“I think he just said Dada!” Roman says excitedly.
“You’re hearing things, baby. He can’t talk yet.”
Frances and Peter walk over to us with their eyes focused right on Knox. They haven’t really had an opportunity to spend any time with him because we’ve both been too busy for another Las Vegas visit before the wedding.
“Would it be okay if I held him for a while?” Frances asks.
I give Roman a moment to answer his mother and when he stands there hesitating; I answer for him.
“Sure,” I agree. “Here you go.”
The deejay throws on a series of line dancing songs, one right after another, and Sloan and Tiny pull me away from my new husband to dance together.
“Sorry, dark knight, but the wobble is our song. Gotta go!”
As I party with my friends, Roman moves from table to table taking pictures and shaking hands. I watch him work the wedding guests with an ease and comfort I’ve never seen him exhibit before. He is genuinely happy and it feels good that I played a major part in putting that look on his face.
That in itself is worth every bit of pain that has brought us to this day.
This wonderful day.
26
ELIZABETH
It’s my wedding night. A night I have contemplated many times this past year. I don’t know exactly why I feel so incredibly nervous at this moment, but I do. Our love is battle worn and has been tested countless times, and I know without a doubt that man loves me with every fiber of his being, so that’s not the issue. I have slept with Roman a bazillion times and we’ve done some raunchy stuff together (at least by my standards) so that’s not the issue either.
I think the actual source of my trepidation is that I’ve put an enormous amount of pressure on myself to have the best sex of my life tonight because that’s what you do on your wedding night, right? I wonder if Roman is feeling anything similar.
We leave our friends and family to enjoy the rest of the wedding reception and take a car to Penn’s Landing where Roman’s yacht is waiting. Our honeymoon plan is to take a two-week-long cruise alone down the East Coast making stops in Miami, The Bahamas, and Puerto Rico and then turn back around. I didn’t plan any tours or activities for our time in the Caribbean. We’re just going to veg out on the beaches and on the deck of this ship, although it will be a genuine challenge to my workaholic tendencies and his controlling ones.
We’re greeted by the captain and a crew of staff that Roman hires when he makes plans to take the yacht out. Two staffers handle our luggage as another guides us to the top deck. The deck is elegantly decorated similarly to our reception space, with strings of white lights along the banisters, oversized modern furniture with deep white cushions, and bouquets of sunflowers. Soft music plays from the speakers and there’s a table full of mini-sized desserts.
“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Masterson,” the young woman offers. “Please make yourselves comfortable and call down if you need anything else this evening.”
The staff scatters to do whatever it is they do on this oversized boat, and Roman and I are finally alone for the first time of the night.
Roman sits in one of the oversized round chaises, and I notice that he slightly winces as his butt hits the chair. While we are several months removed from his abduction, there are still plenty of scars that remain, including some chronic pain in his shoulder and torso that he continues to work on in physical therapy.
“Come sit next to me, Duchess.”
He pulls me by the waist and plops me down next to him.
“Did you take any pain medicine today?” I ask.
“I was drinking, so I didn’t want to mix the two.”
“The drinking doesn’t kill the pain though.”
“I know what will kill the pain,” he says suggestively.
“We just got on the boat and you’re ready to ravage your wife already?”
“I’m always ready.”
“I should’ve changed out of my dress before we came to the dock,” I say, kicking off my heels.
“I love that dress. I want to fuck you in that dress.”
