Chapter 42
My sleepy eyes open to blackness, hands flying up to meet silky fabric.
“Morning, dollface,” Connor drawls. “Don’t take off your blindfold. Trust me. Everything will make sense soon.”
It’d better because I’m wildly confused. Did he say it’s morning? It should be the middle of the night—the drive home from the Dreamhouse is only four hours. My seatbelt’s still across my chest, so we’re still in the truck.
Connor’s door opens before a strange voice says, “Mr. Hayes, welcome. Here’s the item you requested, and your keycards, thank you for checking in early. The bellhop will follow with your bags and the valet will handle your vehicle.”
We’re at a hotel, a fancy one from the sound of it. My door opens, startling me, and Connor unbuckles my seatbelt. He takes my hand and coaxes me out of the truck.
“Trust me, baby,” he says.
He carefully navigates me across asphalt, cobblestones, slick hard flooring, and stops abruptly.
Noises overwhelm me without my sight—conversations, laughing, glasses clinking, the ding of the elevator arriving.
Connor leads me onto the elevator and must press the button to our floor—wherever that is. The elevator stops and Connor takes my hand as we walk across plush carpet.
He lets go of me and the beep tells me he tapped the room key to the door, which he pushes open. My blindfold is gently removed, and I blink from the intrusive lights.
“Connor! What in the world?” I chuckle, as he sweeps me off my feet and carries me bridal style across the threshold of the hotel room. He sets me down, holding me to face him, his back to the door.
“What’s going on?” I ask, excitement and nerves bubbling in my stomach.
Connor takes me by the hand and leads me through a stunning hotel suite. The entryway opens into a vast living space, leading to the bedroom and en suite bathroom. He stops us in front of floor-to-ceiling windows.
It takes me a moment to register what I’m seeing. The dazzling lights of the Las Vegas Strip glitter brilliantly in the dark. People meander the street, from businesspeople to drunken bachelors and bachelorettes.
“You brought me to Vegas?” I ask, stunned stupid.
When I turn around for Connor’s answer, my heart skips a beat.
He’s down on one knee. My hands fly to my face, covering my mouth in shock and tears immediately flood my eyes.
“Baby, don’t cry, please. I can’t take it.” He looks terrified I’m crying so I reassure him.
“They’re happy tears, I promise.”
He clears his throat, visibly nervous, which I find adorable.
“Delilah, I knew from the moment I found you sitting in the dirt you were something special. My heart was drawn to you like a string connected us, pulling me towards you. I didn’t know then the little girl in the pretty yellow dress would become the center of my universe and the reason I breathe.”
I’m desperately trying to listen, but my heart’s pounding in my ears and I’m sniffling back tears. A voice in my head’s shouting IT’S HAPPENING!
“I’ve spent my life loving you, taking care of you, and making big plans. It took us a long time to get here, but I wouldn’t change our journey because we ended up where we belong.
“Watching your sister get married broke something inside me—my patience. I’m done waiting to make you mine forever. Delilah Anne Tate, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
Connor pulls a black box from thin air and opens it, revealing a stunning pale-yellow diamond ring in a white gold, vintage style setting. Beside it rests two matching white gold bands—one small and thin, the other large and wide.
I collapse, falling into him, bowling us backwards on the floor.
“Yes. A million times yes! All I’ve ever wanted was to marry you, Connor. Yes, I’ll marry you!” I say through restrained sobs as he holds me tight and kisses the tears from my face.
“Baby, I promise to be the best husband you could ever dream of,” he swears, kissing me firmly on the lips.
A knock at the door ends our moment and Connor helps me up to answer the door. To my surprise, a staff member brings in a packed room service cart, while another wheels in a wide clothing rack full of garment bags, loaded with boxes on the bottom rack.
“Is everything to your liking, Mr. Hayes?”
“Yes, thank you. Everything’s on schedule, so please proceed with the itinerary,” Connor says, so formally it makes me giggle.
I have so many questions I’m dying to ask, but Connor must’ve worked tirelessly organizing everything and I promise myself I’ll go with the flow and enjoy any and every surprise he has for me.
“I thought you might be hungry, I know I’m starving.” Connor lifts the silver domes from the plates revealing decadent pastries, crisp bacon, and cut melon and berries.
My stomach grumbles, and I take a plate from him and pick through the miniature bakery. Connor pops the cork on a bottle of sparkling cider and fills our glasses.
We sit to eat our lovely breakfast—or midnight snack, I still don’t know what time it is—and Connor fills me in a bit more on his grand plans.
“I know you would’ve done some of this with your sister and Liv, but I wanted today to be about the two of us. I’m the only other one here, so, if you’re not superstitious about it, I’ll have to help you into your wedding dress,” he says, a blush coloring his cheeks.
“My wedding dress?” I ask, hope and excitement rising like helium.
He leads me to the garment rack and explains, “I wasn’t sure what you’d want, but I wanted you to have choices.” He starts unzipping garment bags and I nearly faint.
“I rented a few different wedding dresses. I hope you like one of them but if you don’t, I’ll find you whatever you want,” he says nervously.
Intricate lace, slippery satin, and wispy chiffon delight my senses as I run my fingers over the delicate fabrics.
I pinch my side to prove I’m not dreaming. This is beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined and this extraordinary man did it all for me. I can’t stop the tears escaping my eyes, but I wipe them away the best I can.
“I love you so much. I would’ve happily married you in our normal clothes with a twist-tie ring. This is everything. I can never thank you enough.” Connor kisses my forehead, gripping the back of my neck.
“Never thank me. This is less than you deserve—you deserve the world, but I’m honored to give you this,” he says.
Hanging on the rack are five dresses, all in an elegant off-white.
A classic princess ballgown, a tea length satin slip dress, an ethereal chiffon masterpiece, a fitted mermaid gown, and a backless lace mini dress.
The styles are vastly different, but somehow, suit me perfectly.
I’m blown away by what Connor’s put together for me.
A tiny black bag reveals a delicate white lace thong. None of the dresses require a bra, so I strip naked and slip on the thong.
“Baby, you’re killing me, how am I supposed to keep my hands off you?” Connor groans, hands balling into fists at his side.
“You’re not, I want your hands on me,” I say.
His rough hands skate across my body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He grows hard in his jeans but doesn’t act on it. He simply helps me in and out of the dresses, revering my body with gentle touches.
I revel in playing dress-up, trying on each dress and gleefully twirling in front of the mirrored wall. Each dress is met with compliments that make me blush and want to take them off to do other activities instead.
I surprise myself, and Connor, by choosing the backless lace mini dress.
It makes me feel delicate and feminine, while sexy and confident.
The halter-top drapes elegantly, showcasing my cleavage and is fitted to my waist, baring my shoulders and back.
It hangs perfectly to mid-thigh, like it was made specifically for me.
Connor’s deft fingers carefully zip the dress, from my butt to the small of my back.
He gathers my hair over my shoulder and marks me with kisses on the exposed skin of my neck. His beard scratches, heating my blood.
A swift slap to the ass sends me on my way, high on his adoration.
As I twirl in the mirror, loving my wedding dress, Connor brings five shoe boxes to the sofa for me to choose from. I pluck a strawberry from the room service tray and delight in the sweet tang on my tongue.
I laugh in glee at the shoes Connor’s arranged for me. The open boxes showcase bedazzled white Chuck Taylors, ballet flats, strappy heels, classic pumps, and an impossibly beautiful pair of cowboy boots.
I don’t bother trying on the other shoes because I know exactly what I want.
The boots are a delicate snip toe with a slightly higher heel, in light tan leather. Intricate white leather and stitching adorns the boot as if it’s draped in lace. My fingers reverently graze the crystals studded into the design.
“They’re yours, baby. I didn’t think we needed to buy the dress—I mean, I will in a heartbeat if you want to keep it—but I intended on buying whatever shoes you chose along with these boots. They were yours the moment I saw them.”
Connor motions for me to sit on the couch and he gets down on his knees, rolling soft white wool socks up my calves, and slips my feet into the boots like I’m Cinderella. He helps me to my feet, and I admire myself in the mirror.
“You look incredible, doll. I can’t wait to marry you,” Connor says, kissing my beard-burned shoulder, already sensitive to his touch.
“Would you like to choose your jewelry?” he asks.
“My goodness, you thought of everything, didn’t you?” I chuckle in disbelief.
He opens a jewelry case revealing pearls, glimmering precious metals, flashy jewels, and a ribbon choker. To his surprise, I choose nothing. When he balks, I explain.
“I want to marry you with only my sun necklace and my engagement ring.”
“You can have whatever you want, baby,” he assures.
“I know, but all I want is what you gave me.” I hold up my left hand, obsessed with my ring, and pinch the worn sun between my fingers with my right.
Another knock at the door unveils a beautician here to do my hair and makeup. Connor steps out to get dressed and she gets to work.
I opt to keep my hair down, pinned behind one ear, so she irons it flat until it shines like silk. She keeps my makeup natural, but glams me up with a smoky eye, something seductive and more than I do myself. The lovely woman packs up and wishes me a long and happy marriage.
Boots thud behind me and I turn to see the man of my dreams looking like he stepped out of a wet dream.
Connor’s wearing a three-piece black tuxedo with a white pearl snap adorned with an elegant bolo tie, cowboy boots shined within an inch of their life, and atop his head sits a white cowboy hat.
I’ve died and gone to heaven. Suddenly I wish the wedding would hurry up and be finished so I can show this man just how appreciative of him I am.
“You really know how to stroke my ego.” Connor chuckles as my eyes greedily drink him in.
“You’re unbelievably sexy, Connor. How did I get so lucky?” I purr, running my fingers along the lapels of his tux.
“I’m the lucky one, dollface. Have you looked in a mirror today?” he jokes.
Connor checks the time. The faintest glow of orange crests over the glamourous buildings on the strip. Getting married at sunrise will be unforgettable.
I’ll never stop thanking him for this gift.