Page 53 of Oliver

Tears welled in her eyes. “I never thought I’d make it this far.”

“You didn’t make it,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to hers. “We did.”

Her lips met mine with a kind of reverence. Not rushed. Not frantic. Just... everything. I lifted her in my arms and carried her inside the small vineyard cottage we were staying in. The candles flickered, the night outside wrapped around us, and the only thing that mattered was the woman in my arms.

She reached for me as I laid her down. “Love me like I’m already yours.”

“You are already mine. I’m going to have you screaming for more, all night.”

I kissed my way down her neck, the strap of her nightgown slipping from her shoulder. Her skin was soft beneath my hands, her breaths growing shallow as I tasted the hollow of her collarbone.

Clothes fell away like petals. Skin to skin, hearts pressed tight.

She wrapped her legs around me, drawing me deep inside her with a gasp that echoed in the silence. I moved slow, savoring her, grounding us in this moment that belonged to no one else.

We whispered promises. I love you. Forever.

She trembled beneath me, her head thrown back, voice breaking on my name like it was the only one she’d ever known. And when we fell together—hearts racing, breaths tangled—I kissed her temple and held her like I’d never let go.

“I’ll never stop choosing you,” I whispered against her skin.

She smiled through the tears. “Good. Because I’m never letting you go.”

36

Emery

Wedding Day

Ididn’t cry when I won my first gold medal.

I didn’t cry when I retired or when I disappeared or even when I came home.

But when I saw Oliver—standing under that archway draped in wildflowers and sunlight, wearing a dark suit that somehow made his eyes look even deeper—Ilost it.

“Don’t smudge the eyeliner,” Beatrice warned, dabbing under my eyes like a big sister with a death grip on waterproof mascara.

Olly peeked around the dressing room curtain wearing suspenders and a lopsided bowtie. “Is it time yet? I practiced my line.”

“What line?” I asked.

He puffed up. “The part where I say, ‘My dad picked a good one.”

Beatrice burst out laughing. “Let him say it. That’s gold.”

The ceremony started late—because Olly tried to wrangle a chicken into a flower basket, and the ring bearer tripped overa vine. But when the music started and I stepped out barefoot across the grass, on my Dad’s arm, everything went quiet.

Oliver smiled like he’d waited his whole life for this moment. My Dad kissed my cheek and handed me to Oliver.

“You look like the sun,” he whispered when I reached him.

“You look like home,” I whispered back.

The officiant started talking, but I barely heard him. My eyes were locked on Oliver’s, and my hands were shaking in his.

When it was time for vows, he went first.

“I never believed in fate,” he said, voice rough. “But then you crashed into my life like a storm I never saw coming. You’ve challenged me, healed me, and made me more of a man than I ever thought I could be. I vow to protect your heart like it’s my own—and love you with everything I am.”

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