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"I forgot to mention that my dad is a retired federal judge," I replied, nervously running my sweaty palms over my black joggers.
"You left out the part where you should have warned me that the Harts live in a fortress," he teased, though there was a hint of awe in his voice.
Still, Roman navigated the gravel driveway with an air of confidence, as if he owned the place.
The welcoming committee was already gathered at the front entrance, waiting for us with expectant smiles.
My mom, my older sister Alyssa, a few aunts, my cousin Lizzie from Florida, and my little niece Chloe, dressed in head-to-toe white.
And worst of all-Dean fucking Archer.
"Here we go," I murmured under my breath, the words barely escaping my lips as a mix of excitement and dread churned in my stomach.
Roman turned off the engine, the car falling silent, and then he faced me, his eyes filled with an intensity that made my heart race. "You ready?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of concern.
"No," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
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