Page 19 of I Don’t Believe In Fated Mates!

"Are you sure?" the officer asks doubtfully.

"I have never been more sure of anything in my life." I smile at the officer. "You wouldn't understand. It's a fated mate thing."

And I turn and walk back to Jesse, seizing his hand in mine.

Chapter Eleven

LANE

The air hums with excitement and anticipation.

The ceremony is set to take place in front of an enormous white tent draped with ribbons and wildflowers. Long tables are spread across the clearing, laden with food -whole roasted boar, heaping platters of vegetables, fresh bread, and enough desserts to feed an army of hungry shifters. The scent of grilled meat mingles with pine and woodsmoke, and dozens of voices murmur around me, low and expectant.

Jeremiah isn't here, because he has left the pack. The other council members have voted that I can stay – because Jesse threatened to leave the pack if they said otherwise.

The other shifter packs have been invited – Frostbane, and Shadowpine. There's some weird tension between the Frostbane Pack and the Moonstone Pack, but it doesn't matter. Everyone's here.

Everyone, that is, except the groom, who I'm pretty sure is inside one of the rooms in the cavernous tent.

I stand with Marion and Cole in front of the tent, pretending I'm not seconds away from chewing my nails off. "Where is he?" I worry. "The ceremony starts in, like, thirty seconds. He's changed his mind, hasn't he? He's leaving me at the altar. Except there's no altar. I don't feel well. I think I'm getting sick. Do I look pale?" I clap my hand over my mouth to stem the flow of craziness spilling from my mouth.

"He hasn't changed his mind." Marion frowns at Cole. "What is that smirk, beloved son of mine? You know something. Explain yourself or I'll slap you silly."

Cole's mouth twitches with the effort to restrain laughter, and his eyes have an evil gleam. "Brace yourself."

"What—"

And then the flap of the tent parts.

Out strides Jesse.

Wearing. A. Pink. Tutu.

The crowd goes dead silent. Like, you-could-hear-a-mouse-toot silent.

For a second, my brain refuses to process what my eyes are seeing. He's bare-chested, muscles gleaming in the late afternoon sun, his expression thunderous, and around his waist is a frothy cloud of pink tulle that swishes with every step.

Someone—probably from the Frostbane Pack—snorts. A low, dangerous growl rolls out of Jesse's chest.

"I made a vow on the day that I met my fated mate, and an Alpha never, ever breaks his word. Just know that I will personally eviscerate the first person who dares to say a single thing.”

Instant silence again. Even the birds stop chirping.

"Oh my God," I whisper, hand over my mouth. "He's actually doing it."

And then—he does.

He plants his feet, lifts one powerful leg, and kicks.

The tutu fluffs. The crowd gasps.

He does another kick, then a spin, then—dear lord—another kick. The sound of barely contained laughter ripples through the packs. Even Marion's shoulders are shaking as she hides a grin behind her hand.

I'm torn between mortification and uncontrollable affection. Because this ridiculous, proud, impossible man just humiliated himself in front of every Alpha and pack in the region—for me.

After a few more kicks, Jesse stops.

Then he grabs the tutu by the waistband, tears it off in one vicious motion, and tosses it to Cole. "Burn that."