Page 71 of Crazy Good
The doors open a final time and they appear. Windsor, clutching onto Kathy’s arm, starts down the long aisle. I can’t see past the huge, happy smile on her face and in her eyes. She didn’t wear a veil, because that was my only request. I wanted to see her blue eyes the entire time. My stomach feels like it might implode while every single hair on my body rises. She’s mine. This beautiful creature is mine. It’s unbelievable. Her eyes meet mine and I know what she sees. The fucking dimples, which are probably out so hard they’ll be engraved there for the rest of time. Her simple wedding dress hugs her body and flares out at the bottom, accentuating every curve I’m so obsessed with. Simply put, Windsor is perfection.
As the wedding march plays, she gets closer and closer. I see smaller details. Her necklace, the trident—that means so much to me. I see her understated makeup and the loose waves of hair that fall over her shoulders and down her back. Her beauty takes my fucking breath away. No one will ever be more beautiful in my eyes than her. It’s a fact of life.
Kathy leans over and whispers something into her ear before placing her hand in mine. It’s poignant. This moment is so significant. It’s Windsor telling her mother that she loves her, no matter what. It’s Kathy telling Windsor that she’s always been number one. Always. It’s forgiveness. It’s second and third chances. It’s new beginnings. Windsor kisses her cheek and then she focuses on me. Blue eyes glass over. And the tiny fragment of my heart that I held back is hers. Forever.
The pastor goes through the motions, saying things I don’t hear because I can’t tear my gaze, or focus off of her. I’m sure I’m supposed to respond to something because I feel Steve nudge me from behind. He hands me the ring.
Vows. I stumble through the words that the pastor tells me to repeat, ending with, “I do.” And me slipping the delicate band of platinum on her finger above her engagement ring. “I love you, Windsor,” I whisper when I look into her eyes. Do I ever. They weren’t scripted words. They burst from me on their own accord.
She sniffles and tears up through her vows, and as soon as the dark titanium band is in its place on the second finger on my left hand I feel immeasurable relief. I smile wide and wipe a small teardrop from beneath her eye. I pull her against my chest. She’s my wife. Windsor Hart is my wife.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride,” the pastor says. I do hear that much and I do exactly as I’m told.
I kiss my fucking bride. Then I kiss her some more because I just can’t stop. The roar of applause breaks out and I feel Windsor’s smile against my mouth. She pulls away to break the kiss and squeals in delight, covering her mouth with her free hand. I raise our joined hands in the air and Steve lets out a huge whoop from behind me. Manly shouts from the rest of my uniformed teammates break out, and it’s complete and utter chaos. The best kind—the Team kind. My brothers. I swoop up my wife and walk down the aisle with little Goose close behind.
The music starts up again, but I’ve already got her outside the church alone. And all mine. I put her and all the layers of her dress down on the steps in front of the church. “Mrs. Hart,” I whisper.
“We are married. Oh my gosh. You are my husband,” Windsor exclaims, rubbing my wedding band. “It was perfect, Maverick.”
I lean down and kiss her. For real this time. With tongue and passion, tilting her head with my hands to get the perfect angle. She moans into my mouth and her small, cold hands come up to cup the sides of my face. I lift her off the ground, pulling her against my body, but keep kissing her.
I hear a female throat clear from behind me. Windsor’s head darts at the noise. It’s Morganna. “The masses will be out here any second and this looks like it’s about to turn into wedding night festivities a little early,” she says, her southern drawl stringing out most of the words.
“Why Morganna. Your country is showing!” Windsor says excitedly with a fake country accent. “We can fornicate on these steps if we deem it appropriate.”
I laugh. God, I love her. She kisses my neck. Then my jaw. I capture her lips with mine.
“He would be happy. You know that right?” Morganna says, smiling.
My stomach knots. “I know he would. He wanted this to happen when I wasn’t sure if I deserved this to happen,” I admit sadly, trying to keep my emotions at bay. I put Windsor down, but keep her close at my side. I touch one of my cuff links and close my eyes.
“Tighten your fucking towel, Mav. You have a reception to put on,” Morganna says before disappearing into the mass of people who swarm around us. I swallow back the memory and focus on the happiness in my heart. The happiness that I get to enjoy because he’s no longer here. His sacrifice indirectly gave me this. Windsor.
Everyone congratulates us with huge smiles. They shake my hand and hug Windsor. I kiss the top of her head, to remind her I’m still here while well-wishers swallow her alive. Everyone tells her how beautiful she looks and what a lucky man I am. They are all generic phrases that people say at weddings.
Except today they aren’t generic at all. I am so fucking lucky, for so many reasons. For this reason, I’m going to live my life like the luckiest son-of-a-bitch alive.
For myself. For him. But mostly for her.
*****
The reception went by as quick as molasses. I’m sure no one else thought it was that long. I did because the only thing I could think about was how quickly I’d be able to get her out of the wedding dress. I want to make love to my wife. It’s going to take a while to get used to saying that. Or even thinking it. It won’t feel absolutely real until tomorrow after we’ve spent an entire night doing exactly what our vows said: loving and cherishing.
“How tired are you?” I ask when we’re finally alone in the back of the limo. She kicks her feet up into my lap and I take off her high heels, which I know for a fact have been killing her all night. She won’t admit to it though. I love that she thinks I don’t know.
She scoffs. “Tired? Honey, I’m just getting started.” I ask her what her favorite part of the day was and we both agree it was the vows. She admitted she didn’t really hear what the pastor was saying either. I wonder if that means we’re not technically married because neither of us paid attention. The night was awesome, the food was good and all our friends were drunk as skunks when we left. That’s a successful party. Both Gretchen and Steve’s speeches were upbeat and happy, not mentioning anything about any hardships. I was thankful they both gave Win happy memories of the night. I didn’t want anything to taint her day. I even talked her into inviting Nash to the wedding. He declined, thank the deities above. But I think she was proud of herself for extending the invite nonetheless. It’s something she’s able to bury in her past and let it be just that…the past.
Windsor didn’t have anything to drink at the reception, and I obviously didn’t either. I wouldn’t fault her had she wanted to drink all night, though. I just don’t extend that kind of offer to myself. Nothing will cloud our wedding night together. I want to feel everything tonight. When the limo pulls up to the hotel valet, I hop out before the driver can open our door and offer her my hand. Slipping back into her shoes, she takes it, her face already flushed, her eyes all fucking mine.
I checked in earlier in the day so all of our stuff would be here already and so I could make sure everything was perfect for when Windsor walks in for the first time. This is like a transitioning night. Starting tomorrow she’ll be living in my house all the time. I wanted her to move in with me after Vegas, but she resisted saying that we’ve gone this far, we might as well keep her an honest woman. Which was sort of a joke because I’ve defiled that woman every day since I proposed to her. Sometimes even multiple times a day. She stayed with me most nights because I needed her to. I couldn’t sleep without her. When she had early mornings I would spend the night at her house. Practicality wasn’t really on the top of our list when she decided we wouldn’t live together full time.
“I know you’re supposed to carry me over some threshold or something, but maybe you should, like, dangle me over the threshold by my ankle to break tradition or something? What do you think? You game?” Windsor asks when we stand in front of the suite door. She has her hands on her hips as she stares at the door like it’s going to bite her.
“I’m game. You carry me,” I offer. I scan the key card and kick open one side of the French doors, exposing the expansive suite the size of a house in front of us. Her mouth drops open. This was a surprise for her. I’m sure she expects flowers, but what I’ve done is even better.
“How did you get all of these photos? And blown up this quickly?” she asks, eyes wide. I motion for her to hop on my back. Her eyes dart around taking in everything at once.
“I’ll piggy back you inside. It’s not technically carrying,” I explain. She has to hike up her dress to get up and I get a small peek of her black, sheer garter. It sends a shock directly to my groin. Keeping her on my back, I walk over to the first series of huge canvases. She slides down, holds my hand, and puts her free hand over her mouth, her eyes teary.
