She’s mine. I’ve wanted her so badly it’s hard to believe she wears my ring and bears my name, that we don’t have to spend another night apart from each other ever.
“I love you, Miranda Lord,” I say in her ear, as we head over to the yacht, where my team’s prepared a French feast fit for royalty.
“And I love you, Mr. Lord,” she says with a fetching smile that makes me want to whisk her away from our planned honeymoon on the French Riviera and claim her right here, right now, in our room right aboard this ship. But we stay with our small group of friends and family. We dance, we feast, and Shane toasts us with a toast that makes even me wipe a tear from my eyes.
“When Gabriel Lord sets his mind to something, that man gets what he wants,” Shane says, making us all laugh. Then he sobers, uncharacteristically serious. He holds my gaze, his voice husky with emotion. “And when he loves someone, he loves with all his heart. There are few people who can say they were created for one another, but I have to say, Miranda and Gabriel absolutely were.”
“Amen!” her mom hoots, and I can’t help but laugh.
Shane hands the mic to Lexi, who stands in front of us and sings a beautiful, soulful song of love and hopes and dreams. Miranda sighs and rests her head on my shoulder.
“I’ll have to re-do our mantra.”
“Our mantra?”
Her eyes twinkle as she looks up to me. “Mhm,” she says with a self-deprecating wince. “I used to always tell my girls and even myself that our cardinal rule was “never fall in love.” But I’ve gone ahead and broken it.”
I chuckle, lean over, and kiss her cheeks. “You have, Miranda. But I think that’s forgivable.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “I’m eternally grateful that you’re mine,” I say, my chest expanding with pride and victory. “And that you’ll always be my babygirl.”