“I’m going too.” “No, you’re not.” “Yes, I am. The bastards don’t get to shoot at my family at my own wedding and expect me to stay in hiding.” “I will take care of it,” he mutters. “It’ll be easier if I’m around.” “Fuck, Rai.” He grabs my shoulder and whispers against my ear, “You’re in your damn wedding dress.” I lift it up and tie it so it’s no longer skimming the floor. “I can run in a dress.”
