by Heidi Betts
Stunned, Misty could only stare, wide-eyed for a moment. And then she forced herself to offer a feeble, “Thank you.”
“Yes, well…” Patrick’s gaze darted around the room as he began backing toward the door. “That’s all I wanted to say, really. You look lovely, by the way, and I’m sure Cullen is eager to get this show on the road, so I’ll leave you to…whatever it is you were doing.”
He waved in her direction one last time before escaping the same way Bridget had, leaving Misty standing in stunned silence. Two seconds later, Bridget returned, casting a wary glance at her grandfather’s retreating back through the crack in the door before closing it behind her.
“What did he want?” she asked cynically.
Misty tried to shake off the shock of Patrick’s strained declaration, but seemed incapable of movement.
Cullen’s grandfather hadn’t apologized for the comments he’d made soon after her arrival in New York—the ones about no Elliott marrying a stripper. But he had approached her today, privately, when he didn’t have to. He had welcomed her—in his own way—to the family.
“He better not have said anything to upset you,” Bridget growled protectively. “If he did, I swear—”
“No.” Misty shook her head, blinking several times in an attempt to clear the fog of astonishment from her brain. “You’ll never believe it, but—”
Off to the side, a cell phone chirped.
“Oh, damn, that’s mine.”
Bridget bustled off toward the bed, digging her purse out from under the mountain of clothing that had been tossed there while the bridal party changed into their gowns.
She found her phone and flipped it open, lifting it to her ear. “Hello?”
Misty watched as Bridget riffled through her bag for a pad and pen, taking notes while she listened to whoever was on the other end of the line.
“All right. Yes. Thank you.”
She closed the phone, returned it to her purse and spun back to Misty, fiddling with a few loose strands of Misty’s hair, tucking them under the rhinestone headpiece where they belonged.
“You’ll never believe this,” she said almost breathlessly. “I just got some information about what could be a very big break on the story I’m working on for my book. It means I’ll have to leave right after the reception, though.”
Misty frowned in concern. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t want to say just yet, but I promise to call as soon as I get there to let you know I’m all right.”
She took a step back and smiled encouragingly. “Now, tell me what Granddad said so I know whether I need to sic Cullen on him or not.”
Misty took a deep breath and shared what she still wasn’t entirely sure had happened. “He told me I was good for Cullen and said he was glad to have me in the family.”
“What? Are you serious?” Bridget’s blue eyes were round with surprise. And then they narrowed with suspicion. “That doesn’t sound like my grandfather. Are you sure you heard him correctly?”
Misty chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure. Although I admit I was as shocked as you are.”
For a second, Bridget continued to scowl. Then her expression brightened and she shrugged one slim bare shoulder. “Maybe he’s finally coming to his senses. Whatever the reason for his change of heart, I’m happy for you. The rest of us always knew you’d be a wonderful addition to the family. Cullen loves you, and that’s all that matters.”
At the mention of Cullen’s name and the reminder of how much he loved her, Misty’s mouth curved up in a grin. “I know.”
“Should we go downstairs and tell them we’re ready to get this party started?”
Her fingers flexing around the base of her rose and lily bridal bouquet with strips of pink ribbon hanging nearly to the floor, she nodded. “Yes, let’s.”
With her hand in Bridget’s and butterflies dive-bombing low in her belly, Misty left the room, walked down the hall and stairs to the lower level of the sprawling mansion, and toward the back of the house where her other bridesmaids were waiting to precede her down the makeshift aisle.
Bridget left her at the back of the gathering, rushing around to match up each bridesmaid, including herself, with the appropriate groomsman.
Cullen’s father, Daniel, would be escorting Misty down the aisle, and as he approached, she saw a glint of emotion dampening his eyes. Close to tears already, she quickly looked away, linking her arm with his and busying herself with the folds of her gown and ribbons of her bouquet.
Once everyone was lined up and ready to go, Amanda gave the signal for the orchestra to begin playing “The Wedding March.” As the first strains began, Misty’s heart lurched in her chest, and she had to tell herself over and over again to take deep breaths and relax.
She may not have wanted to step outside and have hundreds of guests gawk at her, but she most certainly wanted to get to the end of this day and finally be Mrs. Cullen Elliott.
The minute she saw him, standing in front of the flower-strewn trellis at the other end of the pink pathway, her nerves left her. A sense of calm swept over her entire body and a gentle smile curved her lips.
Cullen smiled back, and from that moment on, they had eyes only for each other.
When they reached the minister, Daniel kissed her cheek, then turned her over to Cullen. Their fingers twined and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She squeezed back, never taking her gaze from the man she was about to marry.
The minister spoke of love and commitment, and before she knew it, it was time for them to exchange their vows. In turn, they each promised to love, honor and cherish, which Misty knew would never be a problem for either of them. And then the minister told Cullen he could kiss the bride.
“My pleasure.”
Cupping her face in both hands, he leaned forward until their breaths mingled. “I love you,” he whispered, for her ears only.
She blinked rapidly, feeling her heart swell near to bursting inside her chest. “I love you, too.”
And then he was kissing her, a soft, chaste meeting of their mouths that still managed to convey all the passion and devotion their future together would hold.
Epilogue
“T hat was some pretty incredible newlywed sex,” Cullen said, combing the hair away from his damp brow before pressing a line of kisses down Misty’s throat, chest, the underside of her breast.
They were in their suite at the Carlyle, blessedly alone. The wedding reception had dragged on forever—at least it had seemed that way to Cullen—until at last he’d been able to whisk Misty away.
A limo had brought them back into the city, and he’d had the honor of carrying her—in all her bridal finery—into the hotel lobby, up in the elevator and across the threshold to the honeymoon suite.
She’d protested that she was too heavy, too largely pregnant, but to him she was as light as a feather. Even if she hadn’t been, the adrenaline pumping through his veins would have allowed him to carry her the entire length of Manhattan.
Not one to overlook even the smallest detail, his mother had made sure that the room was filled with fresh flowers, gourmet chocolates and two bottles of chilled champagne—one regular and one nonalcoholic.
It was lovely, and everything a newly married couple could hope for, but Cullen had barely given it a second glance.
Instead, he’d carried his new bride straight to the king-size bed and slowly peeled the pristine white gown from her luscious body, languorously making love to her for the first time as her husband. The experience had been so moving, so elemental, he’d wanted to cry.
The second time, he had realized that Misty really and truly belonged to him. Forever.
He was one hell of a lucky man.
“If I’d known,” he added, “I’d have wrangled you down the aisle years ago.”
She laughed, the sound skating down his spine like chips of ice while she rubbed the back of his calf with the arch of her foot.
“I still can’t believe
you wore fishnet stockings under your gown.”
When he’d run his hand under her dress, only to find the sexy, revealing things covering her shapely thighs, it had been quite a surprise. But in a good way. A very good way.
“I thought they were appropriate,” Misty said. “As a reminder that even though you made me an Elliott today, I’ll still always be a showgirl at heart.”
“Amen to that,” he muttered with feeling.
And then his hands began to wander again. His palms circled and stroked the taut mound at her middle, followed by his lips. “Have I ever told you how sexy I find your pregnant belly?”
“I don’t think so,” she said with a chuckle, feathering her fingers through his hair.
“I love touching it, feeling the baby move inside and knowing I played a part in putting it there.”
“You certainly did.”
“And now we have the birth to look forward to. Diaper changes and midnight feedings. Maybe even siblings.”
Keeping his hand on her stomach, he kissed a trail back up to her mouth. “Have you thought of any names yet?”
“No,” she answered, looking drowsy and sated, lying naked on the silky sheets. “Have you?”
“A few. And I’m sure my family will have some suggestions of their own.”
He was watching her sparkling emerald eyes, so he saw the slight shuttering of her gaze at the mention of his family.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
She shook her head, her teeth toying distractedly with her bottom lip.
A stab of concern hit him low in the gut. “Tell me,” he said, stilling his caress of her body.
“It’s nothing bad, I just didn’t have a chance to tell you before the wedding.”
Releasing a breath, she turned her head on the pillow, looking him straight in the eyes. Her arm moved until she found his hand and linked their fingers together.
“Your grandfather came upstairs to see me before the ceremony.”
Cullen reared back, shocked to the soles of his feet. “What? What did he say to you? Did he upset you? Threaten you? Did he offer you a bribe not to marry me?”
“No. No, no,” she quickly assured him, stroking her free hand over his bare shoulder in a soothing gesture. “That’s the thing. He was nice to me, and sort of…welcomed me to the family. I think.”
For a few seconds, all he could do was stare down at her as though he’d been smacked between the eyes with a brick.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he finally found voice enough to mutter. “I have to admit, I never expected Granddad to come around. I’m glad, though.”
He pushed the hair back from her brow and lightly kissed the corner of her mouth. “Now do you believe me when I say you’ll make a fine Elliott?”
“I don’t know. But it certainly is a relief to know your grandfather doesn’t hate me anymore…and won’t end up hating you in the process.”
“Wouldn’t matter if he did,” he replied confidently. “You’re mine, and I won’t let anyone tell me we can’t be together.”
She brought her hand from the back of his head to hold out in front of them—her left hand, with its obscenely large diamond ring and bright gold wedding band flashing in the light of the bedside lamp. And then she touched that same hand to the side of his face.
“Here’s to four years as your mistress,” she murmured, “and the rest of my life as your wife.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said before covering her mouth with his own. “Later.”
