J.R. Ward - Lover At Last

“That is a beautiful tuxedo,” Phury announced as he and Z pushed the door wide. “I have one just like it.”

“Fritz has the candles lit,” Rehv said from behind the twins. “Hey, nice tux. I have one just like it.”

“Me, too,” Phury agreed. “The fit is fantastic, isn’t it.”

“The shoulders, right? Tom Ford is the best—”

Total. Fucking. Pandemonium.

And as Qhuinn took it in, all of the males talking over one another, slapping hands, slapping asses, he had a moment of breathlessness. Then he looked down at the ring Blay had given him.

Having a family was…really, incredibly wonderful.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Everyone froze, all those faces turning and locking on him, those bodies stilling, the din settling.

Z was the one who spoke up, his yellow eyes shining. “Put the zoot suit on. We’ll meet you downstairs, lover boy.”

Lot of shoulder claps as all the fighters checked in on their way out the door. And then he was alone with the tux.

“Let’s do this,” he said to the thing.

The shirt went on fine, but the buttons weren’t regular ones. They were cuff link–like, and took forever. Then he faced off with the slacks…and decided to keep it real and go commando. Finally, a pair of shiny shoes had been dropped on the messy bed by one of that cast of thousands—as well as a set of black silk socks that were just this side of being panty frickin’ hose.

But he was going to do this right.

When he finally put the jacket on, he braced himself for feeling constricted, but Phury and Rehv were right—the material went over his bulk like a dream. Heading into the bathroom, he took the strip of black silk off the top of the hanger and confronted himself in the mirror.

Man…he looked pretty hot, actually.

Popping the starched collar, he wound the bow tie around the back of his neck and pulled it left and right a couple of times to make sure that it was in the right place. And then he did what he’d seen his father and his brother do when they hadn’t been aware he was watching…he tied a perfect knot at the front of his throat.

Probably would have been easier if he’d taken the suit jacket off.

And if his hands weren’t shaking so badly.

But whatever, he got the job done.

Stepping back, he checked himself from the left and the right. From behind.

Yeah, he was totally spank. The trouble was, he just didn’t look like himself. At all.

That was a problem for him. Authentic had recently become totally important to him.

Thanks to a lack of attention, his hair had settled flat and smooth, and on impulse, he went for the product Blay and he shared, slicking up his palms and running them through the nap, spiking things up.

Better. Made him feel less like a tool.

But something still wasn’t right….

As he tried to figure out what was so off, he thought about how things had been rolling: After he and Blay had had their big talk at the Iron Mask, he’d been amazed at how light he felt, the burden he’d been unaware of carrying freed from his shoulders. It was so weird…but he’d caught himself taking these random deep breaths from time to time, his chest rising slowly and sinking back into place on an easy fall.

On some level, he continued to expect that he’d wake up and find out that it was all a dream. But every night, he came to with his arms around Blay, the guy’s bonding scent in his nose, that warm body right beside his own.

I love you. You’re perfect, just the way you are.

Always.

As Blay’s voice rebounded in his head, he closed his eyes and swayed….

Abruptly, he popped his lids and looked at the cupboard under the sinks.

Yes, he thought. That was what he needed.

A couple minutes later, he left their bedroom feeling exactly as he should, tux and all.

When he came to the head of the grand staircase, the votives that had been lined up on either side all the way down glowed and flickered. There were more below in the foyer: on the mantelpieces, on the floor, mounted up and around the archways that led into the other rooms.

“You look good, son.”

Qhuinn turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, m’lord.”

Wrath came out of the study with his queen on one arm, and his dog on the other side. “I don’t need my eyes to tell me you do the penguin duds justice.”

“Thanks for letting me do this.”

Wrath smiled, flashing those huge white fangs. Tugging his female in for a quick kiss, he laughed. “I’m a fucking romantic at heart, don’t you know that.”

Beth laughed and reached out to squeeze Qhuinn’s arm. “Good luck—but you don’t need it.”

He wasn’t so sure about that. In fact, as he let the First Family go down alone, he struggled to pull his shit together. Rubbing his face, he wondered why in the hell he’d thought this was a good idea—

Do not be a pussy, he told himself.

Starting on the descent, he pulled the two halves of the jacket together and buttoned them. Just like a gentlemale should.

He was halfway down when the vestibule’s inner door opened wide, the draft causing all the votives to shimmer.

Qhuinn stopped as Fritz escorted two figures in, the pair of them stamping their feet to warm up. On cue, both looked over at him.

Blay’s parents were dressed formally, his father in a tuxedo, his mother in the most beautiful blue velvet gown Qhuinn had ever seen.

“Qhuinn!” she called out, picking up her skirting and rushing across the mosaic floor. “Look at you!”

Feeling his cheeks burn, he ducked his head and shuffled down to her. Even though she was a whole foot shorter, even in her heels, he felt about twelve as she took his hands and held them out wide.

“Oh, you are the most handsome thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “I, ah, wanted to look nice.”

“You do! Doesn’t he, my hellren ?”

Blay’s father came over and stuck out his hand. “Well done, son.”

“It’s a Ford. Thingy.” God, way to sound stupid. “Or something.”

As he and Blay’s father shook, and then embraced, Blay’s dad said, “I couldn’t be happier for you both.”

Blay’s mom started sniffling and took out a white handkerchief. “This is so wonderful. I have another son—two sons! Come here, I have to hug you. Two sons!”

Qhuinn gave in immediately, as he was categorically incapable of denying the female anything—most certainly not one of her hugs. They were even better than her lasagna.

God, he loved Blay’s parents. He and Blay had gone to see them a couple of nights after they’d decided to make a go of it, and although Qhuinn had been pants-shitting terrified, the pair of them had been nothing but gracious, relaxed, and…normal.

But Blay hadn’t been aware of the visit Qhuinn had paid the night before, just after nightfall, before they’d hit the club….

As Qhuinn eased back, he caught sight of Layla standing just outside the dining room. Motioning her over, he put his arm around her shoulders, because he could tell she was feeling awkward.

“This is the Chosen Layla.”

“Just Layla,” she murmured as she extended her hand.

In response, Blay’s father bowed deeply, and his mother curtsied.

“Please, that’s not necessary,” the Chosen started, only to relax when the couple immediately dropped the formality.

“My dear, Qhuinn has told us the blessed news.” Blay’s mahmen beamed. “How ever are you feeling?”

Score number two for Blay’s ’rents. Qhuinn couldn’t believe how cool they’d been when he’d shared the news of the pregnancy—and they were just as easygoing as ever as they put Layla at ease.