t want to call it off. I want to marry him.” And I do.I really do.
It’s terrifying how much I want to be Mrs. Lombardi—not just because of our contract. And in an unexpected twist that would have shocked me a month ago, I’m even looking forward to our wedding night, his threat be damned. If my body’s reaction this morning was any indication, I’ll probably enjoy every second of whatever he has planned.
After that confession, the atmosphere lightens considerably. Emily texts Rafael that the guys should stay out of sight for therest of the day because we have ‘critically important bachelorette activities’ to complete.
The critically important activities, it turns out, involve a full beauty session at one of Vegas’ most exclusive salons. Manicures, pedicures, and at the girl’s insistence, lash extensions that make my eyes look twice their normal size.
“You look like a Disney princess,” Elira declares when they’re done with me, and I have to admit the transformation is pretty dramatic.
When I try to pay for any of it, they become really offended, insisting it’s all part of the ‘bachelorette package’ and I’m not allowed to contribute a single dollar. The casual way they throw around money that would make me hyperventilate under normal circumstances reminds me again just how different their worlds are from mine.
Werefrom mine.
Back at the suite, we spend the rest of the day in comfortable pajamas, watching romcoms while sipping elaborately garnished mocktails. We unanimously agreed that yesterday’s alcohol consumption was more than sufficient for the entire trip.
By the time evening rolls around and we have to check out of the hotel, I’m hit with an unexpectedly bittersweet feeling. I don’t want this to end. I’ve never had girlfriends before, and I’m worried about how we’ll maintain these connections when we return to our busy lives in New York.
The girls must be feeling the same way, because when we arrive at the private airstrip where two massive private jets are waiting for us, Gianna announces dramatically, “See you menfolk back in New York!” And blows an exaggerated kiss to her husband.
I chuckle as Emily and Elira wave their theatrical goodbyes to their respective spouses as well before slipping into the same private jet that brought us here, leaving the other jet for theguys. Heart pounding, I work up the courage to meet Romero’s eyes across the tarmac. When I finally do, the intensity of his gaze nearly steals my breath. He’s watching me like he’s memorizing every detail, like he’s already planning exactly how he’s going to make good on this morning’s promise.
I manage a small wave—just a flutter of my fingers that feels absurdly inadequate given the electric tension crackling between us—then escape into the safety of the jet.
Safety.
The word feels laughable as the door seals shut behind me and the jet engines purr to life. Because tomorrow, there will be no escape. Tomorrow, I become his wife in every sense of the word.
And though I should know better, I can’t wait.
