Page 92 of One Hotlanta Night
“For what?”
“For making me feel better. For loving me. For not running off, after all… that.” I gesture back to the restaurant.
“Look at me, mi amor. I am never leaving you. Ever. And I am going to love you. Always.” He cups my face in his hands as he bends down to look directly into my eyes. “Things like this don’t scare me. Not when it means I get you. Us. For the rest of our lives.” His eyes search mine. “Do you understand,mi esposa? I want today and tomorrow with you. And the next day, and the one after. I want all the tomorrows with you, until the day we die.” He kisses my wrist, then the finger where his grandmother’s—nowmy—ring sits. “It’s my job. My duty. And my pleasure, to make things right for my wife.”
He captures my mouth in a soft kiss, then looks deep in my eyes as he says, “Me tienes ahora y para siempre.” Before I can ask what he means, he wraps his arms around me, holding me close as he strokes my hair and says, “You have me now and forever, mi amor.”
Epilogue - Vivian
miami - two months later
Salty sea air blows through the kitchen window of our tiny condo. Even a little ways from the beach, the smell of the ocean mingles with the savory flavors of fried meats from food carts lining the boardwalk. Seagull squawks blend with car horns as traffic builds on Biscayne Boulevard. It’s noisy, it’s chaotic, and I absolutely love it.
Wiping my hands on the country blue towel set that Michael’s parents gifted us, I put the finishing touches on our cute little two-seater patio bistro set. Michael had to work late tonight, but I’d secretly planned a special dinner to celebrate our one-month anniversary. I light the taper candles and set out our corningware plates as the sea breeze surrounds me. It’s really his food that I’ve repurposed into crispy tacos for our meal, but the chocolate dessert was all me. His cooking is too good to resist, but he’s hopeless at baking, so we both enjoy reaping the benefits of each other’s skills.
It has been four weeks of wedded bliss. Well, “official marriage” to hear Michael talk about it. That man positively preens at being able to call himself “husband” and everything is “my wife this” or “mi esposa that,” even more than before. I don’t mind, though; I secretly love how possessive he is over me. He’s worse than a dragon hoarding his treasure. His desire for me burns hotter than ever, and I’ve never felt more cherished.
Every day he shows me more and more how committed he has been from the start. His devotion, his support, his humor, his cooking, and—oh my word—his talents in the bedroom. If it stays like this all our lives, then I’m going to be oneextremelyhappy wife. And I’m so grateful for it because it has certainly been a whirlwind. Kind of like everything else since I met Michael, but I’m happy about it.
When I turned twenty-one at the beginning of 2001, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d be married and living in a completely different place before the year was out. But I always did thrive with a little bit of crazy, y’know?
His family and my mom joined forces to give us the wedding of our dreams.
Despite my concerns, Michael was right, my mom did come around, becoming more involved than I would have ever expected. She and his mother developed an almost-friendship over multiple phone calls and planning all the details. I knew nothing about wedding stuff and went along with whatever they suggested, asking them to let me know where and when to show up. My mom even teased that I was the most uninterested bride ever—I mean, on two weeks’ notice, what can you expect?—but in the end, it turned out she knew me better than I thought. The dress, the cake, the flowers… everything was exactly what I would have picked even if we’d had months to plan. Simple. Elegant. Perfect.
Some of Michael’s relatives graciously offered to host the ceremony in their enormous house. His aunt could compete with Martha Stewart when it came to decorating, and the entire home was stunning with shades of gold, maroon, and chestnut for the fall season. We were married in their large, two-story front room, the furniture cleared away to make space for white folding chairs adorned with crimson bouquets.
It was everything I could have asked for: small, intimate, and surrounded by family and close friends. Conor and Sebastian were in attendance, along with Sheila from the restaurant, who could barely keep from crying. I miss her warm laughter and maternal words of wisdom so much. Raelynn made the cutest flower girl, throwing red rose petals around like confetti and giggling. Claire and Derrick stood in as maid of honor and best man, of course, and I wasn’t too caught up in my own special day to miss how Derrick’s eyes watched my best friend carefully through the entire ceremony.
But it was nothing compared to the way that Michael’s eyes devoured me.
We said our vows in front of the wall of windows at sunset, glorious reds and oranges casting a warm light on us and our guests. As the preacher spoke the final words, “You may kiss the bride,” Michael dipped me low for a searing kiss just as the final rays fell over our faces. He told me later he wanted me bathed in the golden light because I was more precious to him than gold.
Our reception was held in the backyard, white fairy lights strung around the pergola providing a pretty backdrop to the autumn colors. We danced to Cole Porter on the brick deck, laughing and mingling as everyone shared stories and gave their best marriage advice. Michael’s mother and Paquita prepared all the delicious food, and I was able to introduce my mom to croquetas and the other yummy dishes that I’d experienced in their kitchen.
Isabella made the loveliest three-tier cake with deep red roses climbing the side. I almost didn’t want to cut into it. The look Michael gave me when I fed a slice to him let me know how ready he was to take a bite out ofme. He barely let my fingers go, sucking them into his mouth to “get all the icing,” and I couldn’t tell if I was flushing from embarrassment or arousal.
The real kicker was when it was time to remove my garter. “Behave,” I whispered to Michael as he guided me down to sit. I looked back at the wooden Adirondack chair, heat swirling in my belly as I recalled what had happened the last time I sat in one, the night I’d finally summoned the courage to tell Michael I loved him. The mischievous look in his eyes told me he’d make no such promises as he slowly lifted the skirt of my dress until the lacy strip banded around my thigh was revealed.
Sliding his hands slowly up my leg, he pressed his body forward, caging me in so that my skin was mostly covered from view. At least all the important parts, since I couldn’t help squeezing my thighs together as his crisp cologne and body heat invaded my senses. “I can’t wait to taste you tonight,mi esposa, now that you’re finallymine. Just wait til I get my hands and tongue on you.” He brushed his hand over the apex of my thighs where I was burning up for him, causing me to gasp right before gripping my waist with one hand. His mouth captured mine as he kissed me fiercely, not minding the whoops and catcalls coming from our audience, and only once he’d released my lips that I realized he’d worked the garter belt all the way off.
Throwing a triumphant hand in the air, Michael twirled it around on one finger, grinning from ear to ear as his friends teased and applauded him. When he turned to throw the garter behind him, I thought for sure Sebastian was going to grab it. But Derrick, who stood a whole head taller, reached up and snagged it at the last minute. I didn’t quite know how to feel about him holding something that had rested so intimately onmy skin, until I saw him walk over to Claire and hand it to her. She looked up at him questioningly, and they started discussing something that had Claire looking flustered, but I couldn’t make out the words. Suddenly she flushed, hurriedly shoving the garter into her evening bag, Derrick watching her with heat and longing in his gaze.
I glanced at Michael who’d caught the entire exchange as well. He raised a brow at me, and I shook my head slightly. Whatever was going on there, I trusted that Claire had it handled. And until she decided to tell me what was going on, there wasn’t much I could do.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t stack the deck a little.
I reached for the gorgeous bouquet I’d laid on a table nearby, the vivid red of roses a deep contrast to the white lilies. Inhaling their scent deeply, I whistled loudly to get the eligible girls’ attention. Laughing and jostling each other, Isabella, Sheila, and Claire lined up a few feet behind me. I turned my back and tossed the flowers lightly over my shoulder, biting my lip to stifle a grin as I heard gasps just before turning around. Exactly as planned, Sheila and Isabella had stepped two paces back, leaving Claire the only one to catch the bouquet lest it fall on the ground.Bingo.
Claire’s face turned scarlet, almost matching that of the blossoms she held in her hand. Lifting her head, she fixed me with a glare, embarrassment covering her features. “Vivian Stromberg! What the he—” Her internal censor kicked in as she looked around for Raelynn in default mom-mode. Seeing her daughter happily chattering away with Isabella, she whipped her head back to me. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Viv?” she whisper-shouted at me.
I held a hand over my mouth as I tried to school my expression into one of innocence. “I haven’t the faintest clue what you mean.”
“Look, you can’t just do things like that! And in front ofeveryone?” Her voice was almost panicked as she looked around, but no one was looking, everyone was engrossed in their own conversations. Surprise came over my face. I didn’t think she’d react that way. Claire’s normally the first one to crack a joke, and I figured she’d laugh at this one too.
My brows furrowed, and I didn’t try to hide my concern. “Claire, what is going on with you? You’re tight-lipped about everything, and you won’t let me in. I don’t know what all is going on with The Pork Belly, but I don’t know why you’re freaking out. Is it the restaurant, or is it because I’m leaving?” This wasn’t a conversation I’d planned on having on my wedding day. But between packing and work and planning this event, we hadn’t spent more than five minutes in the same space. And time was running out.
“No, of course not,” Claire said, running a hand through her hair and messing up the pretty braid we’d woven along the side. I lifted my fingers to smooth the few strands that had fallen out of place, and she grabbed my hand as I finished. “I’m sorry, Viv. It’s not you, it’s me.”
