Chapter 134
ELENA
The tailor stood back and adjusted his glasses, lips pursed as he eyed Aiden critically from top to bottom.
“Hmmm,” he said. “Turn, please.”
Aiden did a slow, proud spin, arms outstretched like a very serious airplane.
The jacket swayed around him—still a little long in the sleeves, but the fabric hugged his little shoulders just right. The black tuxedo had been tailored down to fit his six-year-old frame, and even though there were still chalk marks on the cuffs, he looked—somehow—older. Taller. Like the tux had added two inches and a dash of smug confidence.
“What do you think?” I asked, perched on the bench nearby, chin in my hand.
“I look awesome,” Aiden declared.
“You do.”
“Very dignified,” the tailor added, brushing imaginary lint off his lapel.
“I’m the ring bearer,” Aiden explained, puffing his chest. “Again.”
“Oh?” the tailor said. “A seasoned professional, then?”
Aiden nodded solemnly. “I did it once before, for Auntie Dawn. I didn’t trip or lose the rings or anything.”
“You were fantastic,” I said, grinning. “And I’m sure you’ll be even better this time.”
He beamed, then turned back toward the mirror, examining himself. “Do you think Uncle Mason will cry?”
“Maybe.”
“I bet Erin will.”
“Probably.”
“And you?”
I tilted my head. “You want me to cry?”
“No,” he said, very seriously. “But you cried at Dawn’s wedding.”
“Weddings make people emotional.”
He looked at me through the mirror, and something flickered in his expression—curiosity, maybe. Or hesitation. Then he turned around slowly and sat on the bench beside me, legs swinging above the floor.
He looked down at his shiny black shoes, then back up at me. “Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Logan said something.”
I straightened a little. “Okay…”
Aiden wrinkled his nose. “He said he knows things are moving fast between you and my dad again.”
My breath caught, just slightly.
He kept going, innocent and sincere. “He said it’s okay if I feel confused. That grown-up stuff is complicated and you’re allowed to take your time figuring it out.”
I sat with that for a moment, my fingers curling slightly against my thigh.
“What did you say to him?”
“I said I wasn’t confused,” Aiden said, frowning. “But… I didn’t like it.”
“Did he say it in a mean way?”
“No. Just like… serious.” He paused. “Was he right?”
I exhaled softly. “About what?”
“That you’re figuring it out.”
I reached over and smoothed a wrinkle from his sleeve. “Yeah, bud. I think I am.”
He nodded, satisfied for now. The tailor returned to check a seam, and Aiden happily stood back on the box, striking a pose like he was already on the runway.
But I was still sitting with it.
Logan’s words.
Things are moving fast.
You’re allowed to take your time.
And hadn’t I said that myself? Hadn’t I told Derek to take things slow? That I needed to rebuild my trust in him—to trust us again?
So why did it feel like the ground was shifting under my feet?
Why did a simple tux fitting with my son feel like a quiet warning?
That evening, the house was quiet.
I was in the kitchen, barefoot, drinking tea and staring out the window when my phone rang.
Derek.
I answered on the second ring.
“Hey,” I said, softening automatically at the sound of his voice.
“Hey,” he said, and I could hear the smile in it. “Just checking in. How’d the fitting go?”
“Better than expected,” I said. “He’s very proud of himself. Says he’s got ‘ring bearer muscle memory’ now.”
Derek laughed. “Of course he does. Kid’s got more confidence than most alphas.”
“Must get that from his dad.”
There was a pause.
Not uncomfortable. Just weighted.
“How’s he feeling?” Derek asked. “About the wedding?”
“Excited. A little worried he’ll mess up the walk, but I told him we’ll practice it a few times and he’ll be fine.”
“He will be,” Derek said. “He’s steady.”
“He is.”
There was another pause, longer this time.
Then, in a more playful tone, he asked, “So… do you have a date to the wedding?”
I blinked. “A date?”
“You know,” he said, teasing. “A date. Someone tall, brooding, dark-haired, devastatingly handsome. Good with kids. Wolfish jawline.”
I rolled my eyes. “No, I do not.”
“Interestingly enough,” he said, “neither do I.”
I could see where this was going and tried to head him off with a joke.
“How’d you manage to score an invitation?” I said. “You know those Moonstone types—they don’t associate socially with Silverclaws.”
“I’m father of the ring bearer,” he said, and I could still hear the smile in his voice. “Which is an essential position that requires support staff.”
“Does the support staff still get to dance?”
“I’ll have to ask my manager,” he said, and I laughed.
A silence stretched out between us.
“So,” he finally said, “I was thinking… maybe we go together?”
The suggestion landed with a soft thud in my chest.
Part of me wanted to say yes immediately. Because we’d had a good rhythm lately. Because the date had been good. Because Aiden was happy and we were laughing more than we were hurting.
But…
But weddings weren’t casual. Not in this world.
Going to one together as a pair was more than a date—it was a signal.
A message. A declaration.
And I’d said slow.
I’d meant slow.
Logan’s words to Aiden were still echoing through my head, like they’d slipped past my ears and settled into my chest: Your mom’s allowed to take her time… Grown-up stuff is complicated.
They were annoying words. Infuriating, even.
But they weren’t wrong.
Because the truth was, deep down, part of me was just waiting for Derek to choose Cassandra again.
I swallowed and shifted the phone in my hand, curling my knees up on the couch.
“Derek…” I said gently.
There was a pause, then his voice—lower, expectant. “Yeah?”
I hesitated, picking at a loose thread on the blanket draped over my lap. “When I said I wanted to take things slow… I meant it.”
There was a long beat of silence on his end. Long enough for me to wonder if I’d hurt him. Or pushed too far back.
“I know,” he said eventually, voice softer. “I just… thought it might be nice.”
He didn’t say romantic or hopeful or right. Just nice.
Which somehow made it worse.
“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be,” I added quickly, trying to soften the edge. “But going to a wedding together—my brother’s wedding—that’s going to raise a lot of eyebrows. Especially with everything that’s happened. You know how people talk.”
His exhale came through the speaker, steady but thin. “I get it.”
“I just don’t want to rush something that’s already fragile,” I said. “We’ve only just started… rebuilding things. And I don’t want to put pressure on that.”
“I get that too.”
There was another pause—one that wasn’t filled with tension so much as quiet, careful understanding. The kind of silence that holds space for something unspoken. I could tell he was trying to take it in stride, trying not to make it harder for me.
But I could feel it anyway. The shift. The small weight of disappointment behind the words he wasn’t saying.
“So,” I offered, trying to lighten it, “how about we both go stag?”
His response came with a half-laugh—wry, almost amused. “Stag at a werewolf wedding. That’s… ironic.”
I smiled faintly. “I know. But safer.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
I could hear it in his tone—he meant it. He wouldn’t fight me on it. But I could also tell he was disappointed, even if he didn’t say so.
And somehow that made it worse.
I closed my eyes and leaned back into the couch cushions.
“Derek?” I said, just as I heard the telltale pause of someone reaching for the hang-up button.
“Hmm?”
“I’m really looking forward to seeing you there.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
Then his voice, quieter now, but warm. So warm. “Even if I’m not your official date?”
I smiled. “Even if.”
And then, finally, the smile returned to his voice like sun breaking through clouds.
“Same here.”
We hung up, and I just sat there, staring at the phone in my hand like it might say something more.
He’d been sweet.
Thoughtful.
And I’d turned him down.
But I couldn’t shake the weight of Logan’s words. Couldn’t ignore the truth in them.
Things were complicated. And fragile.
And maybe—just maybe—I was scared of how badly I wanted them not to be.
