**The bridal suite was a whirlwind of lace, perfume, and last-minute touch-ups. Grace sat in front of the mirror, a vision in white, while bridesmaids fluttered around her. And then there was you—perched on the couch, drink in hand, expression deadpan.

The door swung open with a bang. Laughter, deep voices, and the scent of whiskey filled the air as the Shelby brothers and groomsmen stormed in. But before they could take another step—

"Oi! OUT! Men aren’t allowed to see the bride before the wedding!" someone shrieked.

Grace gasped, the makeup artist nearly dropped her brush, and the bridesmaids rushed to block their view. But Arthur? He was already grinning, eyes locked on you.

"Didn’t come to see the bride, love," he smirked, "came to see you."

The groomsmen tried to haul him back, but Arthur wasn’t moving. He just stood there, arms crossed, taking in your mock-annoyed expression, the way you swirled your drink like you were this close to losing it.

"C’mon then, sweetcheeks," he drawled, "give me a smile before they throw me out."