“You’re very handsome,” Natalie stated, studying him. “Miss M, you should marry both Mr. Tyler and him.”
Brendan chuckled and pocketed his handkerchief as Marguerite found a smile for the child. She discovered it wasn’t so hard. In fact, it felt like the sun coming out after a cleansing rain. “But maybe he’s waiting for you to grow up so he can marry you.”
“I don’t think so. He loves you.”
There was an exaggerated bark of a cough from down below, wafting up from the trellis altar, a tone that sounded suspiciously like Josh, followed by a ripple of laughter from the audience.
“I guess we better go.” Tina chuckled. She positioned Natalie ahead of Marguerite as Gen and Chloe took their rehearsed positions ahead of the little girl. “Now down you go, love. Just the way we practiced. Don’t start scattering the petals until you reach the first row of people. I’ll go sit in the audience.” Natalie nodded, gave Marguerite a small wave and started down the slope carefully in her shiny shoes, following the two women in lavender.
Brendan picked up her hand, fitted it into the crook of his arm, looked down at her with quiet adoration in his gaze. “Are you ready now, Mistress?” Her hair had been dressed exquisitely by Gen, who revived her skills as a hairdresser from a previous life. It was piled high on her head with ringlets and a scattering of glittering pixie dust, an appropriate complement to the sleek evening gown of antique ivory she wore for the late afternoon wedding. She gave herself a once-over, took a breath.
“You’ve nothing to worry about. You’re beautiful beyond words. If ever your husband forgets how lucky he is, Mistress, I trust you’ll use me as necessary to remind him.” Brendan gave her a wink, a wicked grin, making sure it was with laughter in her eyes that she came down the lawn to her waiting groom.
But she knew she was the lucky one. Lucky and blessed beyond anything she’d ever expected. It filled her heart, such that when she got to the altar, rather than reaching for Tyler’s hand right away, she stopped several paces away. When Tyler started forward, she gave a short shake of her head and he came to a halt, studying her.
“What are you doing, angel?” he asked softly.
Marguerite glanced toward Mac who was sitting in the second row, then met Tyler’s eyes. “Looking at who I really am. The mirror of my soul.” He swallowed, reached out and took her free hand, now outstretched. He drew her away from Brendan as the man let her go and discreetly withdrew.
She pressed her cheek up to his. “Thank you for your letter.”
“Thank you for inspiring it.” He held her close to him, prolonging the contact, a moment she wanted to last forever.
It was a day of memorable moments. When the minister pronounced them man and wife, Tyler raised his hands to her face, brought her onto her toes. He kissed her mouth, his arms sliding down and around her as he let go of his usual decorum before his friends and colleagues to simply crush her to him. She felt the hard promise of his body along the length of hers, hers to enjoy forever.
One of the tremendous perks of this whole forever thing, she reflected, her mind spinning, body rousing to his.
“Until death do us part,” she breathed.
“No,” he said against her mouth. “Forever, angel. You’re who I want, forever.”
The reception went on far into the night. The lawn had been strung with fairy lights and Chinese lanterns. Guests danced on the platform deck built for the DJ while others sat at the wide variety of tables, benches, hammocks and chairs. Neither she nor Tyler had intended a large affair, but in the end, exuberance had taken them. Since the wedding was a mere handful of weeks after the events on the Bank of Florida building, the response to their invitations was amazing and humbling. Her skydiving friends, submissives from the Zone, customers from Tea Leaves and of course Komal. All the candles kept multiplying until Marguerite couldn’t imagine how she’d moved in darkness so long. She concluded that she must have had the eyes of her soul tightly closed, until Tyler forced them open with his Will and desire for her. Arrogant, wonderful man.
He had a wealth of friends as well, good friends. Violet, Mac and Josh she knew and now she got to meet Josh’s wife, though she’d not had more than a moment to talk to the quietly confident Lauren. And of course Leila and a bevy of the women he’d shared time with at The Zone, making for an odd wedding guest list indeed. Their respective submissives hatched a playful conspiracy during the reception, joining forces to keep the bride and groom apart as each insisted on claiming a dance.
It was magic, she thought. The night was pure magic. Gen had been right. While there was a photographer moving around, snapping pictures, it wasn’t necessary. She’d imprint every memory on her soul to view whenever she closed her eyes and remembered.
Brendan came for her last, when she thought her feet must surely fall off. Blissfully he took her hand on a slow song. She’d long ago kicked off her low heels and moved to the soft grass, so he was careful of her bare feet as he drew her into his arms and began to move in a semi-waltz sway. Laying her head on his shoulder, she found to her surprise that he was taller than she was, something she hadn’t ever noticed before.
“You’re tired, Mistress,” he observed. “And the collarbone is still bothering you. I saw you massaging it a little while ago.”
“It’s a happy tired,” she assured him. “Don’t fuss. And Tyler’s keeping as close an eye on me as you are.” She smiled. “Marius wanted to grab my ass just to see if he would notice. As much of an urbanite as Marius is, I convinced him that out here in the backwoods, Tyler is more than willing to shoot people and feed them to the alligators.” Brendan laughed. “I’d beat him up for you, but we all know Marius would just take that as flirting.”
Marguerite smiled again, but a more serious mood took her as she gazed at him.
“Brendan, you asked me for something, that night at The Zone. Something I should have given you.”
His gaze stilled on her face as he remembered, his body tensing beneath her hands.
Marguerite stopped, looked toward her husband. Tyler stood talking to several of his male guests, but at her regard, he glanced toward her. She inclined her head, a warning of sorts, then turned her attention back to Brendan. She reached up, took hold of his head in both hands, brought him to her mouth. “You asked for a kiss.” Brendan had expected a tender press of lips. He was wrong. She opened her mouth to his, delved deep into him, pressing her body into his, letting him feel her fragility and strength together. Oddly, it brought the platonic memory of the teenager who curled around him, keeping his fears at bay. Just as it brought the memory of the woman who had given him emotional release through a storm of sexual sensation.
Desire surged through him, tingling low in his back where her brand rested.
When she pulled back, she did so only several inches, those blue eyes a handspan from his. “Thank you for being the first boy to love me, Brendan. For loving me, period.
And for reminding me why it’s important to live.”
“You could never have failed me in any way, Mistress,” he managed, his voice thick. “There’s nothing you owe me.”
“I reserve the right to overrule you on the failure part.” She framed his face in her hands so he could not look away, though he would never presume to disrespect her that way. “I love you, then and now,” she said softly. “I should have told you that when you were six. And you are very important to me. I missed you very much when you left. I stole your sheets off the bed so I could smell your little boy smell for at least a week after. Thank you for being that important to me.”
“Mistress,” he said, low, his voice choked with emotion. She touched him, raised to her toes and laid her lips on his again. This time it was what he’d originally expected and more. Just the pressure, perhaps not even sexual in nature, just loving. Giving.
Intimate in the ways she’d not allowed herself before. When she finally drew back, he pressed his cheek to her temple and they danced on while the fairy lights and laughter danced around them.
“Brendan,” she said at last, quietly. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything my Mistress desires.”
“Can you go talk to the DJ for me?”
When the song ended, under a wealth of fascinated eyes, Marguerite turned and walked across the grass in her bare feet toward her groom, who left his friends to meet her halfway. She put her hands into his just as the DJ announced, “A special request, from the bride to the groom.”
“Was that necessary?”
She smiled, remembering a different time when he’d asked the same question. A heartbeat later, he remembered as well and cocked his head, giving her a rueful smile.
“And the same boy. Are you going to force me to kill this kid before he gets the chance to experience puberty?”
“Brendan is no younger proportionately to me than I am to you, old man.” She moved into his arms, stroked his nape, her eyes glinting with mischief.
“Keep it up.” He pursed his lips, smoothly moving her into a turn and then into an elegant dip that had her lips curving. He kept her there, traced a finger up her neck, holding her easily with one arm, letting her feel that strength that he could use for or against her. “We’ll leave this party and I’ll spend all night showing you just how old and doddering I am. This is nice, by the way.” His expression got tender as she realized he was also listening to the words, acknowledging the careful choice she’d made.
The DJ had begun the soulful rendition of “Because You Loved Me”, by Jo Dee Messina. As the female vocalist softly noted how she had survived the darkness of the world only because of one person’s love, Tyler’s heart was in his eyes. He turned her in the steps of a waltz, cradling her body, letting her lean into him. She recognized his attempts to give her some rest, his protective nature asserting itself.
“I suppose I’ll have to suffer that kiss,” he said at last. “Considering that the ladies I’ve had the pleasure to call my obedient submissives have been groping, fondling, kissing with tongue and otherwise doing everything they can to convince themselves I’m off the market.”