Part 16 (1/2)
”Because I wanted to. I think it's good practice to always kiss your wife h.e.l.lo.”
”I'm not your wife yet.”
”You could be, today, if that's what you really want. I'll make it happen. I've been working on a plan, but if you want to wait, I get that too. If you want to hold out for the big fancy place and the hand-pa.s.sed hors d'oeuvres, I'm all for it. Whatever you want, Mags.”
Her grin intensified, making her eyes sparkle. ”What do you want, Ian?”
”You,” I said simply, skimming my thumb across her cheekbone.
She turned her face into my hand, kissing the center of my palm. ”That's what I want too.”
”Are you sure?”
”Positive.”
I clapped my hands together, rubbing them back and forth. ”Alright then. You get upstairs and get ready.”
”You're not going to tell me the plan?” Her eyes narrowed at me.
”It's a surprise.”
She huffed and folded her arms across her chest, so I gave her a light shove in the direction of the stairs. ”Get going. I'll send your mom up.”
Her curls bounced as she shook her head, but she blew a kiss in my direction before hurrying up the stairs.
I walked back into the room and stepped to the front, clearing my throat to get everyone's attention.
”Alright guys, here's the plan.”
Five hours later, the wedding was off to a late start, but the fact that it was happening at all was a d.a.m.n miracle. The pastor stood to my right, the cuffs of his black pants soaked from his trek through the snow after Ben retrieved him from his house. Icicle lights were tacked to the beams that ran the length and width of the barn, and a combination of folding and dining room chairs were scattered in front of me as seats for anyone who could make it.
Surprisingly, everyone in the area made the effort-some trekking by foot, others putting their faith in their oversized four-wheel-drive vehicles, or even breaking out an ATV if they had one. Mom had cooked just about everything we had in the freezer and pantry. There was an interesting combination of lasagna, fried chicken, and hot dogs, with side dishes of mashed potatoes, cubed cantaloupe, and green beans.
The generator kept up a steady hum, supplying energy to the s.p.a.ce heaters that were making this drafty old barn pa.s.sably warm. A set of speakers with a playlist quickly crafted by Gavin sat off to the side, waiting patiently for the end of the ceremony. The only thing we were waiting on was Felix and Maggie.
With a squealing of unoiled hinges, the barn door swung open and was quickly kicked shut, letting in an icy blast of air. Maggie was draped across Felix's arms, her hands locked around his neck. He'd insisted on carrying her so that she wouldn't get her dress wet. For a big guy who looked almost savage as he pounded away on the drums, he could be surprisingly sensitive.
Setting her down on her feet, he strutted up the makes.h.i.+ft aisle with a wink in my direction. Maggie ran a quick hand over her hair, her eyes traveling from the people gathered in front of her, to the twinkling lights, to me.
I couldn't stop looking at her, drinking her in. My throat closed up like I was having some type of allergic reaction, and for a second there I wasn't sure I was going to be able to breathe again. To say that she took my breath away would be cliche and trite, but it would also be entirely accurate.
Her dress, like her, was beautiful without being overstated. Vintage and delicate, lacy and white. A thick white ribbon wrapped around her waist, and the smallest of trains trailed behind her. Her thick hair had been gathered up, but small ringlets had fought their way free, brus.h.i.+ng against the smooth column of her throat.
As she walked down the aisle, her hand tucked in the crook of her dad's arm, Ben plucked out the chords to ”Can't Help Falling in Love,” serving double duty as Best Man and instrumentalist. My fingers found the heavy weight of the gold pocket watch, hidden in the front pocket of my pants. I squeezed it as I thought of Dad, naively hoping that somehow, some way, he was with me in that moment.
With every step forward she took, my heart slowed, beating with a certainty that was strong and sure. When she was standing right in front of me, eyes overflowing with tears that twinkled on her eyelashes, she threw her arms around my neck, sealing her lips to mine with a fierceness that was like a brand to my soul. I wrapped my arms around her slim waist, pulling her closer and staking my claim right back.
A loud clearing of a throat had us drawing apart.
The pastor adjusted his wireframe gla.s.ses on his nose with a slight twist of his lips, like he was fighting down a smile. ”Maybe save a little bit for after the ceremony, eh?”
The crowd behind us chuckled, and Maggie's cheeks flushed red-or really just redder, since they were already chapped from the arctic wind. I tweaked her nose, and she stuck her tongue out at me, stepping back into her place and sliding her hands down so they twined with mine.
The words came with ease, flowing without conscious thought as we vowed to love each other unconditionally, forsaking all others, and all that good stuff. It might have been the first time I was uttering them aloud, but my heart had already settled on those things a long time ago. The thin, platinum band I slid on her finger (no stone, no engagement ring by her insistence) shone in the low lighting, and I ran my thumb over it, excitement flipping my stomach at the sight.
We did it. She was mine. Mine. Just as much as I was hers, and always would be.
This time when we kissed it was as husband and wife, with a round of cheers going up around the room and the blinding flash of a camera. Someone had the bright idea to bring in buckets of snow, so as we walked back down the aisle we got pelted with the cold stuff. Felix, Gavin, and Ben snuck up behind me, shoving a handful of snow down the collar of my suit.
We were wet and freezing, but Maggie demanded wedding photos-outside, in the snow, with Rachel's little point-and-shoot. By the time we made it back inside, Maggie's dress was soaked, and we were all s.h.i.+vering and tinged blue. We laughed, we danced, we loved.
Underneath the cover of the stars, I carried a half-delirious Maggie back to the house, a honeymoon suite at the Marriott subst.i.tuted with my old bedroom. My fingers were so numb, I could barely feel the tiny zipper between my fingers to pull it down and free Maggie from her dress. She giggled, her frozen fingertips struggling equally with the elusive b.u.t.tons of my s.h.i.+rt.
The white fabric puddled at her feet, and she stepped out of it, left only in a white lacy bra and matching panties. Kicking off my shoes, I crossed to her, pressing her back into the wall and lifting her arms. I threaded my fingers through hers and pinned them above her, dipping my lips to her neck and licking at the dampness of melting snow.
She moaned, arching her back to press firmly against me. Hooking a foot around my leg, she tugged me closer, running her toes underneath the hem of my pants. I ground my hips against hers, making her gasp and flex her fingers in my grasp.
A heavy fist banging against the door had my lips briefly pausing against the cool skin of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”Go away!”
”Ian!” Ben yelled. ”Open up, I forgot to give you your wedding present!”
I couldn't tell if he was drunk or just insane. I had to bite my lip to stifle a groan as Maggie sunk her teeth into my earlobe, only letting up to shout at the door, ”Not now, Ben!”
”Trust me, you wanna open this door.”
Clearly, he wasn't giving up.
I blew out a frustrated sigh, and Maggie thumped her head back against the wall. ”This better be freaking amazing,” she muttered.
Readjusting myself in my pants, I cracked open the door and stuck my head out.
Ben grinned like he'd just won the lottery, and Felix and Gavin hung back just a few steps with s.h.i.+t-eating grins of their own.
Felix smirked at me. ”Getting an early start to your wedding night?”
”You doin' alright in there? Need any pointers?” Gavin asked, running his thumbs under the length of his suspenders.
I let out something that sounded close to a growl and went to slam the door shut, but Ben's hand appeared on the door, shoving it back open. He held up his phone. ”You'll never guess who I just talked to.”
”I don't know, Ben. Santa Claus?” He had to be kidding, he was interrupting this over a phone call?
”Ewan Marx,” he said, harshly enunciating the words.
I straightened, letting the door slip open another few inches. ”The Ewan Marx? Of Red Ocean Records?”
”The guy we talked to last night sent him our demo-”