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He seemed to drink in her face. She’d never felt more cherished. They gazed into each other’s eyes. Into each other’s souls. And neither one offered up a single wisecrack.
He kissed her as if she were a virgin. The tenderest meeting of lips and heart. It was embarrassingly romantic, but not as embarrassing as their damp cheeks. They held each other close, eyes shut, hearts hammering, naked in a way they’d never been. They knew each other’s flaws as well as they knew their own, and each other’s strengths even better. That made the moment all the sweeter.
They talked for a long time. She wouldn’t hide anything, and she told him about her call to Mel Duffy and what she’d almost done.
“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d gone through with it,” he said. “And remind me not to ever let you have a gun.”
“I want to get married again,” she whispered. “Really married.”
He kissed her temple. “Do you now?”
“A private ceremony. Beautiful and intimate.”
“All right.” His hand wandered to her breast, and the lust that had been simmering between them erupted. It took all her effort to pull back. “You can’t imagine how hard this is for me to say.” She drew his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. “But I want a wedding night.”
He groaned. “Please don’t let that mean what I think.”
“Do you mind so much?”
He thought it over. “Yes.”
“But you’ll agree anyway, right?”
He cradled her face in his hands. “You’re not going to give me any choice, are you?”
“I am. We’re in this together.”
He smiled and curled a hand around her bottom. “Poppy has exactly twenty-four hours to put together the wedding of your dreams. I’ll take care of the honeymoon.”
“Twenty-four hours? We can’t—”
“Poppy can.”
And Poppy did, although it took her forty-eight hours, and then they banned her from the ceremony, which she didn’t like at all.
They were married at sunset on an isolated stretch of beach in a sandy cove. Only five guests stood with them: Chaz and Aaron, Paul and Laura, and Meg, who’d come alone because they wouldn’t let her bring a date. Sasha and April couldn’t make it back in time, and Bram refused to wait for them. Georgie wanted to invite Rory, but Bram said she made him too nervous, which caused Georgie to hoot with laughter, which in turn forced Bram to kiss her breathless.
They asked Paul to perform the ceremony. Georgie said it was the least he could do after burying her. When he pointed out that he wasn’t ordained, they brushed him off. The legalities had been observed months ago. This wedding was a ceremony of the heart.
A Crayola box sunset framed the beach that night. Bouquets of larkspur, iris, and sweet pea spilled from simple galvanized pails tied with ribbons that floated in the warm breeze. Although Georgie had forbidden Poppy to erect a bridal bower or paint hearts in the sand, she’d neglected to mention building a sand castle, so a six-foot seashell-and-flower-bedecked replica of the Scofield mansion rose up near the bride and groom.
Georgie wore a simple yellow cotton dress with a spray of flowers in her dark hair. Bram went barefoot. The vows they’d written spoke of what they knew, what they’d learned, and what they promised. After the ceremony, they sat around a bonfire to feast on crab and Chaz’s cream-filled chocolate cupcakes. Paul and Laura couldn’t take their eyes off each other, and as the fire snapped, Laura briefly left Paul’s side to approach Georgie. “Do you mind about your father and me? I know it’s too fast. I know—”
“I couldn’t be happier.” Georgie hugged her as Chaz and Aaron wandered off, side by side, down the beach.
Bram watched his wife’s beautiful face glow in the flames from the bonfire and realized that the panic that had been his silent companion for as long as he could remember had disappeared. If a woman as wise as Georgie could accept him, flaws and all, then it was long past time he accepted himself.
This exquisite, caring, smart, wonderful creature was his. Maybe he should be afraid of failing her, but he wasn’t. In every way that counted, he would always be there for her.
As night settled in, Georgie finally noticed a dinghy approaching from a yacht anchored offshore. “What’s that?”
“My surprise,” he whispered against her hair. “I wanted our wedding night to be on a boat. To make up for the first time.”
She smiled. “You did that long ago.”
Their guests saw them off with a shower of organic brown rice Meg had brought along. As they rode out to the yacht, Bram held his wife tight. He wanted their wedding night to be perfect. Lance had given her a carriage with six white horses, and Bram couldn’t stand the idea of falling short.
As soon as they were on board, he led her through the quiet ship to the largest stateroom. “Welcome to your honeymoon, my love.”
