“Honestly?” I finished my signature and wrapped my arms around her, kissing her forehead.
“Of course.”
Leaning down, I whispered in her ear so no one nearby could hear. “I want to make love to my wife. And then I want to fuck her.”
She pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, her eyes darkening in a way that made my heart race and my dick hard. “Well,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a sexy tone, “I’ve been planning this wedding for months.” Her fingers trailed up my lapel as she leaned up on her tiptoes to whisper back, “And I always save the best part for last.”
My jaw actually dropped, and she laughed, the sound both delighted and wicked. “What?” she asked innocently. “You thought I was just good at planning the ceremony?” She bit her lip in a way that nearly undid me on the spot. “That was just the warm-up act.”
“You,” I managed once I’d recovered, “are the best decision I’ve ever made.”
“I know,” she agreed, taking my hand and leading me toward the exit. “Now let’s go.”
I’d never moved so fast in my life.
Epilogue: One Year Later
ANICA
The Chicago Wedding Expo was everything I’d hoped for and more. A booth with beautiful decorations, a cross-country expansion, and a husband who somehow managed to show up on time despite a 5 AM conference call with Tokyo.
“Your wedding sounds like it’s going to be magical,” I said, shaking hands with the beaming bride-to-be. “My assistant will email you our availability for consultations by the end of day.”
As the couple walked away, I checked our growing list of potential Chicago clients. Twenty-seven solid leads in just a couple hours. Not bad for our first Midwest expansion event.
“Your business partner seems... intense.”
I glanced up to find Mrs. Sullivan, the expo coordinator, surveying our booth. Her gaze was fixed on Mari, who was currently rebuilding a toppled display of sample centerpieces while muttering what sounded suspiciously like death threats.
“Mari’s just excited about our Chicago launch,” I offered with a smile.
“And your booth neighbor, Mr. Gable, seems equally... enthusiastic about the expo.”
I followed her gaze to Perfect Day Planning’s immaculate booth. Hudson Gable had introduced himself this morning asa transplant from some high-end LA company who’d decided Chicago needed his particular brand of wedding expertise. I’d only spoken to him briefly during setup, but he seemed to know what he was doing. He was tall, impeccably dressed, with a very familiar kind of smile to my husband’s, in that he seemed to know exactly how handsome he was without needing to mention it.
What had seemed like professional courtesy at 10 AM had devolved into something far more sinister by noon.
“Did she actually move his sample books?” Mrs. Sullivan asked, nodding to Mari, who stuck her tongue out at Mr. Gable when she thought no one was looking.
“She told me he moved ours first,” I explained. “While Mari was in the bathroom, she said he completely rearranged the books. There was a sticky note that just said ‘Fixed it’ with a smiley face. Although, between the two of us, I didn’t see the sticky note. She also claimed he stole our consultation with the young couple by telling them our ‘vintage aesthetic’ was code for ‘outdated techniques.’”
Mrs. Sullivan’s eyes widened. “I’ve coordinated this expo for eleven years, and I’ve never seen two vendors develop such an intense rivalry in less than two hours.”
“And I’ve known Mari since college, and I’ve never seen her this fixated on someone she just met,” I said, glancing at my best friend. “I apologize for any... disruptions she’s caused.”
“Just keep it professional,” Mrs. Sullivan warned before marching away.
I turned to find Mari at our backdrop, aggressively straightening a banner. “Any chance you could dial it back a notch with the neighbor? We’re trying to make a good first impression in Chicago.”
“He started it,” Mari hissed, not looking away from Mr. Gable’s booth, where he was calmly explaining something to apotential client. “Did you see what he did to our brochure display while you were helping that other couple? He switched them all with his own materials! Three couples picked uphisbrochures fromourdisplay!”
“That’s actually pretty clever,” I said, then immediately regretted it when Mari shot me a look that promised she’s spit in my coffee for a week.
“He’s not clever. He’s a pretentious saboteur with product in his hair.” She squinted suspiciously. “Look at it. No one’s hair naturally does that. It’s unnatural.”
Mr. Gable did have great hair, I’d give her that. The kind that belonged in a men’s grooming commercial, dark and artfully styled in a way that looked effortless but definitely wasn’t. His booth was also objectively gorgeous; sleek and modern with a striking black and gold color scheme that made our blue and silver look almost quaint by comparison.
“Have you considered that maybe?—”
