Chapter 18 Nathan
Chapter Eighteen
Nathan
“I now pronounce you—”
That’s all I hear.
The rest fades into static.
Because something inside me breaks loose—or maybe it finally breaks free.
I don’t wait.
I don’t think.
I don’t breathe.
I just move.
One second Adrianna is standing beside me, looking stunned and beautiful under the glittering lights, and the next, I’m pulling her into my arms.
She lets out a soft, startled gasp—one I feel vibrate straight through my bones—but I don’t stop.
I can’t.
My hand slides to her waist, warm silk under my palm, and I bend my head, eyes locked on her lips.
The prize.
The promise.
The thing I have been starving for since I was a boy.
I kiss her.
Because how can I resist?
Holy.
Shit.
It’s better—infinitely better—than anything I ever imagined.
Better than memory.
Better than fantasy.
Better than every love song I’ve ever written or tried to write.
Her lips are soft.
Warm.
Perfect.
They give way to me like they remember—like she remembers.
Sugar and vanilla—God, she tastes like sugar and vanilla—but there’s something else, too.
Something that’s just her.
Something that makes my knees threaten to give out.
Her sweetness.
Her fire.
Her truth.
And she’s kissing me back.
That’s the part that nearly destroys me.
Because at first it’s hesitant—one second of shock—and then she melts.
Her mouth opens under mine, her hands sliding up my chest, clutching the front of my shirt like she needs me to stay right there—which is perfect, because I’m not fucking going anywhere.
The officiant keeps talking in the background, but it’s all muffled noise.
Filler.
Useless.
The only sounds I hear are her soft breaths, my pounding heartbeat.
And the applause—light, happy, emotional applause—coming from behind us.
Bella is cheering.
Mrs. Bosco is crying.
Someone whistles.
Someone else claps harder.
But none of it pulls me away.
I sink deeper into the kiss, into her.
Her curves press against me.
Her fingers curl at the back of my neck.
Her lips glide with mine like we never stopped, like we’ve been waiting sixteen years to start again.
This—THIS—is home.
Not the house.
Not the fame.
Not the money.
Her.
I kiss her like she is the first breath after drowning.
And she lets me.
She lets me.
And holy hell—I’m never letting her go again.