I could imagine how we looked: not even married yet, clutching each other as if our lives depended on it, my feet exposed as Bennett spun me, the bottoms dark with mud and stark against the perfect white of my gown.
Carefully, carefully he put me down and beamed down at me. “Hey.”
I swallowed back a sound that would probably have come out somewhere between a cry and a gasp and said, “Hey yourself.”
We hadn’t seen each other since I’d been kidnapped from the room just as we were about to attack each other, and I could see it in his eyes: he wanted to kiss me. He wanted to kiss me with such hunger that it made us both vibrate, stare at each other’s mouths, lick our lips in unison.
Soon, I mouthed.
He gave me a tiny nod, and we turned together to face the officiant, the Honorable James Marsters, who appeared completely baffled.
He leaned closer, whispering, “Have we finished the ceremony?” His watery blue eyes swam with confusion, and he peeked down at his notes before looking back at us.
With the sweetness of his expression and the perfect timing of this question, I bit my lip to keep from laughing out loud. Bennett slid his amused eyes to me and then back to the man before us.
“No, Judge. I apologize . . . my wife-to-be and I got a little carried away with our greeting.” He tilted his head and murmured, “Neither the first nor the last time, actually.”
“At least we know what we’re getting into,” I said, and beside me Sara laughed. I handed her my bouquet and turned to face Bennett as he took hold of my hands.
And once I was up there with him, I wanted to savor every second. The judge read through his opening readings about love, and marriage. I absorbed every word, somehow, while still being completely lost in the intensity of Bennett’s expression.
As I recited my vows, I felt him shift closer, relished the warm hum of his skin pressed to mine where our hands met.
When it was his turn, I watched his lips as he repeated every single vow:
I promise to be your lover and friend . . .
Your ally in conflict and your accomplice in mischief . . .
Your greatest fan and your toughest adversary . . .
His eyes twinkled and he tickled the palm of my hand with the pad of his thumb when he said this, and then, very slowly, he looked down at my mouth and licked his lips.
The bastard.
His eyes darkened and his voice lower when he repeated, I promise to be faithful, loyal, and put your needs above all others . . . this is my vow to you, Chloe, my only lover and my equal in all things.
Suddenly my dress felt cinched too tight. The breeze off the water seemed too weak.
The officiant turned to me and asked, “Chloe, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To honor and cherish him, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish always?”
The first time I tried to push the words out, they got stuck beneath the weight of emotion in my throat. Finally, I managed, “I do.”
He turned and asked Bennett the same thing, and without hesitation, Bennett’s deep voice easily carried the two life-altering syllables: “I do.”
We each turned, he to Henry, and I to Sara, to retrieve our wedding rings. And as the judge spoke to us about the meaning of the rings, and I slid Bennett’s onto his finger, the only thing I could feel was the brilliance of Bennett’s smile as he stared down at it.