Page 87 of Bound To Be Mine

“I don’t get it,” he said. “How would that even work?”

“She wanted to cut the dress at the reception instead of a cake. So guests could eat it.” I looked at him.

“Like all of it?” he asked. “Was she going to be naked underneath? What kind of fucking weddings are you doing?”

I burst into laughter. “She was going to wear some white lace thing. Did I mention she met her very wealthy husband while she was dancing?”

“That explains some things. What did you say?”

“I said several things. Basically, it was along the lines of absolutely not. And then I found a baker who made a display cake designed to look exactly like her dress, which she could cut and serve while wearing the actual dress. She agreed.”

“That is genuinely impressive problem-solving.”

“I know.” I watched a wave come in and retreat. “But my personal favorite horror story was a woman who informed me, at our third planning meeting, that she would like to have someone stationed at the entrance of the ceremony with red paint.”

He turned to look at me fully. “Red paint. What on earth for?”

“To throw on any guest who arrived wearing white.” I kept my voice even. “Because the only person wearing white at the wedding should be the bride. If anyone dared to try and steal her thunder, she literally wanted them painted red.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Not even a little.”

“Holy shit. Did Adrian know all of these stories before he pitched a deal? I feel like we might have jumped into something we’re not ready to deal with.”

“Trust me, event planning is not for the weak,” I said.

Briggs nodded. “So, did you spray guests with red paint?”

“No. I had an insert in the invitations that provided a dress code. I didn’t add an explicit threat, but I did include a line there would be backup dresses or jackets should someone show up in white. I think anybody that actually met the bride knew it wasn’t an empty threat—it was a promise.”

Briggs was laughing. “You know, given all of that, maybe it’s a blessing we went the Elvis route.”

“Our wedding was the most efficient one I’ve ever been involved in,” I agreed. “No paint, no cake, no melting sculptures. Just Elvis, a veil, and cheap flowers.”

He stopped walking.

I turned to find him watching me. “What?” I asked.

His hand came up to the side of my face. The sound of the waves surrounded us. He looked into my eyes. I didn’t need to hear the words. I could see them in his gaze. He leaned down and brushed his lips over mine. The definition of a butterfly kiss.

And then his lips were back and they pressed against mine. I parted my lips and welcomed his tongue against mine. His hand slid down and around to cup the back of my head. I leaned into him.

He pulled back first. Looked at me.

“We should go home,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

The drive home was quick but it felt like an eternity. What followed was a night of pure bliss. Slow and tender. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. Yes, men could be beautiful. I fell asleep in his arms once again. It was quickly becoming my favorite thing in the world.

The following morning, I had nowhere to be. I got up before Briggs and headed downstairs to make coffee. I had noticed the groceries he stocked. I wasn’t expecting guests and I was rarely home. Groceries were not a priority. Seeing his choices was like getting an inside look into the man. He liked salty snacks but with a bit of healthy preference. Little rice cakes. Puffed popcorn. And jerky. The man liked jerky. And fruit.

I grabbed a yogurt and started coffee. The yogurt was unsatisfactory. The plump strawberries were calling to me, but unlike his basic fruit, I squirted whipped cream on a plate to drag the fruit through.

“That looks good.”

I jumped, almost forgetting there was a man in the house. The fruit was that good. “Want one?” I asked.