“Pyro!” Amy clung to her husband desperately. “This is dangerous.”

Between her legs, his amused, sexy voice made her insides melt like chocolate sin. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine! Anyone could come in.”

He drizzled delicious, rough kisses up her inner thigh. “Then we should give them something to feel dirty about.”

“My mom is right outside!”

He lifted his head. His lazy smile made her feminine places swell with familiar heat. But he dropped her satin peach dressing gown and leaned back to stand. “There. Your garter belt is in place.”

She heaved a nervous and more-than-she-should-be aroused sigh. Her duchess satin wedding dress hung in its special wardrobe, a glimpse almost visible from his position inside the bridal suite, and her shoes peeked out of their tissue-frosted box. She pushed on his too-attractive chest. “You’re not supposed to be in here. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony.”

He drew her against him so her soft cleft pressed seductively against his hard cock. “Then it’s a good thing you’re already my wife.”

Just over a year ago they exchanged vows in front of an Elvis impersonator at midnight in Las Vegas. Then, Pyro had asked her if she wanted family present or a dress nicer than the limited stock of cheap chapel rentals. But they’d only known each other a few days and Amy had told him they would hold a “real” wedding on their first anniversary.

Pyro had taken that promise to heart. He’d driven the schedule, announced their plans before they’d picked out a venue, and created the wedding she’d always dreamed of having.

She wondered, at times, if this was a hold over from his first marriage. He didn’t like to talk about his first wife, a dragon female he met during his military service who later left him for an aristocrat. Amy imagined their wartime ceremony must have been brief, and that female had never introduced Pyro to her upper class family, so he’d remained the dirty secret from the wrong side of society. It had made him cynical and jaded about relationships and nearly destroyed their chance for happiness.

But Pyro had committed to Amy. Amy, after a few misadventures, had successfully introduced him to her parents. And, although her parents might not feel perfectly comfortable around their billionaire, alien, dragon shifter son-in-law, they made an honest effort to welcome him into their home.

Now, the morning of their “real” wedding, Pyro had smooth talked his way into the bridal suite and caught Amy for the briefest moment when she was alone. And, if they didn’t have a whole, busy day ahead of them, she’d probably make an excuse to go off with him and shirk her responsibilities. Just for a little bit.

His gorgeous, fiery gaze dropped to her parted lips. Heat crackling between them, he leaned forward.

She realized what he was doing at the last second and put her hands up, over his mouth. “No!”

He nibbled on her fingers, making the throb between her legs hotter and more needy. “No?”

“If you ruin my makeup, so help me Pyrochlore Onyx, I will ruin you!”

One brow cocked and interest kindled in his eyes. He loved a challenge. “Ruin me how?”

“You don’t want to know.” She pushed him back, getting a full stride of space between them, and smoothed her dress. With her best teacher gaze, she flexed her command. “You have no idea how early I had to get up and there’s more to do.”

He grinned, deadly challenge gleaming. “Bridezilla.”

“Refusing to have sex with you in the bridal suite of a wedding venue when anyone could walk in is not being a bridezilla!” She could smack him. But she responsibly held herself back. No need for a red handprint on his cheek. “Our ‘first look’ photos are in a short time and you have to be awed when you see me all dressed up looking fine. So, now, go.”

Like the red scales flexing under his skin, he wasn’t afraid of fire. “You won’t surprise me. You always look gorgeous.”

Her heart swelled painfully in her chest.

He honestly meant it. He’d once told her he saw no difference between her in an expensive designer gown, salon highlights, and airbrushed makeup, and her fresh out of a shower with damp tendrils and baggy flannel pajamas. And he’d certainly seen her at much worse times — dripping with old sweat, face red from screaming — and kissed her with such sincerity that she had finally accepted he would love her no matter what she looked like.

Sensing the softening effects of his words, he drew her into his arms again and tilted up her chin. Lowering his head, his firm lips just brushed her trembling—

The door to the bridal suite burst open. A fluffy, white-clad, infant princess floated in. “Gooo.”

Pyro leaned back and smiled at their hovering, slightly-rotating girl with pride. “Caught me, huh?”

“Brigid Pearl Onyx!” Amy’s mother rushed in and scooped the three-month-old into her arms. “I thought I had you strapped to the changing table! I turn my back for an instant to get your shoes, and—”

“Mom, it’s okay.” Amy broke away from Pyro and comforted her mother, who was clearly the more upset one. “I’ve lost her so many times. You tie her to the crib and whoops, the tether slips and she’s bouncing on the ceiling again. And Pyro’s ceilings are so high.”

“She’s going to be Daddy’s little hellion.” Pyro stroked his daughter’s chubby cheek. “Nobody’s going to make you follow the rules.”

Amy and her mother exchanged glances. Pyro was probably going to regret that in, oh, about the time Brigid could form toddler words to shout “No!” To say nothing of her teenage years.

But for now, her little pearl-white dragon scales emerged and disappeared under her dad’s gentle touch. Like spitting up, object permanence, and floating away unpredictably, she’d soon gain control over the emergence of her scales as she developed.

Amy squeezed her solid little daughter and placed a tender kiss on her baby powder scented forehead.

Pyro raised a brow. “How come she gets a kiss?”

“Because she will not ruin my makeup.”

He pouted.

Brigid chewed on her fist and drooled.

“Pyro?” Melody moved laboriously up to the doorway on her newly polished silver braces and saw the group of them. “Ah! You’re not dressed.”

“I know.” Amy indicated her husband, mother, and daughter. “I got ambushed.”

“You too, but I meant Pyro.” Melody leaned on one brace. Her wine-maroon maid of honor dress flattered her figure and her hair was tucked into an elaborate fishtail braid threaded with sprigs of sweetly scented lavender. “What are you doing in here?”

“He was placing the garter,” Amy said. “Wedding tradition.”

“What? That’s not the tradition. Grooms take the garter off; they don’t put it on.”

Amy turned on Pyro with growing anger. “What?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Darcy told me it was important.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Take a deep breath. Don’t turn into a bridezilla.”

“You’re the one making me lose it!”

“Hold up, lovebirds .Pyro, you’ve got to go.” Melody jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “The photographer wants to start with groomsmen. They’re already out under the hazelnut trees.”

Amy pushed on Pyro. “See? I told you. Hurry and go.”

He leaned into her push, murmured in her ear, “Promise to be my ruin later,” and snaked his hand lower to pat her derriere.

She watched him walk away, her hunger deepening. He had a fine backside as well as a nice front, and now, no thanks to him, she wanted both naked and clenched in her embrace.

“I’ll call your stylist,” Amy’s mother said, hurrying out with Brigid in tow.

“She’s grabbing her extra tools from the car,” Amy called.

When it was just her and Melody in the room, she sat abruptly and stared at her loose red tendrils framing her delicately airbrushed face in the mirror. “Am I turning into a bridezilla?”

“No.” Melody moved the rest of the way into the bridal suite and rested on the arm of the couch. “You haven’t thrown a chair because the table runners are the wrong shade of taupe. You’re fine.”

She looked down at her crystal-studded French manicure. “I almost threw a chair at Pyro.”

“Who wouldn’t? That’s perfectly normal.”

Amy snorted.

“Oh, good. Almost a grin.” Melody brushed lint from her robe. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be perfect.”

And it was.

An hour later, Amy met Pyro, waiting in his classic gray suit with his back turned for the “first look,” under the gorgeous green hazelnut trees.

Melody helped the photographer’s assistant arrange her dreamy ivory ball gown, ensuring the duchess satin fanned like glossy pool and the crystals beading her waistband sparkled. Her auburn hair, swept up in a glossy bun framed by a crystal headband, trailed a stunning lace veil. Melody double-checked the peach ribbon binding her heirloom rose bouquet, then gave her the thumbs up and backed away to give them privacy.

The photographer, who Amy suddenly realized had already been capturing snaps, positioned her shiny lens and gave Pyro the cue to turn around.

Since he had already said she looked gorgeous to him regardless of her outfit, she didn’t expect much of a reaction — even though she felt an eager nervous excitement, clenching the heavy, fragrant bouquet in her satin-gloved fingers with a hopeful smile she just couldn’t repress stealing across her face as she awaited his approval.

He turned. The usual dangerous smile creased his gorgeous face — and stopped.

Trailing his gaze from the sparkling crystals on her open-toed shoes to the top of her bun, a frown suddenly chased itself across his face. Just like when their daughter had been born, moisture gathered in the rims of his red-threaded eyes.

He swallowed convulsively and seemed to force himself to walk forward, to take her outstretched hand and smile.

“Well?” she prompted.

“You look good.” His voice sounded unusually rough. He cleared his throat. “You always look gorgeous.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He denied the emotion clearly warring behind his normally careless, don’t-give-a-damn facade. Just like when he’d held tiny newborn Brigid for the first time. “I’m fine.”

She squeezed his fingers. They both knew the truth.

The photographer checked her captured photos, a satisfied smile on her face, and followed them to meet the rest of the wedding guests.

They were married for the second time in the event hall of The Old Schoolhouse, a historic white clapboard building with a lovely romantic feel.

It was funny how spending hours pouring over wedding magazines and fantasizing about the most lavish destination weddings had clarified her true desires. She wanted a simple, traditional wedding. The Old Schoolhouse, so named because it had been such in the fifties, was only a short drive from her parents’ house in Portland. But nothing beat the crisp, green gardens of the awakening Pacific Northwest spring.

They’d kept the wedding party deliberately small, with Melody her maid of honor and Pyro’s jokester friend Darcy for best man, and his sister Amber standing with his older brother Mal as their single bridesmaid and groomsman.

On her side, her mentor Corinne and friends from school were guests, along with some of the family from Boston she’d never met — her Irish grandparents on both sides, a few cousins, and a couple of determined aunts and uncles eager to re-establish contact with her “disappeared” parents who’d only just gotten out of the Witness Protection Program.

Pyro’s side was even smaller. His siblings, their wives, and their young babies strapped down to prevent them from floating away like little infant balloons.

While a harpist played the processional, Amy’s mom floated their baby Brigid down the aisle in her poofy flower girl dress, a fist full of white petals in her tiny hand.

They’d introduced some modern touches by writing their own vows. When Pyro held her hand and promised to love, support, and empower Amy so long as they both should live, he got the moist eyes and frowny brows again. But it was all gone away by the time he received permission to kiss the bride.

A sweet, sensual, and for him, innocent kiss made her heart swell to painful proportions in her sweetheart bodice. He’d once worried that, because of her inexperience and not reacting to his kiss, that she didn’t want him. Since that time, she tried her hardest to let him know that she did. Now, in front of all their guests, she clung on and kissed him right back.

After the wedding, the guests dispersed to shuttles to be flown to the reception. Amy retreated to the bridal suite with her mom and Melody and removed just enough of her bodice to rock Brigid into a milk coma with a good nursing.

“That feels better,” she said, snuggling her fluffy, snoozing baby while wolfing down one of Melody’s homemade lactation power bars and washing it down with half a water bottle of pink lemonade. “You’ll meet us at the reception?”

Her mother waited, eager to take back Brigid, but trying not to impatiently grab her granddaughter away. “We’re heading right over.”

Because Amy had taken the last months of her first year working as an official second-grade teacher at Excelsior Preparatory Academy for maternity leave, there were relatively few days her mother got full charge of Brigid from morning to night. She’d been looking forward to Amy’s wedding almost more than Amy or Pyro.

Pyro came to the door, cuffs undone and collar loosened. “Ready?”

“Almost.” Amy released their precious baby to her mom and turned to Melody for help fixing up her dress. “Is everyone gone?”

“Some stayed behind to well-wish us.”

Melody finished the last button on the back of Amy’s gown. “You’re not really going to fly the whole way, are you?”

“Yeah.” Pyro grinned at her. “We’re taking the scenic route.”

She frowned.

He sobered. “You okay?”

“Huh? Oh.” Melody rubbed the dark patches under her eyes that she’d spent their entire makeup session trying to disguise. “No, I just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Too many video games?”

“Hah.” She muttered something unintelligible and patted his shoulder. “I’ll meet you at the reception with your cake.”

Melody had made the Groom’s Cake. Amy would have asked her to make the regular wedding cake too but she’d been afraid the massive enterprise — baking a glitzy, multi-tier monolith for a few hundred dragon and human appetites — would over-stress her talented former roommate. The just-for-fun Groom’s Cake and the sweet snacks Melody had brought her unasked to make the pre-wedding extra delicious had seemed stressful enough.

Amy hugged her. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Melody returned her hug, her arm braces bumping the satin dress gently. “Thanks to you I have a booming Etsy store.”

Well, thanks to a hundred camisoles and jeans given to Amy as an unwanted first-wedding present. Melody embellished them for fun with bedazzlers, ribbons, and other designs and discovered, as with baking, she had a real talent for it. Now, she could afford to live on her own, and was even saving up for the down payment on a house.

Amy still stopped by a couple times a week to taste test — and scarf down — Melody’s newest baking experiment, show off Brigid’s baby milestones, and watch the next season of trash TV.

She straightened, conscious of the time. “Alright, see you at the reception.”

Pyro took Amy’s hand. They exited the clapboard building and passed through the small, lingering crowd. In the middle of the parking area, Pyro drew Amy to him and turned.

With a careless wave, he grinned. “See you at the reception.”

Their well-wishers waved and cheered.

Amy twined her arms around Pyro’s neck.

He cinched her belly taut against his and rose into the air. The startled crowd gasped even though many of them had seen the dragon shifters take off that way before. It was still surprising to watch gravity flip over. He and Amy quickly sailed away.

“We’re not really flying all the way to the French Riviera like this, are we?” she asked.

“Don’t you like to go fast?” he teased.

She pinched him. “Pyro.”

“No, I was going to borrow the car.”

He soared north, over the Columbia River dividing Oregon from Washington, and descended on the Onyx Corporation office building in the middle of a field. The small spaceship was hidden stored under a retractable tarp. He placed her in the passenger’s seat and then took over piloting, rising again and zooming across the Earth at physics-defying speeds.

Dragons could circle the Earth at incredible speeds in dragon form, but humans didn’t tend to enjoy traveling that fast without a sturdy wind and sound barrier.

Before long, the castle they’d rented out on the coast appeared below.

“Why’d you tell everyone we were going the long way?” she asked.

He parked on the crenelated roof and grinned. “Because I’ve got plans.”

She clambered from the shuttle and put her arms around him again. He lifted her, flew down to the penthouse balcony, and let them into the luxurious, palatial master suite. She trailed her fingers over the exotic teak, Chinese silk, and antique gold of the fixtures while her heels tapped the Persian tile. Pyro had booked this part of the wedding to satisfy her desire to experience Old World charms.

She flipped on the bathroom light. White statues and gold fixtures framed stunning—

Pyro flipped the light off. “Shhh. We’re incognito.”

Surprise caught her but her apology died on her lips and fury boiled up. She turned on him. “You did not just trick me into breaking into my own hotel room!”

He grinned and, loosening his collar as he tip toed to the bed, tossed her a careless shrug.

“Augh! Pyro.” She chased after him with a furious whisper, glad she’d left her bouquet with Melody because otherwise she’d beat him with it. “We’re going to get in trouble!”

He caught her fists with a laugh. “Just kidding. I already checked us in.”

She paused, one knee on the bed, no longer attempting to strangle him. “When?”

“When you were getting your hair and makeup done.” He released her and leaned back on his elbows, a satisfied smugness arching his wicked brow. “And you thought I was sleeping in.”

She had thought he was sleeping in. “Really?”

“Yeah. I knew you’d be worried.” He lay flat on his back with a grin at the ceiling. “This was fun though.”

She crawled up and lay beside him. The ceiling was painted with ornate gold and delicate lines similar to the designs on the ceilings of Versailles. “You’re a wicked male, Mr. Onyx.”

He put a hand under his head and grinned at her. “And you just married me.”

“For the second time.”

His amused gaze softened and dipped lower to the rising and falling of her breasts in the satin sweetheart bodice. Warmth kindled into a breath-stealing fire.

They got few chances for a date night, even though Brigid was already turning into a good sleeper and Amy’s mom was a willing babysitter. First, Amy had been healing. But recently, something always seemed to come up at the last moment with the company, crisis in the Dragon Empire, or a threat of world domination.

Even the small silver pendant peeking from beneath Pyro’s collar, etched in his Zentangle version of the aristocratic family crest denied to him by a long-dead matriarch, was a reminder. He had recreated it after taking Amy’s summer class teaching the Zentangle method — creativity for dragons who believed they lacked the ability to be creative — and she wore a matching design attached to a bracelet on her wrist.

She reached around the back for the top loop of her dress.

He stopped her.

Oh. Did he not want to use this short time to renew their vows with their bodies?

“Didn’t you want to…?”

“Yes.” The hunger darkening his red-threaded eyes matched his promise, but still, he drew her hands away from the clasps. “Don’t deny me the pleasure of unwrapping my favorite wedding present.”

Ahhh. She smiled and relaxed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

His grin turned lopsided. Her favorite expression on him. He captured her mouth for a wet, hot kiss. And then he lifted her onto her feet and turned her, undoing her buttons with his teeth.

In the dusky antique mirror, he knelt in worship of her, each button freeing itself with a hot, wet nip. She shuddered. Warm anticipation poured into her feminine center, bringing her to throbbing awareness.

The gown had enough stiffness to stand up on its own, so he stepped her out of it, removing her shoes. Then he extended a sharp claw and laid it against her shaperwear.

“No!” She rescued her expensive body-sculpting bra, corset, and pants. “I need these for the reception.”

“Your feminine curves are soft and enjoyable,” he protested, teasing the claw along the edge of the lace.

“But, uh, the only one I want appreciating them is you.”

His brows lifted. He retracted the claw, studied the shaperwear clasps with new dedication, and released the fasteners one by one.

It did feel deliciously relaxing to be free of the constricting garments, and she heaved a pleasured sigh as the last piece slipped off and she stood in only her bracelet, bare feet on the warmed tile floor.

In front of Pyro, she bared herself absolutely. Her stretch marks, her extra pounds, her total self. He had proved over and over that he found her endlessly attractive. Now, he buried his head in her belly and inhaled deeply, deriving new pleasure from what must surely be her sweaty, but certainly aroused, scent.

She stroked his fine dark hair. “How about you?”

He flexed. One moment, he was a groom in a loose gray suit. The next, red scales had erupted all over his body and his limbs elongated, bursting the seams and shredding his suit. And then he snapped back to human form, on his hands and knees, and utterly nude.

She captured one of the fluttering shreds of gray and lavender cloth. It took all her effort to keep her tone light. “I hope you have another outfit for the reception.”

“Kyan is bringing me one.” He rose and pressed her back onto the bed.

She let go of the cloth and descended willingly, pillowed by the soft fabric. Pyro destroyed fewer things now, but occasionally one of his possessions struck him as too full of important memories to be allowed to remain. He destroyed them before they could betray him. Preserving the memories of the good, old time before some potentially sad new memory could take the old away.

The fact that his wedding suit had ended up being a memory that was too important — like the baby blanket they’d brought Brigid home from the hospital in — was touching in its own way. And, after Amy had thought about it, it was much easier to preserve a shred of Brigid’s blanket in her baby book. In the same way, it was much easier to press a shred into her wedding album than the whole suit.

She stroked his chest. The ridges of old scar tissue were no longer red and angry, but they would forever be a reminder of how close she’d come to losing him.

He rested atop her, his hard cock wedged just millimeters from her throbbing feminine heat, his broad torso pressing her pleasantly down. “What are you thinking about?”

She focused on him. “You’re a complicated male, Mr. Onyx.”

He grinned, interested. “Why’s that, Mrs. Onyx?”

“Because you’ve gotten us all naked. I wonder what you’re waiting for.” She reached around and gripped his buttocks. “I wonder if you really want me.”

He dropped his forehead to hers, burning his dedication into her with his fiery eyes. “I can’t have you thinking that.”

She parted her lips, teasing him. “Then you better—”

He thrust. His cock slid between her slippery legs and buried deep into her feminine heat. Pleasure shuddered through her, stealing her breath and her mind.

He watched her carefully, canting her hips to take him deeper, working his way to her favorite pleasure spot until he hit home.

She came undone.

He plunged into her slick channel, taking her from peak to peak, slamming his cock into her dripping, clenching, orgasm-wracked channel. She clung onto him like a fire in the darkness. He was her safety, her master, her worshipper. He stole her breath, her will, and her soul.

But she’d give it all to him anyway.

His control finally broke and he poured his release into her, sending her on one last soul-throbbing spasm of pleasure. He exhaled hard and collapsed on an elbow next to her, his masculine sweat mingling with hers just as their hearts and souls had mingled.

Outside, evening turned the sky pink and festive lights began to flicker on. Her stomach growled.

He rose. “Hungry already?”

“It’s been at least an hour since Melody’s power bar.”

He stroked her breasts, careful of the nursing-sensitive nipples. “Want me to get you a snack?”

“I’m saving myself for the chocolate fountain.”

Amy did a brief cleanup in the palatial bathroom, made a basic attempt to tidy her hair, and then wiggled back into her shaperwear and dress. Pyro appeared in the doorway fastening a new suit that looked close enough to the old that only his siblings — clothing company owners, all — would probably notice the difference. He helped her do up the dress, and then they sailed off the balcony and descended into the fairy-lit inner courtyard of the already-started reception party.

All of their guests had returned and been joined by hundreds more — all the dragon employees of the Onyx Corporation and Carnelian Clothiers had been invited, as had many of Pyro’s worldwide human friends and the members of Amy’s extended family who hadn’t cared to sit through an intimate wedding ceremony but couldn’t refuse a swank night in a remodeled medieval castle on the French Riviera.

One of Pyro’s human friends provided the club music for dancing. In addition to a chocolate fountain, they had real food and a dessert bar. Pyro removed and threw Amy’s garter, and tall Josh caught it, avoiding Melody’s raised brows with a pleased laugh and embarrassed flush. They were actually engaged already, but it was supposed to be a secret.

Amy threw her bouquet. Amber flew up in the air, over the crowd of jostling women, to catch it.

“Is that allowed?” Amy’s mother asked, bouncing a newly-awakened and bright-eyed Brigid on her shoulder. “Flying like that.”

“I’m not going to tell her no.” Pyro gripped the back of his neck as the naturally fire-breathing female archly claimed her prize. “Anyway, she’s already married.”

They cut the fabulous, five-tier, peach roses and pearl-studded wedding cake. Amy reminded Pyro that she’d threatened him with bodily harm if he should dare to try any shenanigans.

“My dad used to be in an Irish gang,” she whispered, the rose-flavored champagne cake and gold-dusted fondant in one hand. “The rest of my relatives are here too. They know how to use a shillelagh. And I will get in the first hit.”

He grinned in a way that was not at all reassuring and drew her close to whisper in her ear. “Smearing you with champagne, cake, and frosting is for later.”

Her mouth dropped open.

His grin widened and he used her moment of surprise to fill her mouth with a delectable morsel of sweet frosted promises.

The wedding cake was a big hit, but the bigger hit yet was Melody’s sculpted dragon Groom Cake. After guests and the official photographer had taken about a million photos, their caterers cut into it and began the service.

“There now.” Amy’s mom hugged Melody’s shoulders. “It all turned out right in the end.”

Amy sidled up to them. “What do you mean?”

“Huh? Oh.” Melody rubbed her even more exhausted eyes. “I got into trouble with ovens.”

“Ovens?”

The whole story came out. Melody had worked on her cake sculpting technique for weeks and even took a class just for their wedding. But the night before, when she’d been all ready, the new pan she’d bought wouldn’t fit into her oven.

“I had to put it on the lowest rack and then I couldn’t close the door,” she explained.

So at midnight, she’d driven to Josh’s house, but his oven was even smaller, so she’d called Amy’s parents in tears, waking them to use their oven, and was still furiously frosting when it was time to leave for the chapel.

“You pulled an all-nighter for our Groom’s Cake?” Amy hugged Melody. “I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s okay.” She returned the hug, her exhausted gaze on the disappearing dragon. “It was worth it.”

Pyro’s best man stood behind them, licking the frosting off his fork. “So that’s your secret ingredient.”

“Huh?”

“Tears.” He teased her wickedly. “Despair and extra salt make the cake delicious.”

In her exhausted state, Melody gasped as though she actually believed him. “You can taste them?”

He clearly looked like he was going to string her along. Like Pyro, he enjoyed a little harmless teasing.

Amy stepped in. “You can’t. He’s being facetious.”

“Oh, thank god.” She scrubbed her cheeks. “I don’t think I got any tears actually in the cake, but I couldn’t ruin your big day the way I almost ruined everything else, and—”

“You brought us together,” Amy said firmly, stopping Melody from once more going down the guilty tracks of trying to protect the wrong people and almost getting Pyro killed. “And, I don’t see anyone complaining.”

In fact, while the wedding cake was clearly appreciated, wars were starting over guests trying to get a second piece of Melody’s gooey red velvet fudge cake with dense espresso frosting.

Melody’s worries slightly lifted. “I was thinking, maybe if the Etsy shop doesn’t work out, I might someday try professional baking. With a bigger oven, of course.”

Amy had been trying to talk her into it for nearly their entire friendship. “Do it!”

“Well, maybe…”

Pyro swooped in and grabbed Amy. “Come. It’s time for the first dance.”

“Everyone’s been dancing already,” she said with a laugh, but the flashing lights dimmed and romantic music started.

Pyro floated her to the dance floor while all the guests — who weren’t fighting for cake — quieted and moved to the side.

The opening bars of I’ve Had the Time of My Life filled her heart with rightness. A movie about a responsible girl and a hot guy from the wrong side of the tracks? She’d forced Pyro to watch Dirty Dancing to “learn more about human culture,” but really just because she’d wanted to snuggle with him romantically on the couch. Like so many things she did, he’d paid attention and taken her dreams to heart.

“Well, Mrs. Onyx.” He floated her across the dance floor, both literally and figuratively, holding her tight to his body as he waltzed her through the unfamiliar steps. “Was today everything you dreamed?”

“No.”

He tilted his head. Surprise gave way to new determination. “What can I—”

She pressed his lips with her index finger. “It was even better.”

He smiled slowly. She didn’t tease him as often as he teased her, but he was a good sport about it when she did.

“So,” she continued light conversation, “what do you think the rest of our life is going to be like? Routine?”

“I’m okay with that.”

But she actually guessed it was going to be just like their wedding. Everything they dreamed … and even better.

* * *

Thanks so much for reading! If you enjoyed this short story, please . See you in the next book!

STARLA