Page 74 of The Scot's Perfect Match
And then slowly, like he was giving her every chance to pull away, he leaned in.
Her heart pounded a heavy staccato against her ribs. She stilled. Waiting. When his lips brushed hers, the world upended, and she was lost.
It wasn’t like their other kisses, frantic, stolen, desperate. This was slower. Intentional. An oath sealed in the quiet of a Highland evening. A kiss that left her reeling with desire and need. And also, with an intense curiosity about what would happen behind closed doors when they finally said their vows.
When they finally parted, she pressed her forehead to his, laughing softly and trying to catch her breath. Every inch of her body felt as though it were on fire. “Ye’re going to ruin me, Lord Darkwood.”
He flashed her a devilish grin that was willed with promise. “I hope so.”
Heatherfield Castle transformed in those ensuing days, becoming a whirlwind of chaos. At any given hour, at least three seamstresses from the modiste's shop were arguing over hem lengths, two florists rearranging bouquets for the fifteenth time, and one footman nearly tripping over himself to deliver yet another répondez s'il vous plaît to their wedding celebration. Poppy had taken to sweeping through the house to oversee the various activities, loudly declaring herself Ava’s “wedding supervisor.” At the same time, Freya offered unhelpful commentary like, “Do we really need flowers on every surface?” Moira, for her part, was sweet as always and only ever agreed with what Ava wanted, though she was pretty vocal in her own wedding planning, which was exactly as it should be.
“Ye’re all impossible,” Ava told them from where she stood on a pedestal in her half-finished gown, arms outstretched.
“Ye’ll thank us when ye’re weeping at the altar in a sea of perfect roses,” Poppy replied serenely.
“She’ll thank us when Gavan weeps,” Freya corrected with a wicked grin.
Ava had never been one for being fussed over, but this was different. This wasn’t just a party. This was her wedding. The day she would forever bind herself to Gavan.
The first time she tried on her wedding gown, a confection of silk and delicate embroidery, she nearly wept. It wasn’t the gown that moved her, though it was beautiful. It was the sudden, dizzying realization that she would walk toward Gavan in it. That this Highlander who had once felt so impossibly out of reach would be hers, wholly and without pretense.
“Hold still, my lady,” the seamstress said as she adjusted the hem.
“I am holding still,” Ava murmured, though her heart was fluttering as she glanced at herself in the mirror with uncharacteristic softness. “It feels… like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life.”
“No’ someone else’s,” Moira said from her perch near the window, sipping tea and beaming. “Yours.”
Freya, sprawled across Ava’s bed in a sea of discarded veils, added wryly, “And about time. If ye’d kept Gavan dangling any longer, I’d have intervened.”
“I did no’ keep him dangling,” Ava said, trying not to laugh.
“Ye’ve been taunting him since ye were sixteen,” Poppy chimed in, lounging beside Freya with a fan she didn’t need. “The man was practically in mourning every time ye turned up with a new suitor.”
Ava flushed. “Ye are both insufferable. And ye do recall he rejected me once when we were young. I am no’ entirely to blame.” She’d told them bits and pieces of what had happened, too embarrassed for a full confession.
“Good thing he’s come to his senses then. And ye’re glowing,” Poppy said sweetly. “’Tis disgusting, but in a good way.”
Ava tried to glare, but her reflection betrayed her with a soft, giddy smile.
“Ane do ye no’ think I have no’ noticed the way ye disappear with him at these parties,” Freya declared with a teasing twinkle in her eye. “What are the two of ye doing in the garden?”
Poppy leaned in, eyes bright. “Do ye think he’ll cry at the wedding? I’m placing my wager now: two tears, one at the vows, one at the kiss.”
“Poppy,” Ava groaned, hiding her face in her hands.
Moira only smiled knowingly. “He will no’ cry. But he will no’ be able to take his eyes off ye.”
The words landed like a promise Ava didn’t dare put into her own mouth.
At night, when the house fell silent, Ava slipped into her sitting room and stared out at the moonlit gardens; gown fittings and guest lists forgotten. Was this what happiness felt like? This strange blend of excitement and terror, of knowing the ground beneath her feet had shifted forever in a different direction. She traced her fingertips along the windowsill and whispered Gavan’s name to the empty room, tasting the sound of it like a secret she’d finally unearthed.
When she thought back on her life before this, before him, it felt muted, like she’d been living behind glass. Now everything was brighter and clearer. What she wanted was within reach, and in a matter of days, she'd have her happy ever after.
And in those rare moments when she was alone, she’d close her eyes and remember the way his lips had claimed hers in the garden. The way his hands had framed her face like she was something fragile and precious.
For the first time, she wasn’t arranging someone else’s happily-ever-after.
She was finally living her own.
