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The “I do” quivered from my lips, and a tear ran my cheek as we kissed. The heat from his lips surged through my body and into my soul.
We gazed into each other’s eyes, and instead of Lachlan’s typical cheeky twinkle, I recognized tender sincerity. He looked different—older and sexier. And he was my husband.
I hugged Andy, who, remaining in character, returned a timid grin, just as I imagined the real Andy would have responded.
The person filming took some photos of us standing with Andy, then we glided out.
A moon glowed over the pretend Venetian canal. It almost looked real and was strangely beautiful. I’d misjudged Las Vegas. I’d had the time of my life.
The next day, we drove back through the desert to our lush paradise.
My spirit was so high and filled with possibilities and promise that I felt like singing. I didn’t, but Lachlan did. He had a great voice and sang along to a Frank Sinatra song.
He turned me. “How do you feel?”
“Great.”
We smiled at each other.
My heart sang at the prospect of being devoured by Lachlan Peace for happily ever after.
THE END
