Page 92 of Perfectly Wedded

Sloan steps toward the woman at the counter. “I don’t need a ticket after all.”

My heart, still in free fall, feels like it’s been swooped up. “You’re staying?” I ask.

“Unless you want to go to Vegas with me?” she says, her mouth curving mischievously.

“I want to goeverywherewith you,” I reply, pulling her close, the ache inside more intense than before.

We step away from the line into the crush of travelers, some saying goodbye, others sprinting to make a plane that will take them to a new destination. We’re standing in the middle of a crossroads and I want to kiss her more than anything. But she puts up a hand to stop me.

“There’s one thing we need to discuss first. I know you signed the contract for me, but I can’t let you give up everything for this marriage. If we’re going to make promises today—vows I mean with my whole heart—I need you to understand something. I don’t need protecting from the truth, Vale. I need a partner. A teammate. Someone who comes to me when there’s a problem. When your contract is up, we talk. I’m okay with you moving to the NHL, but we decide together. As long as Sully’s Beach remains our home base, I won’t be the one who holds you back. As your wife, I’ll always be the one cheering you on, no matter who you play for. I’m your number one fan, the only woman who’ll obnoxiously kiss you in front of an entire hockey crowd.”

I rest my forehead against hers, sliding my hands up her back, hitching her flush against my body. “I would loveto be your partner...” My hands slide over the curve of her waist as my lips brush hers. “Your teammate...” I trail my mouth along her cheekbone, leaving three kisses. “And your lover.” My hands graze her neck where I tease the corner of her jaw with kisses. “But first, we have a wedding to go to.”

She looks up at me, tangles a hand in my hair, and the whole world falls away. “Can we lock the hockey team out of the house afterwards?”

I laugh. “We’ll send them to Brendan’s.”

She smiles. “I can’t wait to start the rest of my life with you—for all the unexpected surprises and every night in bed with you.”

“I’m never sleeping on the floor again. Unless you’re there with me.” I kiss her forehead.

“And I’m never sleeping in bed without you again,” she murmurs. “We’ve waited long enough.”

“Is that a promise?” I ask.

She tips her mouth to mine, her lips an invitation I can’t resist. “Yes, starting tonight.”

I crush her body to mine with a kiss that’s a mixture of joy and need and a promise to never leave. I don’t care if the limo is illegally parked or the press leaks all our secrets. I don’t care what the future throws at us. Right now, all I want is us. Her hips press against mine, my hands slide down her spine. Our bodies locked into an embrace where you can’t tell where one of us ends and the other begins.

All that matters is the promise to be together, to stay through the happiness and the pain, the mundane and the fullness of life.

We pull apart, foreheads together, as people openly stare at us. Whistling and cheering erupts behind us. We turn to see the rest of the hockey team standing in a half-circle, smiling like proud parents. More than a few phones have captured the moment.

“Forget whatThe Star Reporthas to say,” Brax says. “Once everyone sees this kiss, there will be no doubt about why you got married.” We still have some explaining to do, but these guys already have the answer they need.

“Hey, don’t we have a wedding to get to?” Tate asks, checking his watch.

“Yes, we do,” I say, my arm still hooked around my bride’s waist. “So why are you standing around? Let’s go.”

As the guys disperse, a man stops behind us, his features vaguely familiar. The same eyes, the same sharp cut of cheekbones.

“Sloan, is that you?” he asks.

Sloan turns around, her mouth falling open. “Dad?” she gasps. “What are you doing here?”

“I came for your wedding,” he says.

She glances at me. “Do you know anything about this?”

I knit my fingers through hers. “Remember my text earlier—the surprise I wanted to tell you about?” I nod at her father. “You’re looking at him.”

THIRTY-ONE

Sloan

When we return to the limo, there’s a ticket tucked under the wiper, flapping in the wind. Apparently, I abandoned the limousine on a full yellow line with a “No Parking” sign next to it—a tiny detail my brain missed in the chaos of running away.

Vale plucks it from the windshield. “A wedding gift from the local police department.”

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