A masterpiece.Mymasterpiece.
My breath faltered.
Fuck.
I slid my hand across her lower back as we took our first step forward, just to steady her. That was the lie I told myself when really, I needed to feel her. My fingers had been deep inside her not thirty minutes ago, coaxing the most gorgeous sounds I’ve ever heard from the woman I would now get to call my wife, and I was already counting the minutes until I could have her again.
So yeah. I needed to touch her.
I craned my neck, heart in my throat, to see if her tattoo was visible.
Fais au paradis.
Black ink on golden skin. Barely visible, but there, between the twin dimples at the base of her spine, where the silkbarelyheld its place.
Made in Heaven.
Then branded with devotion.
And now, married to me.
Seemed like a fair trade.
My lungs collapsed. My dick twitched. Pretty sure my soul tried to ghost itself into the Aegean.
The only thing keeping me tethered to this plane of existence was the bouquet in her hands—full and fragrant and deceptively innocent.
I whimpered. A real, honest-to-God whimper. And I swear to Christ, this dress had been engineered in a secret lab somewhere to dismantle me piece by piece. A backless silk weapon of mass destruction, designed with one singular objective: to erase all thoughts from my brain except hers.
It was working.
We took a single step forward together, but I couldn’t help myself.
I leaned in, voice low, reverent and more than a little unhinged. “You wore this on purpose, didn’t you?” She glanced at me, eyes glinting through a smile that could raise the dead. “You want me drooling at the altar.”
Her laugh, soft and giddy, slipped straight into my bloodstream like a hit of something sacred. But she just leaned in closer, breath warm against my ear, lashes dipping like she knew exactly what she was doing.
“No, baby,” she murmured, sweet as sin. “I want you drooling from the heart.” She paused as we resumed walking. “I want to give you butterflies and make your knees weak at the same time.”
My pulse flatlined. That was it. That was the kill shot. She could’ve said her vows right then and there and I would’ve gotten on both knees, ring or no ring. This woman. Thisfucking woman.
How the hell was I supposed to make it through the rest of this ceremony when she was out here assassinating me with poetry of fond memories and backless silk?
She turned just enough that I had to drop my arm, letting go of her bouquet with her right hand. Her fingers grazed mine with a soft, searching touch. I could hear the shaky breath she took beside me, the rustle of her veil catching the wind at the same time, like even the island knew to rise for her.
Her fingers brushed mine as we stepped forward in sync, and I didn’t grab them, I let her choose. Let her reach. Let her decide what she needed from me in this moment.
And when she finally laced her fingers with mine, I felt it in my fucking soul. Two hearts. Two names. One story.Ours.
We walked together, toward our forever.
But just as we started, chaos erupted in front of us, dragging us back down to Earth. Almost like this was our wedding and there were people present. Weird.
Marco audibly snorted into his palm, his shoulders already shaking with sobs. “Fuck’s sake,” he choked out. “You guys areruiningmy tough guy reputation, and I hate you both for it.”
Ivy, on the other side of the altar, stood next to Lucy, who was perched on a white stool, still strumming the final chords. Ivy’s entire face was wet. Her mascara was gone. Her shoulders shook as she dramatically pointed one trembling finger at us.
“This is disgusting,” she sobbed. “You’re both revolting. Now hurry up and get married, you emotionally manipulative fairytale fucks.”
