Page 53 of Not a Perfect Save

“You tell me. You’re more familiar with the standard operating procedure at these things.”

Ella retrieves her phone from the cleverly concealed pocket of her dress. “Hmm, I think there are pictures for the next half hour. Then dinner.” She groans. “I don’t know if I can last that long. I may waste away before we get to that point.”

I flag down a passing waiter and grab us flutes of Dom Perignon while Ella loads up a small plate with bacon-wrapped dates and mini lobster rolls. I take a sip of my champagne. It’s not normally my drink of choice, but I’m happy to make exceptions for celebrations.

“And then there’s dancing, right?” I say.

“Yep.” Ella wrinkles her nose, but only for a moment. “And then cake! I can’t wait. I love how each tier is a different flavor. Now that was a genius idea.” She beams.

My lips quirk as I tip my head in acknowledgment.

Her face scrunches up as she eyes her phone again. “Okay, I think we can be out of here in about three hours.”

Too fucking long.

We’re interrupted when a rabid Hannah beckons us over from across the room. Ella and her sister engage in a battle of glares, pouts, and dirty looks accompanied by frantic gestures. Hannah’s scowl grows, and her movements become more and more agitated until Ella finally sighs in resignation and nods. I lift the remaining roll to her mouth. She takes a bite and then I swallow the rest of it. We clink our glasses together and down the rest of the bubbling liquid in solidarity. Hannah swivels to face the wedding photographer and her beach ball belly (Ella’s words) comes into clear view. She slams open palms on her hips, now directing her wrath on the wedding photographer.

I take Ella’s hand in mine to help her along the uneven path towards the waiting family. A familiar elation hits me as I rub my thumb against the fourth finger of her left hand—the edge of the diamond ring I put there a few months ago. Then I run my finger along the even more satisfying smoothness of the round band I added this afternoon.

The photographs take morethan the allotted half hour.

“I am going to kill her.” My new wife glowers. We’re in hostile territory here, even if it is our own wedding. But I look forward to kissing the frown off her lips in just a few minutes because like any good soldier, I have plans in place.

Right on cue, phase one, in the form of Noah Winters, arrives. He couldn’t make it to the ceremony but assured me he’d come for the reception. As agreed, he heads straight for us.

I introduce him to a starry-eyed Hannah and a halfway-drunk Hank.

Noah shoots me a sidelong glare even as he continues to speak with my new sister and brother-in-law, drawing them away. I just shrug, pretty sure I’m in for a whole bunch of extra drills at the next practice. Totally worth it.

“Nicely done.” Ella turns to me, the little scowl melting off her face.

I was surprised when she said she wanted a big wedding, I’d expected an elopement after all of Hannah’s over-the-top events a couple of years ago. But I’ve been proud and privileged to see Ella become more comfortable in her own skin instead of wearing it like armor to keep people out.

She did leave Hannah and her mom do most of the planning—but retained full control of the color schemes and clothes. Except the shoes.

When she moved into the Charles Street brownstone, she claimed a room for her studio and set the mannequin in the center on a little pedestal. I saw it in many of Ella’s creations until a few months ago. Since then, it’s had a shower curtain wrapped around it. I was informed it was bad luck for a groom to see his bride in her wedding gown before the ceremony. All I knew was that it was strapless because the mannequin was posed with its left hand stretched out to mimic showing off an engagement ring (played by a new stray thread, compliments of another sweater I snagged in my rush to get naked right after Ella said yes to my proposal). I did give her a stern warning to make sure the dress wasn’t too tight, no matter what kind of comments Hannah made.

Phase two of my plan includes stripping the white gown off my wife’s delicious body as soon as possible. I have reason to believe the lingerie underneath is mind-blowing, because in the last few weeks, there’s been a lacy blue garter dangling from the mannequin’s right fingertips.

It’s been driving me crazy all day. I place my hands on Ella’s waist and pull her to me so her back is flush to my chest. My cock hardens against her ass and pulses in anticipation now.

“Don’t get any ideas, Boy Scout,” she whispers, even as she wriggles.

“Who, me?” I duck my head and bring my lips to the curve of her neck, exposed and inviting with her hair up in some kind of knot. She emits a soft moan as I find a sensitive spot.

“Though I did do a little reconnaissance the last time we visited this place. Did you know that they have a second coat closet in the back?” I murmur, with a slight but deliberate thrust her butt. My fingers splay across her middle and I begin to trace slow, teasing circles over her silk-covered belly. Ella’s breath hitches as she arches her back. She rocks against me and shivers in my arms.

Mission accomplished.

THE END

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