And of course, people only say that I must be a gold-digger if they haven’t met Forrest.
If you’ve met him, youunderstand.
He’s magnetic, raw with power and arrogance and brilliance. Being 65 hasn’t dimmed his incredible charisma at all. I was his from the first moment he looked at me, and I’ve been his every single day for the last five years.
And if Iwasa gold-digger wouldn’t I have had some lawyer look over the prenup?
I didn’t. Because I don’t want Forrest’s money.
It’s enough just to be near him, get to wake up every morning next to him, hear him riff on the piano, watch his creative process, and get to sing with him late into the night. Everything is fun with him and he’s endlessly fascinating, from teaching me all about wine to introducing me to snorkeling.
And my god, the man can fuck.
More stamina than a man 1/3rd his age, with the ability to command an orgasm out of me from any position he chooses.
And it’s all culminating in today, my wedding day.
When we finally made it to the cathedral, I could barely resist jumping up and down with glee as I put on my dress.
Today was the day!
I had decided to walk down the aisle by myself, since I had no living relatives, and I was trembling like a leaf before I even made it a step into the giant cathedral.
The cavernous space was gorgeous, classical murals and art on every surface, lilies and roses wound in intricate patterns all along the velvety aisle.
Forrest had spared absolutely no expense to celebrate our marriage, and it was the wedding of mydreams.
The organ began to play Handel’sArrival of the Queen of Sheba.
And I only had eyes forhim, every single step of the way, and it felt like I was going way too fast, practically sprinting, because I was so excited to marry this man.
But finally, I was up to the front and Forrest was grasping my hand, helping me up the steps so my heavy, diamond-encrusted train stayed in a perfect glittering swirl behind me.
His hand was firm, dwarfing my own. It felt like I was radiating joy, bursting out of my skin like sunbeams.
I wanted to memorize every single moment of this, so I could remember it forever. The strength of his jawline, the way his silvery hair looked so artistically disarranged, his bowtie just a bit askew, like he was still thinking about the musical compositions for Phantom of the Bloody Opera.
What even was the priest saying? It didn’t even matter. Just let me fly to the moment where I’m hiswife!
“And if anybody has any objections to this marriage, speak now, or forever hold their peace.”
Forrest winked teasingly, like a special naughty moment between the two of us, and I wanted to drop to my knees and drain his balls so badly.
In thirty seconds I was going to be Mrs. Birdie Davies-Jones.
I squeezed his big fingers back and grinned.
Who could object? This was the happiest moment of my life.
I knew what people said about us, of course. Hot brainless little gold-digger, big rich sugar daddy.
But that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve loved this man from the moment I walked into the audition. It was pure animal magnetism, and I’ve never cared that he was thirty-five years older. Would have married him if he was a penniless man under a bridge playing the cello.
I beamed up into Forrest’s eyes, reveling in his gaze, wanting to drown in the moment when, for a split second, his brilliant eyes drifted away, out somewhere into the audience.
And then—disaster!
The priest opened his mouth to speak to pronounce our vows, when a clear, carrying voice rang out in the cathedral. I’d know it anywhere, because I had all of her CDs memorized. The Voice of a Generation, the world’s most impeccable Soprano.
