Page 52 of Oliver

34

Emery

The vineyard resembled something out of a movie: rolling hills, golden light, and rows of grapevines that stretched like green ribbons across the earth. I stood barefoot in the grass, spinning slowly with my arms out like a giddy Disney princess.

“This is it,” I said, twirling again. “I want to get married right here.”

Oliver smiled from where he leaned against his truck, arms crossed, sunglasses on, like some hot mountain man security detail. “You sure? You’re gonna have dirt between your toes.”

“Romantic dirt,” I shot back. “The kind that saysI married a man who fought cartels and still lets me have fairy-tale dreams. We will all be barefoot.”

Olly ran past me, a cowboy hat two sizes too big sliding down over his eyes. “Can we have goats at the wedding?! Please?!”

Beatrice snorted. “Only if they wear bowties.”

Oliver muttered, “No goats.”

Olly stuck out his bottom lip and muttered something aboutthat’s not fairbefore charging back into the vineyard, chasing a butterfly like he had zero idea how chaotic this wedding was turning out to be.

Raven showed up a few minutes later to pick up Beatrice. He took one look at her, still in flip-flops and half-lounging on a picnic bench, and grinned. “You terrorized them, didn’t you?”

“Emotionally supported,” she corrected, standing to kiss his cheek. “Same thing.”

They left us in the quiet hum of grape leaves rustling in the breeze.

I walked over to Oliver and tucked myself into his arms.

“This okay?” I asked, glancing around.

“It’s perfect,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “You’re happy, and I can make sure it’s safe. That’s all I care about.”

I looked up at him, all golden and sun-drenched and stupidly gorgeous, and my heart did this little tumble. I loved him so much.

“You’re about to marry a barefoot former Olympian at a vineyard in the middle of nowhere with a six-year-old trying to sneak in barn animals,” I whispered.

“Lucky me.”

I pulled him down by the collar. “You’re about to get luckier.”

He groaned into the kiss. “We have twenty-four hours until we say ‘I do.’ I’m not sure I’ll survive it.”

I ran a hand down his chest and whispered, “Then I guess we better make tonight count.”

35

Oliver

The vineyard was quiet. Olly was asleep in the guest house where we were staying, exhausted from chasing bees and trying to name every grapevine. The team had conducted a security sweep. The wine barrels were stacked, the lights were strung, and Emery was mine—just one more night before she became my wife.

She stood on the porch in a white cotton nightgown, barefoot, hair loose, glowing like she belonged in this place.

“You keep looking at me like that,” she murmured, “you’re going to cause a scene.”

I stepped closer, cupping her jaw. “It’s just us here, sweetheart. I want to cause one.”

She smiled, slow and soft. “You nervous?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m just... full, and so damn happy. Of you. Of this. Of knowing I get to wake up tomorrow and call you my wife.”

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