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God, my entire body prickles.
Then it happens.
The Cinderella moment from every girl’s dream.
The one I never thought I was meant for.
Roland gets down on one knee.
A box that stalls my breath slides from his pocket to his hand.
One deafening flick of his thumb pops it open and reveals a lovely, elegantly understated platinum band with a diamond setting.
“You could say yes to me, Callie Landry. Yes to being mine. Yes to us. Yes to forever,” he whispers, his eyes lit with blue witchfire, with spells of hope and promise.
Holy hell.
I don’t even need to contemplate the answer for a split second.
“Yes!” I shriek, and Roland becomes a blur of color.
I can’t stop myself from bursting out crying as I fling myself at him like a cannonball.
His arms around me, my arms around him, and our hearts so tangled up I sigh.
I know my family and his brother are blubbering with joy. But I can barely hear them past the thunder of my own heart.
This man—this grumpy, ridiculous, miracle man who once froze me out like an overgrown polar bear has somehow given me a place where I belong.
In his embrace, I’m home.
With him.
With everyone I love.
With my heart so full that I just know.
As long as I live, I’ll never need anything more than Roland freaking Osprey.
* * *
It’s probably no surprise that our wedding is a quiet affair.
I think we’re both sick to death of being splattered all over the internet.
We don’t even get married in a chapel. Instead, Roland rents a lovely, private reception room at the Winthrope Hotel with major security included.
Sending out invitations feels almost delightfully secretive.
I didn’t even tweet it or post a word on Facebooger. The few old friends I invited from college didn’t know what they were flying into town for until they got to the hotel.
Oh, sure, there’ll be a “leaked” story going out to the press tomorrow—after the wedding’s safely passed without incident.
No one needs to know we leaked the story ourselves.
They’ll get their clicks. We’ll get our dream wedding.
What can I say, I’ve learned to cherish my privacy.
Still, there’s a selfish part of me that wants to keep Roland all to myself.
Shame I have to share him a little today.
There’s a room full of family and friends out there, waiting for me to walk down the aisle and tie the knot with my husband to be.
Best of all, there’s not a single camera flashing as I take a deep breath and exit the little anteroom with Dad smiling at my side.
“You’re a knockout, Callie-girl. Let’s get you hitched and make sure your man knows how damn lucky he is,” he whispers.
Oh, Dad, I hope.
We head to the foot of the aisle, bouquet clutched in my only slightly—yeah, right—shaky fingers.
I’m happy.
I’m so insanely high on love I can’t even stand it.
But I think my anxiety tries to poke its head up, too.
Right now, even if there are less than three dozen people here, the feeling of everyone staring at me instantly brings back that dread horror when I realized the whole country was mocking my relationship with Roland, sneering at a version of me they’d made in their own heads.
But that feeling vanishes before it chokes me as I see the man waiting by the altar.
Of course, Roland wouldn’t wear a tux today.
But his navy-blue vest and slacks are drop-dead gorgeous, impeccably tailored, the glowing ideal of the dashing groom. His hair is swept back, his stubble neatly trimmed into a close-cut beard, his posture straight and confident and so very certain.
Everything he projects says that this is where he wants to be.
Right here.
Marrying me.
And it’s where I want to be, too.
Especially when he catches my eye, holds out his hand...
And smiles fit to break his face.
Holy Chicago.
What do I have to be nervous about, again?
As the wedding march starts, I make my way up the aisle, taking those slow processional steps that seem to take forever to get me where I want to be.
Right at his side.
I’ve never been more grateful to have Dad with me the whole time, stroking my fingers. I feel like a balloon being pushed along with everything I’ve ever known replaced by the thud of my heart.
He gives me away with a parting hug and a soft, “I love you so much, baby girl.”
And just like that, I’m there, slipping my hand into Roland’s.
I look up at him with an awestruck smile and a sweet little turn of my heart.
“Ready to be Mrs. Osprey?” he whispers just for me.
I hold back an explosive, nervous laugh and barely remember to just breathe.
Oh my God.
Yep.
This is actually happening.
“Y-y-y—” I stop as Roland squeezes my hand.
His eyes pierce mine, gentle and reassuring. Take as much time as you need, sweetheart, they say. This is our day. Nobody’s here to judge, just to share in the love.
