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“Give me a pose, Merit,” Shay said.
I curled my hands into claws and bared my teeth, heard the responsive click of a camera shutter. I guess she liked it.
“Ahem,” Ethan said, and I glanced at him. He gestured toward the trestle. “Waiting for you, wife.”
“Don’t get huffy, husband,” I said, and mirrored his pose.
Shay took pictures, then gestured to the stairs that rose to the El station. “Go up to the tracks,” she said. “Then look down over the railing.”
We did as she requested. Shay walked into the middle of the street, aimed her camera up at us.
“Do something romantic!” Lindsey called out, and before I could respond, Ethan’s hands were on my face, and his lips were planted on mine. He snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me against the solid length of his body, and the arousal that hardened between us as he deepened the kiss.
Soon, he said to me, the word echoing around my head like a marble in an empty box.
“I believe it’s time to get the honeymoon started,” he said when he finally pulled back again. Since my body was molded to his, my mouth swollen, I wasn’t really in a position to argue.
; “Ladies and gentlemen!” Lindsey said from the stage, microphone in hand. The crowd quieted. “We’ve reached the end of our evening—literally, because the sun will be up in a few hours, and we still have to get Ethan and Merit to their very special bridal suite.”
The crowd hooted.
“But before we go, it’s time for one last tradition. Merit, if you’ll join me onstage, it’s time for you to throw the bouquet!”
Good luck, Sentinel.
I glanced back at Ethan, who winked rakishly. This was the last moment of our wedding, and therefore the last moment before our wedding night began. Uncertain future or not, there was no mistaking the desire in his eyes.
I stepped onto the stage, accepted the bouquet Lindsey offered me. And a good thing, too, as I’d lost track of it hours ago.
A number of women and a handful of men gathered in front of the stage, laughing as they prepared for the ritual. “Everyone ready?”
The screams were high-pitched and energetic. I glanced at Lindsey. “You want to get down there, too?”
“Oh, hell no. My cowboy and I are not contract people.”
“You do you,” I said, and turned around, took the bouquet in both hands, and launched it.
There were shrieks as the bouquet went airborne and the sound of scrambling behind me as high heels and taffeta and manicures battled.
And then a gasp . . . and silence.
I turned around.
A girl with the same tawny hair as Gabriel’s but who was dressed in edgy head-to-toe black stared down at the ribbon-wrapped flowers in her hands, her gaze wide and a little bit horrified.
I’d thrown the bouquet a little too hard, pitching it over the crowd of writhing brides- and grooms-to-be, and landing it in the hands of a woman behind them.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing at her expression. However much she loved Jeff Christopher, marriage did not look to be in Fallon Keene’s immediate plans.
“Oh, now, that is ironic,” Lindsey said behind me. “Congratulations, Fallon!”
The ladies who’d missed gave good-natured applause, but you could tell their hearts weren’t in it. For his part, Jeff walked to Fallon with a wide grin on his face. Suspicion in her eyes, he pulled the bouquet from her hands and kissed her hard. And whatever he whispered to her after that had a smile curving one corner of her mouth.
Yes, there was something about weddings.
• • •
“Before the wedding party disperses and you two head off to Paris,” Shay said, “let’s go outside and get some city shots with the bride, groom, maid of honor, and best man.”
