He’s wearing the biggest smile on his face as his gaze rakes over me like a sensual caress. My skin tingles all over, and though I love this dress and feel like a princess in it, I’m already counting down the hours until I can take it off so my husband can ravish me. Beck’s pupils darken, and I suspect his mind has gone to the same place mine has.
When we reach the top of the aisle, the music cuts off, and the celebrant smiles. Sean places my hand in Beck’s. “Look after our girl. She’s precious.”
“Why do you think I’m marrying her?”
Sean grins before taking his seat beside Mom, and my smile expands as they automatically link hands. I would not be surprised if theirs is the next wedding in the family.
“You are so beautiful you steal all the air from my lungs,” Beck says, peering adoringly into my eyes.
“You look handsome,” I admit as he takes both my hands in his. “And sexy as fuck,” I add, channeling my inner Hadley.
Beck presses his mouth to my ear. “I have so many dirty plans for you later.”
A delicious shiver ghosts over me. “I can’t wait.”
The celebrant clears his throat, and we get down to business.
Thirty minutes later, he pronounces us husband and wife, and Beck kisses his bride.
Beck and I accept heartfelt congratulations as we mingle with our guests, drinking champagne and eating canapés. Margot and Susan are already firm friends, and both groups of friends are mixing well.
We head inside when dinner is served. We hired a local catering company, and the food is sumptuous. After the requisite speeches and toasts, we step out into the middle of the room for our first dance. We chose a traditional French song that was played at Margot’s wedding to Alain.
Beck sways me around the dance floor, holding me tight as he peers deep into my eyes. We’re both sporting massive grins and matching heart eyes. “This is the best day of my life,” he says before twirling me around and reeling me back into his chest.
“Mine too.” I cup one side of his handsome face. “I love you so much. I can’t believe you’re my husband. It feels like a fairy tale.”
“Believe it, Mrs. Colbert, because you’re all mine.”
The crowd whoops and hollers as Beck dips me down low and kisses me passionately. His lips make silent promises that are verbally repeated when he whispers all the naughty things he plans to do to me in my ear.
An hour later, unable to keep our hands off one another any longer, we sneak outside to a hidden corner of the garden, and Beck fucks me from behind, with my dress shoved up to my waist, while our unsuspecting guests dance, laugh, and drink wine.
Epilogue Two
Stevie – Ten Years Later
“Livvie! Slow down!” Beck calls out after our precocious daughter as she races off into the garden with one of her classmates.
“She is too used to running free on the farm,” I remind my husband, leaning into him as he wraps his arm around my shoulders. “You’ll never tame our free spirit.”
“Nor would I want to.” He pecks my lips before his proud grin follows our daughter around the large garden.
Beck is an amazing father and husband, and I pinch myself all the time that he’s mine and we share this incredible life. I fall more in love with him every day. We are living our dreams together, and life really doesn’t get any better than this.
A woman approaches with a smile, casting a glance at the boisterous kids playing tag on the grass. “If they’re this excitable now, I dread to see them after the sugar high.” She extends her hand. “I’m Kylie. Reyna is my daughter.”
“Oh, of course.” I recognize her now from the school gates. Beck mostly drops Olivia off at school and picks her up as his schedule is more flexible than mine when we’re back in Ravenna. “It’s lovely to meet you, and thanks for the invite. Olivia has been very excited all week.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Beck extends his hand toward our hostess. “I’m Beck, and this is my wife, Stevie.”
Kylie’s smile is welcoming as she shakes both our hands. “I know who you are, and thanks for coming.”
Beck and I exchange a knowing look. That kind of comment and reaction is normal when we’re in Seattle. Beck has a flourishing literary career, writing in his own name and as Byron Stanley, and he started a secret pen name recently. He’s a bit of a local celebrity here. We both prefer France where no one gives a fuck he’s a famous writer. They just treat him as one of their own.
“This is for you,” I say, handing over the bag with a bottle of wine, a bouquet of flowers from the shop, and a box of cupcakes for the kids.
Personally, I think she’s nuts hosting a birthday party for her six-year-old daughter on the Fourth of July and inviting the entire class. But that’s probably my pregnancy hormones speaking.
