Chapter 23-Esme
Holy. Shit.
I’m married.
Again.
The thought doesn’t just hit me—it bursts inside my chest like fireworks, bright and loud and impossible to ignore.
Only this time?
This time it’s real.
No loopholes.
No missing paperwork.
No backpedaling to where we’re technically not married.
Just us.
Benji slides the ring—a beautiful antique silver ring with a small sapphire in the center that he had in his pocket, the same one we found in a tiny pawn shop near the ocean three and a half years ago, the one that I left on top of the storage boxes filled with his things from our old place the day I left in my van—onto my finger, and I swear my whole body hums the second it settles there.
My breath catches in my throat when he hands me the matching band to slide onto his ring finger.
It’s not even about the metal or the stone—it’s what it means.
What it fixes.
What it claims.
What it promises.
My breath catches.
“You kept them?” I whisper.
“Always,” he replies.
And then he’s kissing me.
Hard.
Deep.
Like he’s been holding it back and now he doesn’t have to anymore.
Like this is it.
Like this is forever.
The officiant is still talking—something about signatures and copies and legal filings—but I don’t hear a word of it.
Because Benji’s mouth is on mine and everything else just disappears.
The world fades.
The noise drops out.
And it’s just him.
Just us.
Just this overwhelming, dizzying, blissful feeling that I didn’t even know I was allowed to have again.
“Come on, Mrs. Gunner,” he growls against my lips, his voice rough and a little breathless, like he’s barely holding it together. “We gotta get outta here.”
Mrs. Gunner.
My heart stutters.
My cheeks ache from smiling.
“Where to, Mr. Gunner?” I tease, even though my voice is shaky and soft and full of something I don’t even try to hide.
His eyes flash.
Possessive.
Certain.
“Stargazer Hotel,” he says. “We’ve got a suite waiting.”
I gasp.
Actually gasp.
Because I know that place.
Everyone knows that place.
It’s not just fancy—it’s ridiculous.
Luxury on top of luxury, the kind of place influencers drool over and millionaires treat like a casual stopover.
“Benji,” I breathe, my fingers tightening around his hand. “That place is—”
“Expensive?” he cuts in, smirking just a little.
“Yeah!”
“Shh.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead this time. “Don’t worry about that, Sweetheart. Not anymore.”
My chest tightens again, but this time it’s not pain.
It’s something else.
Something warm.
Safe.
“The ranch is doing good,” he continues. “I did good overseas. We got money, Baby. Plenty of it.”
My throat goes thick.
“I have some too,” I say softly, because I do.
Because I built something, too.
And I know I’m not that girl anymore—the one with nothing but a broken heart and a van—but I lifted myself up when I had to and I’m proud of it.
He looks at me then.
Really looks.
And something in his expression shifts.
Softens.
Like he’s proud too.
“That’s yours,” he says firmly. “Always will be.”
My breath catches again.
“And I want you to know something,” he adds, his tone changing—more serious now. Grounded. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean you stop working. Doesn’t mean you give up your life.”
My eyes widen.
“Benji—”
“We’ll figure it out,” he says, squeezing my hand. “Schedules. Trips. Your vlog. All of it.”
Hope blooms so fast it almost hurts.
“Just,” he starts and hesitates for a fraction of a second, and I see it.
A flicker.
A hint of uncertainty.
“None of that dating app shit, okay?”
He’s trying to sound casual, but I hear it anyway.
That quiet edge of don’t leave me again.
Don’t replace me.
Don’t choose someone else.
And God—it wrecks me.
Because how could he not know?
How could he not feel it the way I do?
I laugh softly, stepping closer, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
“None of that dating app shit,” I promise.
His shoulders relax just a little.
Not completely.
But enough.
We step out of the chapel together, hand in hand, and Vegas hits me all over again.
The lights.
The noise.
The heat rising off the pavement.
It’s chaos.
Absolute chaos.
But tonight?
Tonight it feels like a celebration.
Like the whole city is throwing a party just for us.
I’m floating.
Actually floating.
Like my feet aren’t touching the ground.
Like everything that hurt me, everything that broke me, everything I thought I lost—just got rewritten.
We pass a street vendor, and before I can even process it, Benji’s buying an ice cream cone.
“Chocolate with sprinkles for my wife, please,” he says casually.
My wife.
I bite back a laugh as he hands it to me, and we share it as we walk—him taking a bite, me taking the next, our shoulders brushing, our fingers still linked.
It’s delicious.
And so simple.
So normal.
And somehow?
It means everything.
We reach the Stargazer in what feels like minutes, though it must’ve been longer.
The building towers above us, glass and gold and glittering lights that reflect the city in a thousand directions.
Inside?
It’s even more unreal.
Marble floors.
Crystal chandeliers.
People dressed like they belong on magazine covers.
And then there’s me.
Jeans.
Tank top.
Hair a little damp from the heat outside.
I feel it immediately—that little flicker of I don’t belong here.
But Benji doesn’t let go of my hand.
Doesn’t hesitate.
Doesn’t even notice.
Or if he does?
He doesn’t care.
“Oh, shit,” he mutters suddenly. “Gotta say hi to this guy.”
Before I can ask who, he’s already guiding me across the lobby.
Toward a couple that looks like they stepped out of a billionaire’s gala.
Black tie.
Perfect posture.
The kind of effortless wealth you don’t fake.
“Benji Gunner?” the man says, surprise flickering across his face. “That you?”
“Sammy Ramirez,” Benji replies, gripping his hand.
Something about the name rings a bell, but I can’t place it.
“This is my wife, Esme,” Benji adds.
The word lands differently this time.
Stronger.
Public.
Real.
“Very nice to meet you,” the man says, smiling, but he makes no move to shake my hand, which I kind of appreciate. “This is my wife, Aella.”
She turns to me—and her smile lights up her whole face.
“I love those jeans,” she says immediately.
I blink.
“Uh—thank you?”
But then she leans in a little closer.
Studies me.
And her eyes go wide.
“Oh my God,” she breathes. “I know you.”
I laugh nervously. “I mean, I have a vlog?”
“Pssh! A vlog? You’re Plus Size Life with Esme and a Van!” she squeals, grabbing my hands like we’re old friends.
I stare at her.
Stunned.
“You know her?” Sammy asks, amused.
“She’s amazing,” Aella says. “I bought that bonnet you reviewed—you know, the one from that stay-at-home mom in Detroit?”
My jaw drops.
“Yes! Oh my God, yes!”
“It changed my life,” she says earnestly.
And just like that, we’re talking.
Laughing.
Connecting.
Like the world isn’t spinning out of control around me.
Like I didn’t just get married thirty minutes ago.
Like everything is right.
“Honey,” Sammy cuts in gently, “we’re gonna be late.”
“Oh! Right,” Aella says, glancing at him. “We’ve got tickets to see Nathan Thorn.”
“I love him,” I blurt out.
She grins. “Same.”
Both men frown at us like we’ve just spoken another language.
We roll our eyes in perfect sync and laugh.
It’s easy.
Effortless.
And when we say our goodbyes, I feel lighter than I have in years.
Like maybe—maybe—this life I built?
And the one I almost lost?
Can exist together.
Can work.
Can be something real.
Benji’s hand tightens in mine as we head toward the elevators, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
Grounding.
Reassuring.
Claiming.
And I let myself lean into it.
Into him.
Into this.
Because for the first time in a long time—I’m not afraid of what comes next.
Not even a little.
We get our keys and Benji speaks to the concierge for a moment—something about room service and I grin.
We enter a private elevator that will bring us to our penthouse suite, and Benji is already kissing me before the doors close.
Neither of us notices the man across the lobby, watching…