I turn to him, but the official is already speaking.
We decided not to say any vows, so the ceremony is quick. Then he’s sliding a ring onto my finger. I blink. It’s a platinum band that matches with my engagement ring. I slide the coordinating, slim band onto his ring finger, and we’re done. I step back, but he circles his fingers around my wrist.
"Not so fast." He tugs, I lose my balance, and he catches me against his chest. He wraps his other arm about my waist, then closes his mouth over mine. No half-assed, chaste pecking on my lips. This is a full-fledged meeting of his mouth with mine, his tongue sliding over mine, his lips sucking on mine as he takes—and gives. It’s a mutual melding of our desires—our hearts beating in synchronicity, our breaths intermingled, my arms twined around his neck. I don’t close my eyes and neither does he. The rest of the world—the clapping by our family, the whistles from our friends, the smile of the official—all of it fades.
It’s just me and Liam. Liam and me. And his bottomless, ocean-like eyes into which I’m sinking, sinking without an anchor. Without the want to swim. Without the need to save myself. My entire life has been building toward this moment where I’m trapped by the weight of his body, the heat that spools from his chest, the heaviness of everything that has transpired between us, and the possibility of a future together. He sees me like no other person, trusts me enough to share his secret, hints at his proclivities—which should scare me, but honestly, don’t.
I want to find out everything about this man. About how his past impacted him, and about why it’s so important for him to inherit the family business, a reason that I think goes beyond just money. It’s something he’s built, something he’s proud of, something he wants to put his stamp on.
Something he cherishes as much as the idea of being married to me. Something he hasn’t realized yet.
He must sense my thoughts, for he pulls away. My breath is my own again, my heart pounding like the wings of a caged bird. The noise of clapping and cheering washes over us.
He frowns into my face. "What’s wrong?"
I shake my head.
"Tell me, LadyBird."
I clutch my fingers together, the weight of the new ring weighing me down further. "The wedding… Coming here… It’s a lot to process."
He brushes a strand of hair that’s blown across my face. "You need a drink."
I chuckle. "That, too."
He wraps his arm about my waist, then turns me so we both face our friends and families. They’re all on their feet smiling. We walk forward, and birdseed showers us.
Then, Zara is at my side. She hugs me. "Congratulations, babe. Thanks a lot—you made me cry again." She laughs.
She steps back, and the rest surge forward. First Summer, followed by my mother and Liam’s mother, then Amelie and the rest of the Sisterhood-of-the-Seven, most of whom are here, with the exception of Baron and Ava who are traveling.
Meanwhile, Liam is slapped on his shoulder by Weston, his hand shaken by Hunter.
Karma hugs me, while Sinclair and Michael congratulate Liam.
My brother, with Tiny straining at his leash, approaches me. He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. "You look beautiful, baby sister."
I throw my arms around Dorian and hug him. "I’m so pleased you could make it. And Tiny, too."
As if hearing his name, Tiny gives a bark, then leaps forward. Tiny tears his leash from Dorian’s hand, then crashes into the chairs. He uses them for leverage and jumps over the others. He hits the lawn and, while barking, races toward the open bottle of champagne that’s been left on one of the cocktail tables set up outside the tent.
"Tiny!" Dorian yells. He runs toward our Great Dane, but it’s too late. Tiny jumps up and places his paws on the table. He neatly snatches the bottle in his jaws, upturns it, and in one gulp, empties it down his gullet.
* * *
"The dog likes to drink?" Zara stares at Tiny who’s sprawled on the grass next to my feet. "He emptied the entire bottle of Cristal, in one go." There’s awe in her voice. And it takes a lot to surprise this woman.
Tiny raises his head, then crawls toward her. With a heavy sigh he plonks his head on his paws, then stares up at her from under his long eyelashes.
"He also does an army crawl?" She blinks.
"He’s Tiny." I shrug.
"Like that explains everything?"
I chuckle, "He’s been this way since he came to live with us. The first time he jumped on a champagne bottle and downed it, my Ma nearly had a heart attack. She rushed him to the vet, who examined him and couldn’t find anything wrong with him. They kept him overnight for observation. He was sick the next morning and they concluded he had an hangover. As you can see, he seems to thrive on it."
Tiny makes a whining sound at the back of his throat, as if he knows we’re talking about him.