81 Hormones, balls and a little bit of style

**Date = 1 August**
*Fifteen days left.*
**Place = San Francisco (Trixy’s Boutique)**
*The best bridal shop in town.*

**POV - Aria**

Trixy’s Boutique is tucked into a quiet corner of the city — a quaint little place with ivy crawling up its brick face, a curved door, and a little bell that chimes like it belongs in a movie about fairies and hope and people who still believe in happy endings.

But the moment the armored Jeeps come to a full stop, reality follows. The bodyguards exit first, scanning the block. Shadows in suits with earpieces and grim faces. They’re silent, mirrored sunglasses, armed beneath their jackets.

Somewhere out there is still someone who wants to harm us. And he wasn’t done with us. We don’t say it aloud, but the pressure of it hovers like fog in the summer air.

“Okay, ladies,” I say as cheerfully as I can muster, stepping down from the SUV and smoothing my dress. “Let’s go try on some fantasy dresses before the universe throws another plot twist at us.”

Inside, it smells of vanilla, hydrangeas, and something expensive. Like powdered dreams. While the soft lighting does its best to drive the tension away.

Lili flounces in and spins on the glossy floor. “Where is that cousin of mine? She was supposed to be here already.”

“Mel is always late,” Kiara responds, knowing her the best. She’s already eyeing the racks of dresses like she is casing the joint.

“Mel just wanted to go pick up some personal belongings that the boys forgot,” I remind them. “She’ll be here soon.”

“Hopefully, before she gives birth,” Kiara snubs, rubbing her hands together dramatically. “I swear that baby’s coming out with a suitcase.”

River uses the boutique’s central display platform as her personal stage, doing a slow-motion cartwheel that nearly knocks over a mannequin in a sequined gown.

Haley flops dramatically into a cream velvet chair. Lili disappears into a row of dresses.

River skips up the stairs and attempts a backflip back down. A guard is covering his eyes. Another looks like he’s going into cardiac arrest. A third is actually crossing himself.

River lands on her feet, but momentum throws her back, and her butt hits the thick, soft carpet with a thud, and she starts laughing her little demon heart out.

Marco looks like he might puke. He picks her up and inspects her limbs like he’s doing triage.

Poor Marco.

Assigned to River by Jackson. Probably wishes he had been assigned to anyone else. However, today, he’s flanked by four extra black-clad, lethal-looking assassins who honestly look like they answer to no one but the devil himself. Literally.

All black. Cargo pants. Combat boots. Leather pilot jackets. Sunglasses so dark I’m not convinced they can actually see through them. It’s as if SWAT merged with a biker gang.

They don’t speak. They don’t blink. They hover.

If they tell me they strangle people in their sleep with silk piano wires, I’ll believe them. One hundred percent.

“You see those guys,” Brick whispers beside me as if he, too, can suddenly read my mind. “They are the elite of the super-elite. The best of the best. They don’t feel pain. Or fear death or taxes. Only the devil and Jackson.”

“Same thing, really,” I say, and Ava snorts. She has a well-earned day off. Deimos is with a very sulky Leyla, who just wants to be here. So Lili linked her in on her iPad, so she’s here with us on screen at least, and can join in the fun in a little way.

Marco is still holding River’s arm as if he’s conflicted — should he hold her or let her go? The other guards step closer. I swear they all physically wince every time River makes a move.

“Can we … maybe tie her down?” one of them mutters. “Or dart her?” another suggests.

Marco seems like he’s seriously considering it. But then he crouches in front of River.

“Please,” he begs, “Diabo will hurt me if you get hurt. Just behave for five seconds.” Weird how they use his middle name. Even weirder is that River knows it. And the weirdest is that they truly seem to be slightly fearful of Jackson.

River thinks for a second. Then sighs. “Fine. But tell that lame loverboy he needs to lighten up. I never get hurt on purpose. It just happens.”

Fair. I suppose.

Then she adds, like an afterthought: “I can punch him on the nose for you, if he gets too grumpy.”

Some of the guards smile. Almost. It’s terrifying and adorable. Even Marco swallows down a smirk.

“I love that kid,” Brick says reverently. He’s here to watch me and Ava. While Leyla is under the watchful eye of Tank and Rock.

“I swear one of those guards is going to have a seizure before the day is done,” Haley gives a professional opinion. “Just look at those worried faces.”

“They should be worried,” Brick says, looking at the guards. “If those kids get hurt, their balls are on the line.”

He blinks and quickly looks at me.

“Eh — I mean — they’ll be dismembered,” he backpedals with a blush. “Like … respectfully.”

“Poor fuckers,” Kiara laughs softly.

“Who threatened them?” I ask.

Kiara raises a brow. “Take a wild guess.”

Like the Blackburns, she’s guarded by Blackburn Inc. They’re the polished ones. Impeccably suited in black with white shirts and black ties. They have a calm, collected air like retired hitmen with a savings account. Two of them stand nearby, pretending not to care, but I catch them smirking at the chaos Marco has to deal with.

“Jackson,” I say.

“He’s not serious, is he?” Ava asks, looking back at Brick. She obviously doesn’t know Jackson very well.

“Eh … let’s state it this way … if it was me, I’d make damn sure that the kids don’t get a single scratch on them,” Brick blabbers instead with a glum face. “I like being a man.”

Judging by the intense look on Marco’s face … he has the same sentiment. I’m pretty sure so does every guy in this room.

“Oh, my …” One of the shop stylists literally trips over her own feet when she notices all the chaos. However, she manages to stay upright and regain her professionalism.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Haley chuckles at her obvious distress, “This is not a forced mafia wedding … it’s consensual.” The woman blinks a time or two, clearly trying to figure out if she’s serious or not.

“Eh … welcome,” she then greets. “I’m Trixy. Can we start with the fitting?” She’s tall and lean, looking like an older gray version of Zendaya.

“We’re still waiting for one bridesmaid,” Haley informs her. She nods.

“Let’s play catch!” River shouts. She and Lili sprint in different directions. Lili is holding her iPad against her chest, screen facing forward, and I can hear my sister’s laughter coming from the device. River dodges a guard and bumps into a round table, nearly knocking down a huge crystal vase with pink roses. One man in black catches it like a pro.

“Fuck! Watch out!” Marco shouts as he sprints toward her. But she’s already heading up the stairs.

“Oh, my …” Trixy gasps. She probably didn’t expect such a feral zoo at a private fitting.

Suddenly, there’s a rumble on the street.

It looks like the presidential motorcade, with contingencies upon contingencies for all sorts of circumstances they could find themselves in. A row of black armored SUVs, loaded with armed guards, that would make any politician jealous.

People start pouring out. A mix of the Blackburn Inc. guys and Alberto’s private crew, who cover the Grimms — navy blue pencil-stripe suits, like Wall Street had a baby with organized crime. Always watching. Always whispering into earpieces like someone’s plotting a coup.

I watch the group walking down the pathway to the front door where I’m standing. Logan, then Alejandro, Enrique, Axel, Luke, followed by Damion, and lastly Mel.

Mel is sweating, pink in the cheeks, and visibly annoyed.

“This belly is killing me in this heat,” she snaps as she waddles inside.

“But look on the bright side,” Damion grins. “We’re getting real creative in the bedroom. That belly adds resistance.”

She punches him in the arm.

“W-H-A-T?” Damion drawls like he’s just been accused of sainthood. “You’re so goddamn sexy with that little bump and those pregnancy boobs, I’m hard ninety percent of the time.”

Someone snorts behind me. “Was stuck with that in a house for far too long,” Kiara snaps. “Unfortunately.” She flops into a chair next to Haley as if anticipating that this might take a while.

“I swear you suffer from some no-name hormonal condition,” Logan mutters. “Untreatable. Possibly terminal.”

“It’s called love, bro,” he smirks. “Passionate, never-ending love.” His game is chaos with a six-pack. But it’s smooth. And sweet. And judging by the admiration in Mel’s eyes, she’s trying to hide, it’s working.

“Oh, hell,” Logan groans. “I thought we were getting past your half-baked foreplay? You suck at flirting, bro.”

I agree. With Damion.

Even with the swollen ankles and the heat making her glow like a sweaty goddess, Mel looks gorgeous. Glowy. Powerful. Like a fertility queen with a vendetta.

“I swear, you’re hopeless,” Mel snaps, one hand on her hip, the other balancing the watermelon she’s growing. “Truly untrainable!” Her emotional trauma doesn’t dent his ego.

“And you’re hormonal,” Damion fires back with a smirk. “Which is why I’m telling Ginger here —” he flings an arm around my shoulders like I’m his wing-woman, “ — don’t let my wifey pick a dress. Pregnancy makes her moody, and moody people shouldn’t be allowed near tulle.”

He’s actively trying to get strangled.

“She never had taste,” Enrique chimes in, lazily flipping his sunglasses up. “Even pre-pregnancy, she dressed like Siouxsie from the Banshees’ dead sister.” He steps closer and leans in for a kiss on my cheek.

“I trust your style better,” he continues. Men. Not so long ago he forced his sister to help me choose a dress. A sexy but not slutty one.

“I’m not your wife!” Mel barks, flipping them both the bird with enough force to make Trixy gasp again.

“Not yet.” Damion points at her belly like it’s evidence in court. “You’re the one who wants to wait. But that little bean’s already calling me Daddy. Can’t fight fate, baby.”

“I’m not walking down the aisle looking like a vacuum-sealed pork sausage just because your dick’s impatient.” Trixy puts her hand over her mouth. Her eyes are huge.

“Yeah, they take a little getting used to,” I whisper softly in her ear. “But when you do, they stick.” She swallows, but doesn’t blink.

“You do look like a little pig with that belly,” Axel adds, teeth gleaming. “Like a cute one. You know. The kind in cartoons.” These guys are looking for shit.

Mel turns her head and lets out an aggressive snort.

“And you sound like one too,” Luke pipes up, clearly trying to win points.

“She definitely eats like one,” Alejandro throws in.

“That’s being kind,” Damion says, totally unbothered. “She inhales food like the apocalypse is coming.”

Mel glares at all of them. Then licks her lips slowly. “I haven’t eaten any of you idiots yet.”

Damion leans in like he’s just been dared. “You can nibble on me anytime you want, baby. I’ll even marinade.”

She smiles sweetly. Dangerously. “Right now, I feel like either biting off your balls with my teeth or castrating you.”

Jackson’s guards physically flinch. Poor men clearly fear for their manhood.

Damion’s grin only widens. “Vicious. Hot. And kinky. I like it.”

“Wait —” Logan raises a hand, mock confused. “Isn’t that the same thing, though?”

Mel doesn’t answer. She just grunts again. A long, low sound that’s one bad mood away from murder.

Honestly? It’s amazing they’re not dead and buried yet. I hope they make it to the wedding.

“So, Ginger,” Damion says, with all the subtlety of a fart in church, arm still around my shoulder. “Care to explain why you’re sprinting to the altar? Is there a bun in your oven … or is your man just terminally horny?”

Yep. Kiara is right. These guys will never change. Barely back from Scotland and already swinging with the same cocky bad boy attitude he left with.

I open my mouth to eviscerate him — but I never even get the chance.

“So why are you getting married then?” River cuts in sweetly. “Bun or horniness?” These kids have the stealth of soft-footed cats. And Lili is still holding up her iPad, my sister’s intrigued face on the screen, curiously watching everything.

The silence that follows is sacred. You could hear the devil drop a pin in hell.

Damion freezes, mouth hanging open, blinking slowly like his brain just blue-screened. His entire face turns a shade of ripe tomato, and I swear I can smell the circuits frying behind his eyes.

I try not to laugh.

That’s a lie. I love it. I soak his embarrassment in like sunlight and good wine.

He opens his mouth to recover, but the small humans aren’t done.

“What’s horny?” Lili asks innocently, twisting her ponytail around one finger like a confused Disney character.

I gasp. Nope. Not my circus. Not my hormonal monkeys.

Damion starts blinking faster. He looks like a cat about to cough up something traumatic. His dear friends, however, relish in his humiliating mortification — huge, gratifying smiles on their smug faces.

River, bless her hellfire soul, jumps right back in. “It means you’re so naughty, you grow devil horns on your head.” She makes two finger horns on top of her head for emphasis.

I bite my lip so hard it’s a miracle I’m not bleeding. I might actually implode.

“She’s got the naughty part right,” Enrique mutters, cracking up. “Just … the wrong head.”

Luke starts to say something educational, but Alejandro claps a hand over his mouth and yanks him close like a scene out of a hostage video.

Snorts echo around us. Even the guards are losing it — one actually chuckles so hard I see his sunglasses jolt.

“You’re so right, baby,” Mel grins wickedly. “This one needs a good rogering now and then to keep those horns in check.”

Damion opens and closes his mouth like a dehydrated goldfish. It’s as if he doesn’t know if he should be aroused or embarrassed.

“I can roger him in the face,” River volunteers helpfully, holding up a tiny fist. “Jackson showed me some moves.”

I wheeze. Fully wheeze. Somewhere behind me, Lili’s guard chokes on air. Or rather … her nanny … as she calls the terrifying, muscle-bound, tattoo-sleeved woman in a tank top named Briana. I’m not entirely sure she doesn’t moonlight as an assassin. But Lili adores her. And that should probably concern us more than it does.

“No, no, no,” Mel waves both hands, laughing too hard to breathe. “I think I’ll handle his rogering myself, thanks. Might even use a whip.”

Damion looks like he just stepped barefoot into a puddle of warm dog shit. He sways slightly. Maybe from lust. Maybe from trauma. Hard to tell.

“You hit your man with a whip?” Lili asks, scandalized.

Mel gives me a help-me look. I blink slowly. She made her bed.

“Eh …” Mel coughs into her fist. “Just a teeny little whip. The kind you use when you ride horses.” She holds up her fingers to demonstrate something the size of a toothpick. “Tiny. Barely a whip. Only when he’s very naughty.”

“She keeps it in her purse,” Logan stage-whispers. “Next to the pepper spray and a list of men who’ve disappointed her.”

“Trust me, pumpkin,” Haley comments from her chair. “All men need to be disciplined.”

“It’s that test-oyster-one thing, right?” River chucks.

“Aria, you must get a little whip too,” Leyla says seriously from the screen, her big eyes locked on mine. “For when Enrique is naughty.”

Enrique looks personally attacked by the conversation. Conflicted. The same light in his eyes, Damion now has. I swear they’re both seriously considering getting rogered.

I keep a straight face like a goddamn pro. “I think that’s a very good idea,” I nod solemnly, while my stomach muscles spasm trying not to laugh.

“Eh … time for the boys to go,” Mel declares, pulling me from her fiancé’s grip and clinging to me like I’m her emotional support animal.

“Finally,” Kiara sighs.

“Hey!” Damion points at Mel. “I’ll be waiting for that rogering! And you’d better dress right.”

He salutes dramatically and walks away. Enrique winks at me before he follows with the rest of the men on his heels. Luke sticks out his tongue at River, who pulls back a funny face.

Damion swings into the SUV with the flair of a man who thinks he won the argument. (He didn’t.)

Mel sighs loud enough to rattle glass. “The men in my life are idiots,” she mutters, then turns on her heels and marches deeper into the boutique, pulling me with.

She doesn’t even look back.

I do. Just a little. Just enough to see the fleet of SUVs pulling away like a convoy retreating from a scandal.