Chapter Thirty-one
Eagle
To say I haven’t waited for this moment all of my life would be a lie. Finding the right woman has always been something I aspired to. Though I don’t see my parents too often, my mom and dad have a great relationship with each other. It set a good example for me in my formative years. Yeah, I’ve fucked my way across Louisiana like any other brother, but I want forever.
Seeing her in that dress seals the deal. I’m lost in her brown eyes. Angelique is perfect for me. I smile as she gets closer, walking behind Belle, trying to keep pace with that damn song the musician is playing.
If I had my way, we’d be outside dancing to some Cajun music in the sand.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I greet her as we join hands and then face the priest from Saint Patrick’s Church up the street. “Glad you could make it.” I squeeze her fingers.
“You, too,” she says. “Thank you for wearing the tux.”
I did it for her. I’m dressed head-to-toe in steel gray, a white dress shirt underneath the jacket. As soon as we take a few pictures, I intend on changing into my black jeans and T-shirt, donning my colors for the afterparty.
We didn’t plan anything special for the ceremony. We were both raised Catholic, like most of the residents of Holly Beach. I’ve known Father Dominique since I started kindergarten. I’ve made weekly confessions to the man for twenty years. He’s never judged me, never questioned my life choices.
Angel and I kneel on the silk pillows in front of Father Dominique and he blesses us and reads some scriptures and says a prayer. Next, we repeat our vows and exchange rings, completing the necessary steps to make Angel mine—in the eyes of God, legally, and most importantly, in the eyes of this club.
“You may kiss the bride,” Father Dominique announces.
I lift Angel off her feet and twirl her around, grinning like a fool. She squeals like a happy kid and wraps her arms around my neck. Then I lower her to the floor and take that kiss with unending hunger. Her lips are soft and pliant. She opens her mouth and my tongue meets hers, passionate heat blazing a trail from my heart to my cock. I want her in every way imaginable. In my bed and in my life until the hereafter.
My brothers and the old ladies applaud and congratulate us with genuine enthusiasm. Belle shoves a champagne flute into my hands and another into Angel’s. Once everyone in the crowd is served, Tonsils drapes his arm across Belle’s shoulders and raises his glass.
“Time and distance didn’t make a fucking difference for the two of you,” he says. “You overcame the worst of circumstances, Eagle and Angel . . . may God keep you, and if he doesn’t, you have backup—the brotherhood.”
I tap my glass against Angel’s and we both take generous sips of the expensive Dom Pérignon I had Belle pick up at a liquor store in Lake Charles.
“Are you happy, Angel?” I ask, knowing it’s a question I’ll ask her every day for the rest of our lives.
She nods, her cheeks flushed. “Have I told you lately how much I love you, Eagle?” She caresses my cheek, her wedding ring shimmering in the bright lights.
“No,” I say, hoping she will. I lace my fingers with hers. “Remind me.”
She stands on her toes and whispers Shakespeare in my ear. “Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. O, no! It is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken.”
I growl, aroused and fiercely possessive of my new wife. I pluck the flute from her hand and give it to whoever is standing next to me. Then I drag her to a quiet corner, desperate to taste her again. I push her against the wall and raise her hands over her head, holding her tiny wrists together with one hand, cupping her breast with the other. I love the way she feels, how she trembles whenever I’m this close, how she waited all these years for me.
“Mine,” I whisper close to her ear. “Angel Orani or Serafina Scala, whoever you want to be, I really don’t care. As long as we’re together.” I plunder that delectable mouth, our tongues hot and hungry for each other’s.
She tastes sweet, like champagne and strawberries. I shower her with light kisses, from the corner of her mouth, up her neck, to one of her tiny ears. She shivers and grins, her eyes shut.
“I prefer Angelique Laramie.”
Another searing jolt of lust shoots through my body as she speaks that name and I slant my mouth over hers. I have a wife now. Angel. The only girl I’ve ever loved. Resurrected and as perfect as she’s always been. I pull back and stare at her features. Her eyes flutter open and I’m lost in a sea of dark brown—those ever-familiar eyes. “You’re beautiful, Angel Laramie.”
“So are you, Eagle.” She locks her arms around my neck and pulls me in for another kiss.
“Hey! Get a room, goddamnit!” Tonsils yells to us.
I rest my forehead against Angel’s and we both laugh.
“We’re duty-bound to indulge the brothers for a few hours,” I inform her. “I’ll go change and meet you by the front doors in five minutes. Okay?”
She nods and releases me.
I rush to the bedroom where I left my clothes and strip out of the tux, happy to be free of it. Wearing my jeans, T-shirt, cut, and boots, I rejoin my wife. Everyone is ready to escape the confines of the clubhouse and head to the beach across the street. That’s where the reception is.
