Chapter 38
CONNOR
I’ll admit, there’s a little swagger in my step when I leave the interview with Monsieur Marais, the immigration official. I hope he gives us the green card stamp of approval, but before I get ahead of myself, I find Cateline sitting on a rock along the river’s edge.
“Hey there, Beauty,” I call.
“Are you suggesting you’re the Beast?”
“You tamed me.”
Her hand cups my cheek. “No, you’re not a beast. You’re a handsome man who surprised me with his depth, manners, and kissing abilities.”
I feign shock. “Those came as a surprise to you?”
“Well, no. I guess not. But can we leave the whole Wolf thing behind?”
“Wolf thing? What do you mean? I’m Connor Garrett Wolfe with an E.” I wink.
“And I look forward to being Madame Wolfe with an E.”
“Cateline Wolfe. I like it. We’ll no longer fight like cats and dogs. No fighting at all, not even battles waged within.” I brush my thumb along her lower lip. “You brought the two separate pieces of me together, Kitty Cat.”
Her smile is demure and I make a note to get her accustomed to accepting compliments.
She says, “I liked your response to Mr. Marais about winning.”
“I’d tell you the same thing, but I have a question.”
The sunlight catches her eyes and she squints.
“Early on, you told me that you’re always honest, that dishonesty is for weak minds.”
She nods.
“But I think I caught you in a fib, Kitty Cat. A little white lie, if you will.”
Her eyebrows lift with surprise. “I stand by what I said, but what do you mean?”
“When we met, there was lots of room in my life for women, just not relationships. And there was no room in your life for men because you had to stay focused on your career.”
“At the time, yes...” she lengthens the word, waiting for me to drop the truth bomb.
“This is true, but you told me that I’m hateable and I think you were lying.”
She closes the space between us, leaning into me. Chin lifted and eyes soft, she says, “No, Mr. Wolfe, you are very, very lovable.”
“So we can get rid of the not-love list?”
“We can feed it to the fish.”
“So you like that I’m scruffy?” I ask, recalling her little heart bullet point items.
“You cleaned up nicely.”
“What if I grew back the hair?” I motion to the length it was pre-Shonda’s evil silver scissors of doom.
She slugs me in the arm. “There is only room in this relationship for one bun.”
In one swift motion, I pull the pin from her hair and it cascades over her shoulders in shiny ripples of silk. I lean in and inhale. “Your hair is beautiful and so are your eyes, nose, your lips, all of you.”
Her mouth twists. “You haven’t seen my feet. Ballet did a number on them.”
“I love them all the more. What about my height? Is it off the not love list?”
She lengthens against me. “Better to reach things off high shelves, my dear,” she says in a deep voice, in an adorable imitation of the Big Bad Wolf.
I chuckle.
“And your hands. Better to touch me with. Along with your lips.” Cat plants a soft kiss on mine.
“I like this new list so far. As for being uncooperative and stubborn?”
“I’ve rethought those. You’ve worked on both and I crossed them off a couple of weeks ago.”
“Last one...”
“I would say we’re very compatible.”
“In every way?”
“In every way,” she repeats.
A small grin flits onto my lips. Hers lift at the same time. Our gazes flicker and spark. Inside, the wolf no longer makes demands. He’s satisfied, full, and complete. And if I’m not mistaken, a little purr escapes Cateline’s throat.
“So, we’re going to do this?” I ask.
“You tell me,” she answers.
Taking a deep breath, I say, “Miss Berghier, I would enjoy the honor of your company at dinner.”
“Do you mean, am I hungry and do I want a bite to eat?” she translates into Connor-speak.
We both laugh.
I slide her grandmother’s engagement ring off her finger and pinch it between mine. “And, Cateline, would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
She grips my jaw and says, “Oui.”
We sink into a long kiss. I circle my arms around her, drowning out any sense of doubt or hesitation and leaving only love on the surface.
The next days are a flurry of wedding preparation. Apparently, Mrs. Berghier had everything planned, intended for Cateline and Gaston. Thankfully, I don’t understand French because they do more than a little bickering.
Cat confides that she loves her mother’s plans, just not that they were made with Gaston in mind. In the end, I think the two make up because the general tone turns from coarse to gentle, and the wedding is a fresh field of lavender, light, and has delicious food.
Personally, I never thought much about my wedding, so as long as Cateline meets me at the end of the aisle, I’m a happy man.
We hold the ceremony at a little stone chapel in town. It’s nothing like Cain’s and part of me wishes my brother were here, so he could see that his life doesn’t have to be one long battle.
There are flowers everywhere, including a wreath of lavender in Cat’s long, flowing hair.
I hear every word the minister says, but cannot take my eyes off this woman—her warm dark eyes, the lift of her cheeks as she smiles, the soft brush of her lashes when she blinks, the gentle slope of her neck leading to a white satin gown that hugs her figure.
The words, “I do,” are out of my mouth almost before I’m supposed to speak them.
Our kiss at the end is one for the history books, and pronounced husband and wife, we stride down the aisle amidst howls, hoots, and flower petals.
If the guys could see me now, they’d tackle me after I exit the church. Unfortunately, they’re all busy, though I do get calls, texts, and well-wishes, including one from Coach Hammer who asks me four times if this is some kind of prank.
The reception is in the Berghier’s garden and thankfully, nothing like our engagement party.
Cat’s cousin Giselle has her parents bring a chocolate cake from Concordia, there are more flowers, and the little glowing lights on all the tables remind me of fireflies.
There’s no sign of Gaston. I’m guessing he’s still cleaning shaving cream out of his car.
Cateline and I dance almost all night, and before it’s over, a little yap, yap, yap sounds from the driveway.
Someone shouts in French about a chin or a chien, then I realize this is my cue and quickly settle the arrangement I made at the spur of the moment.
“Cateline, I got you a wedding present,” I say, snuggling a little white bichon frise puppy close.
She squeals with delight and gathers the dog in her arms as the little puppy’s tail wags uncontrollably. “You got this puppy for me?”
“Technically, she’s for us.”
The dog licks Cat’s cheek and paddles her paws in the air with excitement. “She’s a marshmallow fluff, a floofy floof of love.” Cateline says a bunch of words in French.
“She already has a name.”
“You named her?” Cat’s eyes widen.
“If that’s okay. Her name is Bijou. It means jewel.”
She laughs. “I know that, silly. It’s perfect.”
“It’s what you mean to me. You are the jewel of my life, Kitty Cat.”
She kisses me on the cheek and then fusses over the dog. “My little Bijou. Oh, but wait. I have something for you, Connor.” Cateline rushes inside and returns with a wrapped box.
I pull the ribbon and open it. Inside is a scrapbook with a photo of us on the front. I look closer and realize it’s one from @ChicksDigWolves and one of her side-by-sides.
“It’s the story of us, starting at the beginning.”
I flip through, finding mostly empty pages, but a few from our time in Intherness, then North Carolina. “And lots of room to make new memories.”
I kiss her on both cheeks. “I love it.”
“This has been the perfect day.”
“In every way.”
“There’s just one thing, where are we going on our honeymoon?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” I produce a letter that came this morning from the immigration office. I intercepted it when Mr. Berghier got the mail.
“Did you plan something?” Cat asks.
“Sort of. What do you think of a homey-moon?” I ask before I announce that her green card was approved.
She does a ballet leap into my arms, wrapping her legs around me. They’re like a pair of vices, but I spin her around and we cheer with excitement.
She expresses her gratitude and relief, then asks, “Wait, what is a homey-moon?”
“So glad you asked.” I wink.