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“What must we do for me to stay here forever?” he asks, breathing heavily. He rests his forehead against mine, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I sink into his comfort and warmth.
“We must make love,” I whisper. He stiffens and pulls away. I already know what he’s going to say, so I continue before he can get a word out. “We can do a handfast ceremony right now. No need to wait for the courthouse Monday. We can do this right here, right this second, and you can be inside me in a few minutes.”
Again, no hesitation, as he gives me a firm nod, full of determination. He steps back, his chest expanding as he takes a deep breath. “Let’s do it now, then.” He waves his arm toward the living room, and I look around.
I never thought my little, messy home would one day be the place I got married. It was never supposed to be. But here I am, ready to kneel on the stained carpet, tie a rope around our wrists, recite some ancient words, and marry this man.
This perfect, fictional man.
No, not fictional. Not anymore.
He’s real.
And he’s mine.
We take a few minutes separately to get dressed in something appropriate. Even though it doesn’t matter, because we won’t be wearing the clothes for long, we still want to look our best for such a monumental moment.
I find a dress in the back of my closet—one that barely zips up but makes my tits look incredible. After dressing, I make my way to the living room and sink onto the couch, looking around the room like it’s the first time I’ve ever seen it.
The rope now sits on the coffee table, the same colors as his tartan. Blues, greens, reds, and whites intertwine together, much like our bodies will later.
Then the door opens, and Ian emerges. He’s dressed how I first saw him—how I fell in love with him. In his billowing white shirt, that’s slightly dirty and stained, and smells rank, but is perfect. However, it’s his kilt that takes my breath away. The way it makes him look impossibly taller, and somehow even more gorgeous is mind-boggling.
He steps into the center of the room and extends his hand to me. There’s just a moment of hesitation on my part, and of course he notices. “What is it?” he murmurs, his voice a lover’s whisper.
“You’re sure about this?” I softly ask. “About us?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
His words are fierce; they’re full of all the undying love this miraculous man has for me, and butterflies erupt in my belly.
How did I get so lucky?
With a deep breath, I slide my palm against his, letting him pull me to my feet. I stand just a few inches in front of him, following his lead for once. In this moment, I feel lost. I feel unsure. I don’t know what to do—but he does.
Gently, he guides me to my knees. As I kneel, I watch him light the few candles around the room before turning the big light off. A soft orange glow dances across his features as he drops to his knees before me.
His hands find mine, and he gives me the gentlest squeeze, as if asking, “Are you ready?”
I lean forward and press my lips against his in response. The flavor of his spunk still lingers on my tongue—it’s a flavor I hope will always fill my mouth.
Without a word, he grabs the rope from the table and lifts our hands between us. “Repeat after me,” he mutters. My heart thunders against my ribcage as I watch him unwrap the rope.
In a language I don’t know, he begins to speak. His voice is low, nothing but a soft rumble deep in his chest. My mouth forms the words as if I’ve spoken them a million times, but in reality, it’s the first time they’ve ever left my lips.
But every word, every roll of the R’s, every sound made in the back of my throat…everything feels right. It all feels perfect. Like it’s a language I’ve known all along.
It’s him I’ve known all along, though. Even if I never dreamed of having my book boyfriend come to life, he’s always been a part of me. He’s always been inside me. He’s always been a part of my soul.
My soulmate.
A long blade pierces my skin, and a bead of crimson flows to the surface. He does the same to his wrist before pressing our wounds against each other, our lifeblood flowing together until we’re one. The silky, multi-colored strands glide against my skin as he wraps the rope around our combined hands.
Again, his deep, rumbling voice hits highs and lows, like the rolling hills of the Highlands. I say the words as if I’m in a trance. They settle over me, through me.
I’ve never felt more whole in my life.
He finally stops speaking, and silence falls over the room like a thick blanket. We stare at each other, his glowing green orbs spearing me right in the heart.
“Is that it?” I breathe, my chest heaving with every whispered word.
“That’s it.”
There’s just a brief second of pause, a moment where we’re suspended in time, letting our new reality settle over us. Then I grip the rope and yank it off our wrists.
“Finally,” I groan, my lips crashing against his. “You can shag me now.”
