Page 105 of How to Say I Do
He was in the barn with Peanut. They both wandered to the doors when they heard the first of my wailing, the two of them peering into the downpour like maybe they’d both lost their minds, man and horse together, and were hallucinating some crazy man’s shouts.
Wyatt did a triple-take when he saw me. We hadn’t texted since I’d reached out once before setting off from New York, sending him a cryptic paragraph that told him I was all right, that Tessa would be contacting him directly, and that there were going to be some big changes coming very soon. He’d told me that he loved me and that he was always a text and a phone call away. I’d blown the screen a kiss and put the Tesla in gear.
Three days later, here I was, wailing in the rain.
He ran out to catch me as my knees buckled. “Noël?” His eyes were blown wide, frantic with fear.
The comfort of him, finallyhereafter what felt like a galactic age, overwhelmed me. I melted into him, grasping his filthy jacket as my sobs ratcheted. He was wearing that barn jacket, the one he’d put around my shoulders during our first ride.
I couldn’t breathe. There was no air for me between the driving rain and my tears. I was gasping. Peanut had trotted out into the rain to investigate, and she whined when she saw me, shoving her nose into my neck.
Wyatt’s hands cupped my face. “What happened? Noël, Jesus Christ, what happened? What’s—”
“I came toyou!” I shouted, ohsoromantically, at him. “I came here foryou, Wyatt! I came here tobewith you!”
The rain pounded down on the two of us, beading off the brim of his hat and falling onto my eyelashes. He was staring at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Iloveyou, and I want everything with you!” I screamed. “All of it, our whole lives, together-forever! I want to marry you and have kids with you! I want to grow grapes with you and stay up for a whole week to pick them! I want to listen to Jason run wild on Christmas morning, and I want to hide Easter eggs for him in the vineyards, and I want to argue with Liam every day of my life. I want to grow old with you and sit in rocking chairs and wear sneakers with Velcro. I want to bewithyou, Wyatt, forever, because Ilove—”
He kissed me, big and bold and true, just like those Hollywood movies. No, better than, because this wasmytrue love’s kiss and this wasourmeeting in the rain. He flung his arms around me and wrapped me up. I gripped the lapels of his filthy jacket and pulled him closer. He lowered his head, his lips brushing over mine again and again like a promise. Neither of us noticed when his hat toppled into the mud.
I tore away from our very perfect kiss. “Wyatt, Idrovehere. All they would rent me in New York was a Tesla, and do you have any idea—any idea—what it’s like to try and find charging stations in West Virginia? Or Kentucky? I had to beg to run an extension cord into a dozen gas stations because there’s no actual Tesla recharge stations anywhere.Anywhere, Wyatt. I thought I could make it past San Antonio, but the stupid car ran out of charge, and I’ve been walking formiles—”
He kissed me again and cut off my ramble, drawing me into his arms. He didn’t let me go as he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. He scooped up his hat and set it on my head, and his fingertips brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“Come on, let’s get you home,” he said, steering me toward the porch where his yellow roses were waving hello.
Home.
This was it. I’d leaped, and I’d soared, and I’d fallen, and, now, finally, I had landed.
I was exactly where I was meant to be. I was home.
CHAPTER28
Noël
Tessa’s weddinghad sixty-three guests and was a mind-blowing success. We flew them in secretly the day of the wedding, and no one knew what was happening until that Insta feed went live.
The ranch was a dream. She and Tyler said their I do’s beneath an arch of woven yellow roses, with all of Wyatt’s acres of vineyards wavering in the late-summer sunlight. She walked up the newly laid flagstone aisle beneath dripping oak branches full of glossy leaves and luxurious drapes of ivory silk, the same silk I’d driven from New York. They started their ever-after in paradise, surrounded by their closest friends and family.
Peanut and Pickle were huge hits, watching over the reception and the dance floor set up outside their paddock. String lights ran from the barn to the house, wrapping the reception in a tender, glittering glow. It was all perfect: the cake, the food—Connie and Frank’s best cooking—the wine. Wyatt’s picnic tables were covered in linen runners and mismatched antique dishes and vintage silver. It was eclectic country charm, utterly delightful and absolutely authentic.
It was the best celebrity wedding I’d ever put together, even if I had thrown away my career to see it happen exactly this way.
Tessa’s contract with Wyatt paid for those square-jawed former Secret Service agents to stand guard over her wedding, which kept out the most audacious of the paparazzi, and her live Instagramming kept out the rest. Her wedding was the most watched Instagram feed ever.
Her fee also paid for Wyatt to build a fence and a gate, and, after the wedding, the local deputies stopped by to hang around for two weeks, shooing away fascinated tourists and curious onlookers. The buzz faded fast, once the wedding was over and done with andElitewasn’t hyping it to the moon. There was also new celebrity craziness taking over, drawing everyone’s attention away from Tessa and Tyler.
I found out aboutthatin the September issue, the same one I’d sabotaged—according toElite—and had carelessly and callously destroyed—according to Harrison. I spotted the September issue on the racks of a truck stop outside San Angelo where Wyatt and I had stopped for gas and a pick-me-up coffee on a run up to the city, or what passed for a city nearby.
There it was, and right on the cover, right where Tessa Yarborough was supposed to be beaming out at the world in her couture gown, was Jenna. A verypregnantJenna, actually, cradling her round belly in an off-the-shoulder, figure-hugging Dior as she pouted. Derrick Kane had his arms on her shoulders and was kissing the side of her neck.
She’d finally done it. She’d gotten her bigElitemoment. A feature, a photo shoot, editorial, and even the cover.
I left the September issue behind and strolled out to where Wyatt was topping off the tank. I leaned my elbows on the hood and smiled. He was a good man. No, he was a great man, honest and forthright and real, and I was a lucky fucking bastard.
“What?” he asked. “I got food on my face?”
