by Anna Todd
I pull a crinkled napkin from my pocket and unfold it. “When I first met Landon, I instantly hated him.” Everyone laughs as if I’m joking, but I’m not. I did hate him, but only because I hated myself.
“He had everything that I wanted in life: a family, a girlfriend, a plan for his future.” When I look at Landon, he is smiling, and his cheeks are slightly red. I’ll blame that on the champagne. “Anyway, throughout the years that I’ve known him, we’ve become friends, family even, and he has taught me a lot about being a man, especially in the last two years with the struggles these two have had to deal with.” I smile at Landon and his bride, not wanting to get too into the depressing shit.
“I’m going to end this shit now. Basically what I want to say is, I thank you, Landon, for being an honest man, and for giving me hell when I needed you to. I actually look up to you in a fucked-up way, and I want you to know that you deserve to be happy and be married to the love of your life, no matter how quickly you two put this together.”
The crowd laughs again.
“You won’t know how lucky you are to be able to spend your life with the other half of your soul until you have to spend your life without them.” I bring the microphone down and lay it on the table just as I catch a glimpse of silver rushing through the crowd, and I hurry down from the stage to follow after my girl as the crowd drinks to my toast.
When I finally catch up to Tessa, she’s pushing the women’s bathroom door open. She disappears inside, and I don’t bother to look around before following her inside. When I reach her, she’s leaning against the sink, her palms resting on both sides of the marble.
She looks up into the mirror, eyes red and cheeks stained with tears, and turns to face me when she realizes that I’ve followed her.
“You can’t just talk about us like that. About our souls.” She ends her sentence with a whimper.
“Why not?”
“Because . . .” She can’t seem to find an explanation.
“Because you know I’m right?” I egg her on.
“Because you can’t say those things publicly like that. You keep doing it in your interviews, too.” She rests her hands on her hips.
“I’ve been trying to get your attention.” I step toward her.
Her nostrils flare, and for a moment I think she may actually stomp her foot.
“You piss me off.” Her voice softens, and she can’t deny the way she’s looking at me right now.
“Sure, sure.” I reach my arms out to her. “Come here,” I beg.
She obliges, walking into my outspread arms, and I hug her. Having her in my arms this way is more satisfying than any sex we could have. Just having her here, still drawn to me in the way that only the two of us understand, makes me the happiest son of a bitch around.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I say into her hair.
Her hands move to my shoulders, tugging the heavy jacket off me, and the expensive cloth falls to the floor.
“You’re sure?” I hold her beautiful face between my hands.
“I’m always sure with you.” I can feel the vulnerability and sweet relief as she presses her mouth to mine, lips trembling, breathing slow and deep.
Too soon, I pull away, and she drops her hands from my belt. “I’m just blocking the door.” I’m thankful for the chairs placed in women’s gathering places, and I pull two of them over to the door to keep anyone from coming inside.
“We’re really doing this?” Tessa asks as I lean down to lift her floor-length dress from the floor, up to her waist.
“Are you surprised?” I laugh into another kiss. Her mouth tastes like home to me, and I’ve been away from home, living in Chicago alone, for so long. Only small doses of her have been granted to me over the last few years.
“No.” Her fingers hurry to unzip my pants, and I gasp when she grasps my cock through my boxers.
It’s been a long time, too damn long.
“When’s the last time you . . .”
“With you in Chicago.” I urge her, “You?”
“Same.”
I pull back, looking into her eyes to find only truth behind her claim. “Really?” I ask, even though I can read her face like an open book.
“Yes, no one else. Only you.” She tugs my boxers down, and I lift her onto the counter, spreading her thick thighs with both hands.
“Fuck.” I bite down on my tongue when I discover she’s not wearing any panties.
She looks down, flustered. “There was a line with my dress.”
“You’re going to be the death of me, woman.” I’m hard as a fucking rock when she strokes me, both of her small hands moving up and down the length of me.
“We have to hurry,” she whines, desperate and soaking when I slide my finger over her clit. She groans; her head falls back onto the mirror, and her legs open farther.
“Condom?” I ask, barely able to think straight.
When she doesn’t respond, I push a finger inside her and caress her tongue with mine. Each kiss holds a confession: I love you, I try to show her; I need you, I suck at her bottom lip; I can’t lose you again, I push my cock inside her and moan with her as I fill her.
“So fucking tight,” I whimper. I am going to embarrass myself by coming within seconds, but this isn’t about sexual satisfaction for me, this is about showing her and me that we are truly inevitable. We are a force that can’t be reckoned with, no matter how hard we try—or anyone else tries—to fight it.
We belong together, and it’s truly undeniable.
“Oh God.” She claws at my back as I pull out of her warmth and enter her again, this time completely. She stretches around me, her body adjusting to fit me the way it always has.
“Hardin,” Tessa moans into my neck. I can feel her teeth pressing against my skin as my release climbs up my spine. I move one hand to her back, pulling her closer to me, lifting her slightly to reach a deeper angle inside her, and use my other hand to grope her full tits. She spills out of her dress, and I suck at the flesh there, tugging at her hard nipples with my lips, groaning and moaning her name as I come inside her.
My name comes in quick pants as I rub at her clit while driving into her. The sound of her thighs smacking against me and the counter is hot enough to have me getting hard again. It’s just been so fucking long, and she’s the most perfect fit for me. Her body claims mine, completely fucking owning me.
“I love you,” she says as she comes, her voice strained as she loses herself with me, allowing me to find her. Tessa’s orgasm seems endless, and I can’t help but fucking love it. Her body goes limp, leaning into me, and she rests her head on my chest as she catches her breath.
“I heard that, you know?” I press a kiss to her sweat-beaded forehead, and she smiles a delirious smile.
“We’re a mess,” she whispers, lifting her head up so that her eyes can meet mine.
“An undeniable, beautifully chaotic mess.”
“Don’t go all writer on me,” she teases, out of breath.
“Don’t pull away from me. I know you’ve been missing me, too.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She wraps her arms around my waist, and I push her hair back off her forehead.
I’m happy, I’m fucking ecstatic that she is here with me, after all this time, in my arms, smiling and teasing and laughing, and I’m not going to ruin this. I’ve learned the hard way that life doesn’t have to be a battle. Sometimes you’re given a shitty hand from the get-go, and sometimes you fuck up along the way, but there is always hope.
There’s always another day, there’s always a way to make up for the shit you’ve done and the people you’ve hurt, and there is always someone who loves you, even when you feel like you’re completely alone and you’re just out there floating along, waiting for the next disappointment. There is always something better to come.
It’s hard to see, but it’s there. Tessa was there, underneath the bullshit and self-loathing. Tessa was there beneath my addiction, Tessa was there be
neath my self-pity and my shitty choices. She was there as I climbed my way through it; she held my hand the entire fucking way; even after she left me, she was still there, helping me through it.
I never lost hope because Tessa is my hope.
She always has been and always will be.
“Will you stay with me tonight? We can leave here now. Just stay with me,” I beg.
She leans up again, pushing her breasts back into her dress as she looks up at me. Her eye makeup is smeared and her cheeks are red. “Can I say something?”
“Since when do you ask?” I touch the tip of her nose with my index finger.
“True.” She smiles. “I hate that you didn’t try harder.”
“I did but—”
She holds up a finger to silence me. “I hate that you didn’t try harder, but it’s unfair of me to even say that because we both know that I pulled away from you. I kept pushing and pushing, expecting too much from you, and I was so angry over the book and all of the attention that I didn’t want, and I let that rule my mind. I felt as if I couldn’t forgive you because of other people’s opinions, but now I’m angry with myself that I would even listen to that. I don’t care what people say about us, or me. I only care what the people I love think of me, and they love and support me. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for listening to voices that didn’t belong in my head.”
I stand in front of the counter, with Tessa still sitting in front of me, and I’m silent. I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting such a turnaround. I came to this wedding hoping for barely so much as a smile from her.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“That you forgive me?” she nervously whispers.
“I forgive you, of course.” I laugh at her. Is she insane? Of course I forgive her. “Do you forgive me? For everything? Or close to everything?”
“Yes.” She nods, reaching for my hand.
“Now I really don’t know what to say.” I run my hand over my hair.
“Maybe that you still want to marry me?” Her eyes are wide, and mine feel as if they are going to pop straight from their sockets.
“What?”
She flushes. “You heard me.”
“Marry you? You hated me like ten minutes ago?” She’s truly going to be the death of me.
“Actually, we were having sex on this counter ten minutes ago.”
“You actually mean that? You want to marry me?” I can’t believe that she’s saying this. There’s no way in hell she’s saying this. “Have you been drinking?” I try to recall if I tasted any liquor on her tongue.
“No, I had one glass of champagne over an hour ago. I’m not drunk, I’m just tired of fighting this. We’re inevitable, remember?” she mocks, using a terrible English accent.
I kiss her mouth, silencing her.
“We are the least romantic couple that’s ever been; you know that, right?” My tongue swipes over her soft lips.
“ ‘Romance is overrated, realism is in,’ ” she quotes from my latest novel.
I love her. Fuck, I love this woman so fucking much. “Marry me? Really, you will?”
“Not today or anything, but sure, I’ll think about it.” She climbs down from the counter, adjusting her dress.
I smile too. “I know you will.” I adjust my clothing, trying to understand everything that’s happening in this bathroom. Tessa is somewhat agreeing to marry me. Holy fucking shit.
She shrugs playfully.
“Vegas, let’s go to Vegas right now.” I dig into my pocket and pull my keys out of it.
“No way; I’m not getting married in Vegas. You’re crazy.”
“We’re both crazy; who gives a shit?”
“No way, Hardin.”
“Why not?” I plead, taking her face between my palms.
“Vegas is a fifteen-hour drive.” She glances at me, then at her reflection in the mirror.
“Don’t you think a fifteen-hour drive is long enough to think about it?” I joke, pulling the chairs away from the door.
Then Tessa truly shocks me by cocking her head and saying, “Yeah, I guess so.”
epilogue
HARDIN
The drive to Vegas was a daunting one. The first two hours were spent creating fantasy scenarios about the perfect Vegas wedding. Tessa played with the ends of her curled hair, glancing over at me with flushed cheeks and a happiness in her smile that I haven’t seen in so long.
“I wonder how easy it is, in reality, to be married in Vegas. Last minute. Ross and Rachel style,” she questioned, her face buried into her phone.
“You’re googling it. Aren’t you?” I asked her. I moved my hand to her lap and cracked the window of my rental car.
Somewhere outside Boise, Idaho, we stopped for food and more gas. Tessa was getting sleepy, her head leaning forward and her eyes soft and heavy. I pulled into the crowded truck stop and gently shook Tessa by her shoulder to wake her.
“Vegas already?” she joked, knowing we were barely halfway there.
We got out of the car, and I followed her to the bathroom. I always liked these types of gas stations; they were well-lit and had full parking lots. Less chance of being murdered and whatnot.
When I came out of the bathroom, Tessa was standing in one of the many snack aisles. Her arms were already full of junk: bags of crisps and chocolates and too many energy drinks for her small hands to hold.
I stood back for a moment, just staring at the woman in front of me. The woman that would be my wife in just a few hours. My wife. After all we have been through, after fighting back and forth over a marriage that, honestly, neither of us thought would actually happen, we were on our way to Vegas to make it legal in a small chapel. At twenty-three, I would become someone’s husband—Tessa’s husband—and I couldn’t imagine anything that could possibly make me happier.
Even being the bastard I was, I was getting a happy ending with her. She would be smiling at me, her eyes full of tears, and I would be making some stupid remark about an Elvis lookalike walking by during our wedding.
“Look at all this stuff, Hardin.” Tessa used her elbow to point at the enormous number of random snacks. She was dressed in those pants—yeah, you know the ones. Those yoga pants and an NYU zip-up sweatshirt were what she was wearing on the way to her wedding. She was planning on changing when we arrived at whatever hotel we were going to check into, though. She wouldn’t be wearing a wedding gown, the way I had always imagined in my head.
“You’re okay with not wearing a wedding dress?” I blurted out.
Her eyes went a little wide, and she smiled, shook her head, and said, “Where did that come from?”
“I was just wondering. I was thinking about how you won’t be able to have, like, the wedding that women are always obsessing over. You won’t have flowers or anything.”
She handed me a bag of some sort of orange-dyed corn puffs. An old man walked by us and smiled at her. His eyes met mine, and he quickly looked away.
“Flowers? Really?” she asked, rolling her eyes and walking past me, ignoring the way I rolled my eyes back at her. I followed her, nearly tripping over an unsteady child in light-up shoes wobbling by, holding the hand of his mother.
“What about Landon? Your mum and David? Don’t you want them to be there?” I asked.
She turned to face me, and I could see the thought occurring to her in a different way. During the drive, our minds were both so clouded by our excitement over our decision to be wed in Vegas that we forgot about reality.
“Oh,” she sighed, staring at me while I caught up to her.
We walked to the register, and I could tell what she was thinking: Landon and her mum have to be there when we get married. Have to. And Karen—Karen would be heartbroken if she didn’t witness Tessa becoming my wife.
We paid for our junk food and caffeine. Well, she fought me and paid for it. I let her.
“You still want to go? You know you can tell me, baby. We can wait,” I tol
d her as I buckled my seat belt. She pulled open the bag of orange puffs and popped one into her mouth.
“Yeah. I do,” she insisted.
It didn’t feel right, though. I knew she wanted to marry me, and I knew that I wanted to spend my life with her, but I didn’t want it to start this way. I wanted our families to be there. I wanted my little brother and little Abby to be a part of it, walking down the aisle, throwing flowers and rice and doing whatever crap people make the youngest family members do during weddings. I saw the way her eyes lit up when she proudly told me how much she helped with the planning of Landon’s wedding.
I wanted everything to be perfect for my Tessa, so when she fell asleep thirty minutes later, I turned the car around and drove her back to Ken’s house. When she woke up, surprised but not cursing me out, she unbuckled her seat belt, climbed into my lap, and kissed me, warm tears running down her cheeks.
“God, I love you, Hardin,” she said into my neck. We stayed in the car for another hour. I held her on my lap, and when I told her I wanted Smith to throw rice at our wedding, she laughed, pointing out that he’d probably do it very precisely, grain by grain.
TWO YEARS LATER
TESSA
THE DAY I GRADUATED FROM COLLEGE, I was so proud of myself. I was so happy with every aspect of my life, except that I didn’t want to work in publishing anymore. Yes, Theresa Young, obsessive planner of every detail of her future, changed her mind midway through college.
It started when Landon’s bride didn’t want to pay for a wedding planner. She was adamant about not hiring one, even though she had no idea how to start planning her wedding. Landon helped her, though; he was the perfect fiancé, staying up late to look through magazines with us, missing class to taste ten different cakes two different times. I loved the feeling of being in charge of such an important day for so many people. It was my specialty: planning and doing something for others.
