Chapter 140 A date before the storm
IRIS
Darian’s forehead rests against mine for a moment longer, the warmth of his breath brushing my lips, the faint smile still lingering there like he’s trying to memorize me in this dress and my heart is beating hard enough to shake my ribs.
Then he pulls back just enough to look at me fully.
“I want to take you out,” he murmurs.
I blink. “Out… where?”
He lifts my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “On a date.”
My mouth falls open. “A… date?”
“Mhm.” He smiles softly, amused at my shock. “A proper one. Shopping. And then dinner. Anything you want.”
My brain sputters like an old machine. “Shopping? Dinner? Today?”
“Right now,” he says, brushing a stray curl from my cheek. “If you want to.”
“Yes. I mean yes, of course.” I look down at myself and laugh breathlessly. “But maybe I should… change out of my… mating ceremony dress.”
“Probably a good idea,” he chuckles, stepping back.
I’m still buzzing with nerves as I slip behind the curtain and into the closet. The moment I’m inside, surrounded by rows of clothing I still don’t believe belong to me, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
A date.
Somehow, the idea of going on a date with the man I’m marrying in two days makes my stomach flutter harder than the actual ceremony.
I scan the racks, fingers trailing along the fabrics until I find a dress I must have overlooked before: a halter-neck flare dress, soft, comfortable-looking, but still elegant enough to pass for fine dining. The color is a deep red but not quite maroon and not quite wine. Something warm and bold.
Something that makes me feel… confident.
I slip it on and turn in the mirror. It hugs the right places, flows at the right angles. It’s simple but flattering, and most importantly, I feel good in it.
I apply a light red-tinted lip gloss, add a touch of mascara, and grab a small purse from the shelf, one Daisy insisted I keep “for emergencies and random fancy outings.”
Good call, Daisy.
My heart thumps as I step out of the closet.
Darian is waiting, hands in his pockets, gaze drifting around the room like he’s trying to avoid looking too eager. But the second he sees me, he straightens.
His eyes warm.
His breath hitches.
“Iris…”
I freeze. “Do you like it?”
“Like it,” he repeats, stepping closer, “is an insult. You look…” His eyes travel slowly from head to toe, lingering, appreciating, before rising again. “Beautiful.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “You think so?”
“I know so.” He offers his arm with a soft smile. “Shall we, my love?”
I take his arm, and it’s ridiculous how natural it feels, like my hand belongs there.
We walk through the fortress halls, past guards who bow stiffly as we pass. Darian doesn’t acknowledge them with anything more than a slight nod as his focus is entirely on me, guiding me with a gentle touch at the small of my back.
Outside, a sleek black car waits for us, one I’ve never ridden in before.
“New?” I ask.
“Borrowed from my father,” he says with a shrug, opening my door. “I wanted today to feel… special.”
My heart somersaults.
We drive through the city, and I catch Darian sneaking glances at me when he thinks I’m not looking. It makes me smile every time.
After about fifteen minutes, the car pulls up to a boutique with tall glass windows and gold-trimmed lettering. One look inside and my stomach drops.
Everything inside looks…
Expensive.
Like “if I breathe too hard, I’ll owe the store five thousand dollars” expensive.
Darian steps out, circles the car, and opens my door. “Ready?”
“No,” I whisper. Then louder: “Definitely not.”
He laughs softly and takes my hand. “Trust me.”
The boutique is even more intimidating on the inside. Crystal chandeliers, velvet seating, mannequins wearing dresses that probably cost more than my entire college tuition.
A saleswoman practically glides toward us.
“Your Majesty,” she says with a graceful bow.
My eyes widen. “Your-”
Darian squeezes my hand lightly before I can ask anything. “We’re here to browse,” he says. “Nothing formal.”
“Of course.” She bows again and steps back politely.
I stand there, frozen, overwhelmed by the sheer luxury pressing in on me.
Darian turns to me, expression soft. “Pick anything you like.”
I swallow hard. “Everything here costs more than my entire existence.”
He tilts his head. “And?”
“And?” I sputter. “Darian! I can’t just…these are designer items!”
He steps closer, brushing a hand down my arm. “Everything I give you is yours. Anything you choose is yours.”
“That’s not the point,” I mutter.
His brow arches, and he leans down, kissing my cheek gently. “I’ll buy out the entire boutique if you want it.”
My stomach flips. “Darian.”
He presses another kiss, this time near the corner of my mouth, his voice dropping. “The prices mean nothing to me compared to what I get when you smile.”
I freeze.
“And what is that?” I whisper.
He smiles softly. “Everything.”
My chest squeezes tight, my heart feeling too full. I know he’s wealthy, Lycan royalty wealthy, but the way he says it, like my happiness is actually worth something to him… it makes me melt.
Completely.
He reaches toward the rack closest to us. “Try this one,” he says, pulling out a gorgeous emerald wrap dress. “It’ll look beautiful on you.”
I take it carefully, like if I hold it too roughly it will evaporate. “It’s so pretty.”
“It’s yours,” he says firmly.
I flip the dress over to look for the price tag.
Darian shoots me a look.
A sharp look.
A ‘don’t even think about it’ look.
I burst into laughter. “Okay, fine, I won’t check.”
“Good girl,” he murmurs with a tiny smirk.
My cheeks burn. “Stop.”
He doesn’t.
Instead, he hands me another dress. “And this one.”
“Darian…”
“And this one.”
“Darian!”
His smirk grows. “What? I’m helping.”
“You’re not helping,” I say, laughing. “You’re trying to bankrupt the kingdom.”
He leans in close. “I told you… I’ll buy the entire boutique if you want me to.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, covering my face.
Eventually, I give in—because how can I not?— and start picking out a few things; shirts, skirts, some jewelry that looks too delicate to touch, trying to stick to the least expensive-looking options.
Darian sees right through me.
“Iris,” he says slowly. “Pick what you like. Not what you think is cheap.”
I grimace. “I’m trying to be reasonable.”
“I don’t need you to be reasonable,” he says, stepping closer. “I need you to enjoy yourself.”
I exhale shakily. “Okay. Fine. I’ll try.”
“That’s all I want,” he murmurs, brushing a soft kiss to my forehead.
We spend the next half hour in a whirlwind of fabrics and laughter and little touches that make my heart skip. At one point he picks up a ridiculous fur jacket that looks like it belongs in a movie.
“Absolutely not,” I tell him.
“Why not?” he asks innocently.
“Because I’ll look like a fluffy llama.”
He grins. “A beautiful fluffy llama.”
I burst into giggles. “Stop.”
A driver arrives with a second car to take the mountain of shopping bags we’ve accumulated back to the haven. Darian insists on carrying the last bag himself, even though it’s light.
“My princess shouldn’t lift anything,” he says with a teasing tone.
“I’m not fragile,” I argue.
“You are to me,” he murmurs.
The car waiting for us next is even fancier. I don’t even want to know how much it costs. Darian holds my hand the entire ride, thumb brushing slow circles over my skin.
My heart is still fluttering when we pull up to the restaurant.
Oh.
It isn’t a restaurant.
It’s… a palace.
Tall marble pillars, glowing lanterns, soft orchestral music humming through the walls. The kind of place with a dress code stricter than a royal ball.
“Darian,” I whisper. “Are we allowed to be here?”
He chuckles and helps me out of the car. “Very much so.”
“But it looks like a place rich people go.”
“I am a rich people,” he reminds me.
I snort. “Fine. Fair enough.”
Inside, everything sparkles. The floor. The ceiling. The water in the fountain. I swear even the air smells expensive.
A host approaches immediately. “Your Majesty. Miss Iris. Welcome.”
Miss Iris.
Oh God.
“Right this way,” the host says, guiding us through the restaurant to a secluded table near a window with a view of the entire city glowing below.
The moment we sit, a waiter appears with menus so heavy they might qualify as weapons.
I stare at mine for a long moment. “These dishes… don’t have prices.”
“They do,” Darian says.
“Then where are the numbers?”
“On a different menu.”
“Why would they need two menus?”
“One is for guests,” he says. “The other is for people who care about the price.”
I slowly lower the menu. “I don’t think I belong here.”
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “You belong wherever I am.”
Heat floods my cheeks instantly. “Stop making me blush.”
He smiles. “Why? You’re adorable.”
The waiter comes and I order something I can’t even pronounce. Darian hands the menu back without looking.
“You’re not ordering something different?” I ask.
“No,” he says, eyes soft. “I want what you want.”
My heart squeezes.
He leans back. “I love this,” he says suddenly.
“What? The restaurant?”
“No.” His gaze warms, deepens. “This. Spending time with you. Being in your company. You make everything feel… lighter.”
I swallow hard. “I love spending time with you too.”
We talk through dinner; about the ceremony, the rituals, the colors, the guests. He can’t wait to see me walk toward him. I tell him I’m terrified of tripping. He promises to catch me.
Somewhere between dessert and the after-dinner tea, I think, This is perfect. This moment. This night. Him.
And then his phone rings.
Darian’s posture changes immediately. His jaw tightens, shoulders stiffening. He glances at the screen, and the warmth drains from his expression.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, standing as he answers. “Yes?”
I watch him pace a slow step away. His voice drops low, almost a growl. I can’t hear anything from the other end, but I can see it in the way his brow furrows, the way his hand clenches at his side.
Something is wrong.
Very wrong.
“Understood,” he says finally, voice clipped. “Prepare everything. I’ll return immediately.”
He ends the call.
My heart sinks. “Darian? What’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer.
Not verbally.
Instead, he steps to my side and gently helps me stand, one hand firm at the small of my back.
“We need to go home,” he says quietly.
“Why? What happened?”
He doesn’t respond.
He’s already tapping something fast into his phone with his other hand, his grip on me protective, urgent.
Outside the restaurant, a car screeches to a stop, one that wasn’t there before.
Darian opens the door for me, jaw set, eyes hard.
“Darian?” I whisper again, climbing in. “Please. Talk to me. You’re scaring me.”
He finally looks at me.
And for the first time tonight…
I see fear in his eyes.
“I’ll explain soon,” he says softly, almost too gently. “I promise. But right now… we need to get home.”
And as the doors lock and the car speeds away from the glittering city lights…
My stomach twists with a feeling I haven’t felt in a long time.
Dread.