He doesn’t wait for the officiant to say he can kiss me. He wraps one big hand around the back of my neck…the same way he did that first night on my porch…pulls me in, and kisses me. Long. Slow. Deep. The kind of kiss that tells everyone watching exactly how much this man loves me, how honored he is to be my husband, and that I’m about to get it GOOD tonight.
People clap. Someone whistles. Our mothers are sobbing. June and Marie, shoulder to shoulder in the front row, sharing a box of tissues. Lilah’s wooting and I can hear Miles cheering.
It’s beautiful. Perfect. A dream I didn’t even know I had, come true.
The reception is a blur of food, speeches, and chaos.
The Reddings know how to throw a party. Barbecue and sides cover the long tables. Sweet tea and sodas flow. A live band plays country and blues. People dance on the grass under the string-lights. Tanya and Bobby two-step like they’re twenty again.
One of Beau’s brothers grabs the mic. Mack. Of course it’s Mack.
“Raise your hand if you knew he was in love after that first handshake.”
The room explodes. Hands everywhere. Laughter rolling. Even Colt, from the back corner where he’s been nursing a drink and avoiding conversation, raises his glass an inch. For Colt, that’s a standing ovation.
Beau just smiles. Pulls me closer. His arm around my waist, a big hand spread across my hip. His thumb doing that thing…always that thing…slow circles through the fabric of my dress.
And he doesn’t stop. All night. A warm palm on my lower back when we talk to guests. His big hand wrapping around my thigh when we sit. His mouth on my neck…hot, slow, deliberate…like we’re not in public, like our entire families and lifelong friends aren’t ten feet away.
“Beau,” I murmur, leaning into his ear. “Everyone can see you.”
“Good.”
“Your mother is RIGHT THERE,” I hiss.
“She’s not looking.”
I roll my eyes, laughing. “You know those two are ALWAYS looking.”
His hand slides lower on my hip. His lips brush my ear. “Can’t help it. You’re my wife now. I’m allowed.”
My wife. The words roll through me like warm honey. My thighs press together under my wedding dress. My husband, my HUSBAND, just saidmy wifein my ear with his rough hand on my ass at our own wedding reception, and I’m ready to leave immediately.
I last another hour. Barely. We cut the cake. We dance slow, pressed together, his forehead against mine, his golden eyes holding mine in a way that makes me forget anyone else exists. His body moving with me, his scent all around me. His heartbeat under my palm.
Then, while people are dancing and the music’s loud and the string-lights blur above us, my husband leans into my ear.
“We’re leaving,” he rasps. “Now.”
I blink. “Baby, we haven’t even…”
He holds out his hand. His eyes dark with heat and promise and everything he’s been holding back all day.
“Now, wife.”
I take his hand. Because I always take his hand. Since the first time he offered it at the fair. Since the bar. Since the porch. Since every moment in between when this big, quiet, certain man held his palm out and waited for me to choose him.
I choose him.
We slip out under the string-lights while Mack covers for us with a toast nobody asked for. Tanya catches my eye from across the reception and mouths,GET ITwith both fists raised. Mama waves her handkerchief. June winks.
Beau leads me to the truck. Opens my door. Lifts me in …his hands on my waist, his lips on my jaw. Then he walks around, climbs behind the wheel, and drives us home. His hand, on my thigh. My ring catching the moonlight. The night wide open ahead of us. Mrs. Ina Redding. Yeah. That’ll work just fine.
Eighteen
Beau
My wife. My. Fucking. Wife. Those two words have been on a loop in my head since she walked down that aisle looking like every dirty fantasy I’ve ever had wrapped in white silk. Ina Redding. My woman. My wife. Mine in every way the law, God, and my cock can make her.
