Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
“Ophelia,” he growls fervently, nearly stopping my heart, “you’re everything I ever dreamed of and now you’re standing here. If I’ve got you, what the hell else do I need?”
Wow.
Looks like he’s determined to kill me before we finish our vows.
But then the priest clears his throat, glancing at us with indulgent amusement before the traditional words begin. “Dearly beloved...”
Ah, here we go.
Lots of lofty words that land like heavy snow through the happy haze around my brain.
I feel so very dearly beloved.
And for me, Grant is the only beloved I’ll ever need.
I don’t know how I even hold still while the priest recites the vows, the long litany of passages from the book, everything that makes this ceremony complete.
It’s just a formality, I suppose.
Everything became real the moment I saw Grant standing there, waiting for me without any hesitation or doubt in his smile.
But finally—finally, we’ve arrived.
My heart just about bursts as the priest calls for the rings.
Grant takes the simple gold wedding band and slides it on my finger, then leans in close, whispering, “Check the inscription later.”
Smiling, I nod, a silent promise as I slip the ring onto his finger.
Those coarse, weathered knuckles fight the confines for a split second before the gold band settles snugly. He flexes his hand like he’s testing how it feels, the weight of it, before his hand laces in mine, ring to ring, absorbing our heat together.
And when the priest says, “Do you, Grant, take Ophelia to be your lawfully wedded wife...”
“I do,” Grant answers.
His voice is rolling thunder, this gruff whisper I imagine only I can hear, this secret just for us, but the crowd strains forward, listening intently.
I do.
My heart beats in sync to those words as the priest turns to me. “And do you, Ophelia, take Grant to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
I become the butterfly again, fluttery and full of shiny things.
“I do,” I whisper.
Then the entire gathering erupts into clapping, shouting cheers.
The priest says something about pronouncing us husband and wife.
I’m completely deaf to it.
Grant and I are the only stillness left in the noise around us, completely locked on each other.
I can’t sense anyone else when I’m already home, becoming Ophelia Faircross.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the priest announces.
Grant rakes his eyes over me, then sweeps me close, pulling me against the hardness of his body.
“Hello, wife,” he rumbles.
I laugh, twining my arms around his neck, showering pollen from my bouquet into his hair as I stretch toward him.
“Hello, husband.”
His mouth twitches with repressed laughter.
I can’t help fixating on it as he leans in closer. Closer.
For a second, I realize there’s another burst of blue from the corner of my eye—a second cloud of butterflies rising up to herald our union—but I’m not paying attention to that.
All the magic is right in front of me.
As Grant’s mouth claims mine.
As I fall into him for the first kiss of the rest of our lives, heady and sweet and electric.
He rocks me gently with slow touches I never want to end.
And even with the entire wedding party watching and people roaring behind us, I can’t help how he melts me, how he makes my knees weak with every trace of his tongue from one corner of my mouth to the other, leaving behind trails of fire on my skin.
His kiss takes me deep, owns me, leaves no doubt about my fate with every caress and every rough nip of teeth.
I belong to this man, here and now for all the world to see.
I belong, and I’ll never miss my true home again.
The reception is small and intimate.
Most people who aren’t direct family and friends linger for the grand toast and a little food. Plus, a chance to embarrass us with noisy spoons clinking against glasses.
They mostly head out before the dancing starts.
Honestly, it’s a bit of a mess—people trying to dance in high heels in soft earth and lush grass, but no one seems to mind, tripping and stumbling and falling into each other with raucous laughs.
When I see Mr. and Mrs. Faircross dancing together, smiling at each other with such heartwarming sweetness like they’re remembering their own wedding day ages ago, I think my heart grows one more size.
It makes me hopeful that can be me and Grant, one day.
Oh, I’m aching for the wonderful life ahead.
Seeing our children off into their own happy lives, and still as deeply in love as the day we were married.
As Grant and I take the floor for our dance, though, I catch my mother standing on the sidelines, watching us with bittersweet emotions I can’t totally describe.
I offer her a smile, leaning into my husband.
She smiles back and mouths, Love you, baby girl.
Love you right back, I mouth back.
My eyes sting wonderfully.
“You realize,” Grant rumbles, his chin resting lightly on the top of my head, “I have every intention of giving your ma grandchildren to obsess over as soon as possible.”