Milo
I’m twitching as I wait at the altar.
Not figuratively.
Physically.
My body cannot stay still, like every nerve is screaming at me to move.
“That’s it,” I mutter, taking a step forward.
A hand clamps down on my shoulder.
“Stay the fuck still,” Isaak growls under his breath. “She’s coming.”
I grit my teeth, my jaw tight. If she doesn’t appear in the next five seconds, I might actually lose my mind.
To my left, Ido stands beside the flowers. He picks one up, studies it as if it were some foreign object, then shrugs keeping it in his hand.
He notices us watching and his brows crease. “Is this not correct? To give flowers…?”
Hunter smiles drily. “Well, it’s a romantic gesture.”
Ido blinks again. “Oh. All right.” He looks ahead, his grip tight on the flower.
Just as I step away to look for my girl, the music begins and everyone rises. The bridesmaids enter first, but I look past them. I need to see my soon to be wife.
And then she appears.
Her mother at her side, walking her down the aisle. I watch the sour set of her father’s mouth from his place among the chairs.
Her veil hides her face, and the dress… damn.
She looks beautiful.
Completely mine.
I cannot wait to tear it off her later.
My lungs forget their work. It always happens near her, I feel as if I might stop breathing altogether.
I tap my chest once, and cough under my breath, even through the thin veil I see her lips twitch.
I’m done for.
She is unreal.
The gown fits her perfectly, shaped through the waist and hips before widening at the hem, its train trailing across the floor. She holds her bouquet, her white nails with pale pink tips, shine softly.
I don’t wait.
She takes too long to reach me, and I lose all my patience.
I step down from the altar and meet her halfway along the aisle.
She laughs softly. “I think you were meant to wait.”
I don’t answer. I am too busy looking at her, afraid she might vanish if I so much as blink.
Her mother touches my arm. I lean in and hug her without thinking. She hugs me back, cups my face in her hands, and nods, then steps aside to take her seat beside her husband.
I lift the veil and duck my head beneath it, closing us into that small, private space. My hands cradle her face, and I kiss her.
The priest clears his throat behind me and I almost lose my temper. I haven’t seen my girl in three hours, twenty four minutes, and thirty four seconds.
I am deprived.
I break the kiss, lower the veil, take her hand, and turn so we walk back toward the altar, my glare fixed on the priest.
He looks down.
Good.
The ceremony begins, and he starts talking.
A great deal.
Too fucking much.
I lean forward. “You can skip to the part where you declare us husband and wife. We exchange the rings and then we kiss.”
A murmur of laughter passes through the church.
I don’t smile.
I am serious.
“Oh… yes,” the priest stammers. “Of course.”
She says her vows, and I can scarcely breathe. I then say mine, my voice rough.
Ophelia steps forward with the rings. I slide Octavia’s onto her finger, over the tattoo, now framed by the engagement ring and the wedding band. The diamond huge, exactly as it should be.
She slides mine on.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
That is all I need.
I lift her veil slowly. She looks at me, her eyes bright, innocent and wicked at the same time.
I kiss her again, deep and claiming.
Final.
The priest clears his throat once more.
I pull back and glare at him again.
What is the man’s problem?
Applause breaks out. We turn together, hand in hand, and she tugs me forward.
Midway down the aisle, I scoop her up without warning.
She laughs, breathless, her arms tighten around my neck as I carry her out while the church erupts in cheers.
Outside, confetti and petals fall around us, and the Italian sun shines above.
I don’t care about any of it.
She is alive, she’s here, she’s finally my wife.
She is bloody mine.