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“Yes. Of course, I want to be your wife, but please tell me you don’t have any more rings hidden on your person?”
I don’t even care that she’s joking around about marrying me. My heartbeat speeds up even as my anxiety diminishes. This beautiful woman wants to make a family and share her life with me. I cup her face and give her a lingering kiss.
“Thank you so much for saying yes. I’ll be the best husband you ever had.”
She fights a smile. “Thank you for asking, and not making some over the top production of it. This felt authentic, warm, and loving. I’m sure I’ll be the best wife you ever had as well. How did you know about the color?”
I was about to explain, but she got there first. “I wondered why Cleo was asking me hypotheticals about jewelry.” She holds the ring up again and smiles at it, before slipping it on her finger.
We press our foreheads together, amused at our impromptu words of devotion. Pure contentment fills my heart and mind. Serena chose me, out of all the men in the world to spend her life with and it fills me with pride.
“Now what about my present? The ring is beautiful, but I’m still hungry for my man,” she licks her lips slowly and eyes up my cock, as a smile spreads over her face.
Oh hell, yeah. I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with this beautiful, brave, intelligent, ferocious, headstrong woman who knows what she wants and makes sure she gets it. I don’t need any more encouragement as I lie down and feel her lips on me, as she takes me to paradise in her mouth.
Chapter 32
Serena
Two Months Later
My wedding day is turning out to be everything I thought it would be. We’ve hired a wedding planner who arranged to have a huge marquee and several canopies erected in front of the waterfall Smoke promised to show me, before our life erupted into chaos. Everything looks so amazing.
The caterers have set up banquet tables in the marquee, there’s a dance floor under one of the large canopies, and we’ll hold the ceremony under another. The florist created colorful tropical arrangements for every table. All the flower bouquets match. The brothers are roasting a whole pig, Hawaiian style and my wedding cake is decorated with tropical fruit and orange flowers. I’m not quite sure where the tropical theme came from. It wasn’t planned, it just kind of sprung up by virtue of the colors we liked, and the food choices available to us.
Instead of a white wedding gown, I’ve chosen one in flame orange with a full train and plunging neckline that makes me feel pretty. I’m going barefoot because at eight months pregnant I don’t want to do heels, and my fiancé insists that since this is my wedding day, I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to.
I run my hands over my gigantic belly, proud that I’m doing so well with my first pregnancy. I walk out of the marquee and smile to see every single person I know and love, milling about visiting with one another.
The view of the waterfall is magnificent. Rider and Siege are paddling with the legs of their dress pants turned up. They have a swarm of kids dancing around them kicking up water. It’s such a lovely sight that I’m glad the photographer is capturing it all, so Smoke and I can look back on this day.
Marge, as the mother of the groom, has taken it upon herself to oversee the details, since my own mom wasn’t up to the challenge. Marge made sure she felt involved though, and when my mom had good days both of them would go over stuff like the table settings, menu, and décor choice. Right now, Marge is standing near the catering van, checking off last minute changes to the menu.
Our decision to have a local wedding was the right choice for us. Destination weddings are just wildly inconvenient for guests, and my mom never would have been able to attend. Plus, at this stage of pregnancy I really didn’t like the idea of lugging myself off to some place or other, that’s even if the airline allowed me to fly, and clearly my idea of a Niagara Falls honeymoon and motorcycle road trip is out of the question.
I spy Evan standing near the edge of the water with a girl, and I wonder if it’s his girlfriend. They’ve both got virgin daiquiris with little umbrellas on the sides of the glasses and make a super cute couple. They seem to be animated in conversation. Rigs and Mattie are standing proudly nearby, Rigs is bouncing their six-month-old, who’s giggling in delight and they’re both trying hard not to look like they’re staring at Evan, but they so clearly are, because they’re proud of their boy.
This is the first time I’ve had a few minutes to myself all day, and that’s only because the hair stylist just finished creating my elegant updo.
An SUV meanders slowly down the trail, and I get excited. This is Smoke and Tank who went to pick my mom up. I resist the urge to run out and meet them. When they pull right up to the first canopy and help her out of the car, I walk over to greet her. We’ve got a comfortable wing chair for her to sit in. Her face lights up when she sees me.
“If only your father could see you now. He’d be so proud of you, sweetheart.”
Smoke drops a kiss on my cheek. “Aren’t you just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen?”
I smile up at him and reach to straighten his bow tie. His light green suit makes his green eyes seem all the brighter.
“Marcus is right, you look absolutely gorgeous, Serena.” Marge’s words drifted from the doorway, bright and cheerful.
My mother motions Marge over. “She needs something old, new, borrowed, and blue. It’s a tradition.”
Smoke reaches into his pocket. “I’ve got this.”
He pulls out a palm-sized box. He opens it and pulls out a long necklace made of cut amber stones. In the center is a large, smooth teardrop-shaped piece of amber with what appears to be a mosquito trapped inside. “Here’s your something new.” When he drapes it around my neck, I pick up the teardrop piece and gaze at the insect inside. When my eyes lift quizzically to Smoke, he answers my unspoken question. “There is no symbolic meaning intended. I just saw it and thought you might like it.”
He’s right, I do.
Marge pulls a box out of her purse and hands it to me. “This was a gift from my mother and will serve as your something borrowed, maybe something old as well.”
