Page 86 of Hot for Teacher
Killian wrapped his arm tighter around his beta’s waist. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
Chase gave him a cheeky grin. “For marrying you?”
“For everything.”
Instead of Chase shying away from the compliment, his grin softened. “Thank you. I’m proud of myself.” And because he was still the sweetest fucking boy around, he added, “And I’m proud to be yours.”
Killian couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to his forehead. Chase glanced at the door. “We should probably get back out there, huh? You swear I look okay? You couldn’t have waited to get me on my knees until after the professional photos were taken?”
Killian didn’t dignify that last question with an answer. “There are no words for how you look. Prince has been lamenting all evening over not finding you first.”
Chase rose to standing, setting his glass on the tray. “He’s just messing with you. Besides, you didn’t find me.Ifoundyou.”
Killian couldn’t argue with that. So he didn’t. He followed his husband out the door to join their guests.
The wedding guestswere milling about the garden, drinking their cocktails. Killian could hear the bright cackle of Spencer’s laughter above the polite conversation of everyone else.
Killian would have loved to grab one of those cocktails himself, but they had photos to take first.
Family photos.
And the family in question might have been part of the reason Killian had needed to get a bit of … alpha aggression out. Areason besides Chase looking so immensely fuckable in his tux.
Chase’s parents were here.
Killian had known they would be, and he’d even understood that Chase needed to invite them. Chase didn’t expect much from them these days—he’d worked with his therapist quite a bit on that—but he would most likely never be the kind to cut off contact completely, not unless his parents switched coldness for outright cruelty.
Said parents were standing off to the side by the veranda, looking distinctly uncomfortable in their bubble of two.
Chase smiled at them as he and Killian approached, and Killian worked to turn his expression into something that wasn’t a grimace. “Mom. Dad. Are you ready?”
Chase’s mother gave him a tight twist of lips that was perhaps supposed to be a smile of her own. “We are.”
Killian wrapped a hand around the back of Chase’s neck, stroking the bite mark there. The father’s gaze darted to the motion, and Killian bared his teeth in what could have passed for the semblance of a smile.
That’s right. He’s mine now.
Killian squeezed Chase’s nape. “Will you let the photographer know we’re ready? He’s probably with the catering lead.”
Chase didn’t quite roll his eyes, but it was a close thing. “The photographer whose name is Terrance? And the catering lead, Amanda?”
Killian shrugged, and Chase whirled away, but not quickly enough to hide his fond grin.
It was nice when one’s husband appreciated one’s quirks. Killian never had to learn names anymore—not that he’d ever bothered to before—because Chase was always getting everyone’s life stories left and right.
And then Killian was left with two people he detested.
“Lovely location,” Chase’s mother drawled.
But Killian had no interest in small talk, and there wasn’t time for it anyway. He tucked his hands into his suit pockets. “If I had my way, you wouldn’t be here right now.”
Chase’s father blustered. “I beg your—”
“But you are.” Killian raised his voice to be heard over the interruption, and the father immediately backed down. Of course he did. He was a complete coward when it came to his reputation, and he wouldn’t be caught arguing with his son’s groom at his son’s wedding. “Because the two of you somehow raised, without a scrap of care or affection, a wonderful, dutiful son, who only ever aims to please, and he wanted you here. So this is how it’s going to go. You are going to pose for photos. You are going to look goddamndelightedin every single one. You are going to hug your son afterward and ask him no fewer than three personal questions: about his honeymoon plans, his impending clinical hours, take your fucking pick. And you are going to bow out politely after dinner so we can enjoy the rest of the evening without a reminder of the people who failed Chase so horribly. Does that sound like a plan?”
It was the mother who spoke this time. “I—”
“The question was rhetorical.”
