Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
“Daphne,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”
“I can’t,” I whisper, blinking rapidly. “You’re gonna make me cry.” I half laugh and breathe deep, trying to push my tears back.
“It’s okay, baby.” His big hand hovers at my cheek, dabbing my made-up face with a white handkerchief. “I’ve got you.”
“So I look all right?” I can face him now. The tightness in my chest has eased, washed away as his scent surrounds me. There’s just Logan and me here. Nothing else matters.
“You look beautiful.” His deep voice is balm to my soul.
“Thank you.” I keep my eyes down, fastening onto the sight of our hands entwined. The ceremony proceeds. Most of it’s a blur, but a few moments I’ll remember forever.
The breeze stirring the flowers overhead.
The slanting sunlight illuminating my mother’s statue, haloing her peaceful mien.
The way Logan’s voice stumbles on the words “in sickness and in health.”
The way his hands squeeze mine. He doesn’t let go—even to slide on the ring. It was as if he expected me to disappear mid-ceremony.
“In sickness and in health,” I repeat, covering his big hand with mine. “‘Til death...and beyond.” It’s my turn to grip him hard.
I’m never letting you go. Death be damned.
I barely hear the priestess’s final words. Logan is smiling at me. He leans in and brushes his lips over mine.
I blink at him, suddenly dizzy. “We did it?”
“We did it. Come here,” his arms are around me, pressing me closer as he gives me a deeper kiss. He scoops me up, his lips never leaving mine as the crowd rises to their feet and roars their approval.
Logan carries me through a shower of rose petals—shot from a cannon manned by Armand himself. We end up in the reception tent where there’s a huge white throne for me to sit on to receive guests. The Ubelis are first in line.
“I feel like a queen,” I whisper to Cora Ubeli.
“Queen for a day. You look beautiful.” She bends and kisses my cheek. “Congratulations.”
The next few hours are a blur. I greet guests and shake hands until I feel like my hand is going to fall off.
Then a five course dinner—which I can barely eat because every other second people clink their glasses and Logan and I have to kiss. Not that I mind.
After the last course, before the cake cutting, a band called The Muses strikes up their top hits. And I have enough energy to rise and walk on my own to the elevated dance floor—which is a glass case filled with a carpet of ferns and roses, exactly as Armand described.
I squeal as Logan lifts me into the air and whirls me around. But he doesn’t let me back down to the ground. He keeps me in his arms as we sway to the music.
“I’m walking better now,” I whisper in his ear, my arms around his neck. “You don’t have to carry me everywhere.”
He just nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck. “Now that you’re Mrs. Logan Wulfe, you’re nuts if you think I’m ever letting you go, even for a single damn minute.”
I don’t expect the absolute explosion of joy in my chest, and not expecting it makes it all the sharper. This was never supposed to be my life. I’m not the girl who gets the fairytale ending.
But being surrounded by our friends and loved ones, at the wedding straight out of my dreams, being held by a man who loves me with his whole heart, what else can you call it?
Does he feel it? Does Logan feel the perfection he’s given me? That I was cracked and broken before he found me, but he was the only medicine I ever needed. The balm to my broken heart after I lost my mother and my father’s rejection.
And, feeling all his heart muscles beneath my soft body, I know he’s so much more than that. He’s the igniter of passions, the storm that shook up my staid, colorless world, and he’s been my hope and strength at times these past few months when I couldn’t manage any on my own.
He’s the love of my life. My partner on this journey. The other half of my soul.
I tip my head back to look at him and see everything I’m feeling reflected in his dark eyes.
I can’t help drawing his head down to mine. He’s still careful, but I’ve been more desperately physical lately than ever. I think both of us need it. To prove to ourselves that we are real and still here together.
And when his lips touch mine—
Heaven.
There’s a tent full of people watching us but that doesn’t stop Logan. He teases at the seam of my lips with his tongue and when I open to him, I only barely manage to stifle my moan, even though we’re in the middle of the dance floor. But I’ve never been able to manage restraint when it comes to Logan.