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As the music starts, relatives and friends start coming up to greet us. I lean against Ragnar and the two of us clasp hands.
“I absolutely knew it,” Gorlag says, shaking my hand, then Ragnar’s. “The moment I saw the two of you together, I knew this day was going to happen sooner or later.”
“He did talk a lot about how cute the two of you were together,” Emily admits. “But I think all of us knew that much.”
“It’s true,” Amelia adds. “The whole town agrees you’re very cute.”
All the crowding and attention is fun. The toasts make me laugh and cry, but at the end of the day, I’m glad when it finally comes around to the meal and Ragnar and I get a moment to ourselves.
Being the center of a whole bunch of people is one of the most thrilling things in the world. But it doesn’t stand up to having the attention of just one person who you really love.
Ragnar and I understand each other. We’ve seen beneath all the masks, and all the facades. I’ve seen him angry and scared, and he’s seen me anxious and overwhelmed.
And we love each other.
I don’t know what’s going to come next in our lives. But I know that we’ll be facing it together.
And that makes me feel safe and warm. If we’ve got each other, I think we can face just about anything.
“I love you,” I tell him.
“I love you too,” he says, and it’s all that needs to be said.
30
BRADFORD
The lobby of the B&B is deserted when we enter after the reception. We swiftly walk through it, and to our room. I unlock the door, Ragnar’s arm around my waist, and we step inside.
“Oh, wow,” Ragnar whistles as we look around the room.
“Who do you think did this? Millie, Alan, or Emily?” I ask, taking in the bed covered in rose petals, the bottle of champagne cooling in an ice bucket on top of the dresser, and the candles flickering on the end tables.
“Definitely not Gorlag,” Ragnar says. He walks over to the bed and raises his eyebrows at me in a way that’s so cornily suggestive, I laugh again.
“I almost feel bad, undoing their hard work,” I tell him, taking off my bow tie and shrugging off my jacket.
“Babe, they put down rose petals. They didn’t paint a replica of the Sistine Chapel on the sheets,” Ragnar says, taking off his own jacket.
For some reason, that image strikes me as hilarious, and I double over laughing. Ragnar watches with a smile on his face as he continues getting undressed. “Okay, if you keep laughing when I’m naked, I’m going to take this personally,” he says when he’s just wearing his boxers.
I shake my head and compose myself. “Never,” I tell him, approaching my tall, muscular husband. “That will never happen.”
“Good,” Ragnar says, wrapping his arms around me and kissing my neck. I slide my hands down his back and rest them on his waist, hooking my thumbs under the waistband of his boxers.
“You,” Ragnar murmurs, “are wearing far too many clothes.”
“Sorry about that,” I whisper back, pushing his boxers off. I feel him harden against me as I unzip my pants and let them fall to the ground too.
Ragnar unbuttons my shirt and slides it off of me. “Much better,” he says, running his hands over my chest. He pushes me gently onto the bed and I lie down on the rose petals. Their scent surrounds us as Ragnar leans over me.
I reach up and pull him tight against me, kiss him fiercely on the mouth. I’m so hard that my cock feels like it could rip the fabric of my boxers, and I reluctantly break off our kiss to pull them off.
I glance back at Ragnar, who’s gazing at me. “What?” I ask, suddenly and ridiculously self-conscious. “Have I had wedding cake stuck in my teeth all this time or something?”
Ragnar smiles gently. “I was just thinking how beautiful my husband is.”
That word sends a chill up my spine, in the best way possible. “I can’t believe we’re married,” I grin.
