Marcus Sloan.
The tear lingered but finally traced down my cheek.
Marcus leaned in and caught it with his lips.
My belly fluttered, my heart clenched, and my hands went tohis at my middle.
He lifted away and looked at me.“That all you got?”
“For now.”
“Want to go get married?”
I nodded.
Fast.
And smiled.
It was shaky but it was big.
He smiled back at me, came around, took my hand, and tuckedit into the crook of his arm.
He stopped long enough to offer me my bouquet and take holdof Michelle’s to give to her.
Then he led me out of the room.
I held it together until I walked into the restaurant of thehotel that Marcus had hired out because it had two stories of windows and anunencumbered view of the mountains of Aspen covered in snow.We were going tobe married in front of them.Then we were going to have a five-course meal infront of a blazing fire, all alone, the only guests in a beautiful, cozy,five-star restaurant in a beautiful, cozy five-star hotel.
After that, Doug and Michelle were going back to the suite,Marcus and I were spending our wedding night at his (no,our) place inAspen, and tomorrow we were going to fly to the Maldives.
When I lost it, I didn’t lose it because of the view.
I also didn’t lose it because the big sprays of gerberadaisies and roses with their pink velvet ribbons that stood on columns thatfloated up from diaphanous sheers of white that would be what Marcus and Iwould stand between to get married (and stand around to have pictures taken byour fancy-ass photographer) were exactly what Michelle said they were whenshe’d checked on them after they’d been delivered.
That being perfect.
I didn’t lose it because the fullness of Marcus getting meMiss Annamae’s pearls back finally hit me.
And I didn’t lose it because I felt beautiful, lookedbeautiful, and the beautiful man whose arm I was holding on to was about tobecome my husband.
I lost it because our small wedding party had an unexpectedguest.
He looked older.I actually barely recognized him,especially looking stiff and uncomfortable in a suit.
But when Marcus and I hit the doors to the restaurant withMichelle trailing and Doug got up from his chair, looking at me with his mouthhanging open, and that man turned his eyes to me and they immediately got wet,I knew.
I knew he was a man called Stretch.
“Daisy, darling, wake up.”
I moved, blinked, opened my eyes, and from where my head wasresting on Marcus’s shoulder, I looked drowsily out the windows of ourlimousine.
It was dark.No streetlights.No overhead lights in agarage.
Just what seemed to be shadowed trees.
We were just back from our honeymoon.
