by C. J. Wells
My hand darts to my trembling lips, tears streaking down my cheeks, my lips parted in awe as I struggle to breathe. Looking back into his eyes, the love I see reflected there shatters me.
“You are my beginning, my end, my everything. And I want to spend forever enjoying all that will come in between. It’s always been you, Aby. It will always be you.” Removing the ring, he lays the box down to hold my left hand in his, his gaze worshipping me with his love, leaving me trembling in yearning as he whispers, “Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
The words leave my lips without thought or hesitation, “Yes, yes I’ll marry you.” My hand trembles as he slips the beautiful ring on my finger.
Taking his perfect face in my hands, I lean down to kiss his equally perfect lips, feeling his smile against my mouth. I’m so overcome with elation, surprise, love, I can’t slow my thoughts down, replaying over and over our journey, this moment, our futures. It’s an overwhelming, yet incredibly decadent thought. My future with Alex. It’s in that moment that I realize that everything I’ve done, everything I am, has led me to him.
“I love you, Aby,” he whispers against my lips.
Pulling back, his face cupped in my palms, I stare back at him in awe. Awe that he’s mine. That he’ll forever be mine. “I love you so much,” I manage through tears of joy, swiping my thumb along his plump bottom lip as he kisses the tip. “You are my tall bill, Alex. My more. I never thought I’d actually find you…that you even existed. I’m not sure how I got so lucky,” I smile, rewarded by his humble, shy grin in return.
“And I don’t know why I was the lucky guy that caught you that night,” he flashes his charming smile, taking my hands in his lap. “I usually don’t give much credence to fate, but finding you certainly makes me question its existence. What I do know, though, is that whether or not meeting you was destiny, falling in love with you was beyond my control,” he leans in, lingering at my lips for just a moment before claiming them.
“We found each other,” I smile against his lips. “And in this journey that led me to you, I also found myself,” I pull back to look into his eyes. “I needed to do that. I had to be mine, before I could be anyone else’s.”
“And I promise to never let you forget who you are.”
IT’S MID-MORNING ON a beautiful Friday in January, our fifth day back in London, and I feel…as though life couldn’t get any better.
It’s hard to imagine that I virtually walked into my ultimate fantasy - all on a whim of living my dream. An unfathomable desire for something more.
And Alexander Tate is my more.
Throughout the past six months, my mad and irrevocable love for Alex has been a prominent emotion that regularly incapacitates my days. I wake up every morning not from a dream, but to a dream - feeling blessed that he’s mine. Feeling loved, and loving wholeheartedly in return.
Feigning a smile against the warm breeze from the large open windows of The Little Square - my favorite café - I continue to admire the sense of individuality the setting exudes - a trait I’ve recently uncovered within myself, and have made great strides in order to achieve…my own individuality.
The warm summer breeze caresses my face as I sit back and relax, awaiting my much-loved coffee. Staring out onto Shepherd Market, filled with passersby, I feel a sense of peace knowing that the many months spent dissecting and reflecting on my life altering changes have long washed away.
And now I’m getting married, having fallen in love with the man of my dreams - who truly does exist, by the way. Thank God for dreams - my inner dreamer stands up and takes a bow.
I used to question my dreams for more - feeling selfish in my desire for the perfect life, never quite understanding why I was so unsatisfied with the one I had. But I’ve come to learn that it was never a perfect life that I wanted, craved. It was a happy one. I’ve learned many things along the way. I’ve learned that the grass isn’t always greener, but it’s not about that. It’s about making it work when it’s the right fit. A perfect love is just two imperfect people who refuse to give up on each other.
I realize that most people would say I’m crazy - crazy for our whirlwind romance, seemingly right out of a dreamy novel. But I no longer question my own sanity. The only thing crazy is how I feel about the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.
So here I sit, thirty years old, carefree and…perfectly happy, madly in love - a world away from my past, looking forward to walking head first into my future.
Pulled from my wayward thoughts, I notice an older couple sitting at a nearby table, all smiles and laughter, the occasional shared heated look. I smile inwardly, realizing that’s exactly what I was searching for. What I’ve found. The one person who gives me tingles with just one look. The man I’ve always dreamed I’d end up with. The man with whom I can finally be me. The real me. No more pretending.
I pick up my double-double coffee and give myself a private salute.
A salute to dreams.
A salute to romance and inspiration and excitement.
A salute to endless love.
I vow to enjoy the present, look forward to the future, and live this new life to the fullest. It took me a long time to find it, it’d be a shame to waste even one second.
With that, my cell phone chimes, signaling a text from Stacey.
Subject: House hunting SUCKS
Have I told you today how much I HATE our real estate agent? I’m no gynecologist, but I sure know a cunt when I see one. If she shows me one more shoebox that needs “loving care” I’m gonna have a stroke. Call you tonight, my little twat waffle.
Stace xx
I can’t help but smile at the changes we’ve all been through…though some things never change. Like my feisty friend’s trucker-mouth theatrics. I love my best friend, I shake my head on a laugh.
“I’ll never tire of seeing that beautiful smile on your face.”
Looking up, I find Alex staring at me from the doorway, instant butterflies fluttering at the sight of him, as always. I love the idea that he’ll always make me feel this way.
“Are you just going to stand there and ogle, or are you going to come over here and kiss me,” I ask cheekily.
“As you wish,” he smiles, it’s perfection something I will never tire of it either.
I stand to meet him, though it was an unconscious move, possibly my body’s eager need to be claimed in his kiss. His perfect kiss. How does he always make it feel like the first?
“Ready?” he pulls back to look into my eyes.
“That depends,” I bat my lashes, “…where are you taking me?”
“Anywhere…Everywhere,” he smiles. “You in?”
For you, Mr. Tate? Always, I nod, taking his hand with a beaming smile. A smile brighter than the sun…sweeter than fiction.
“LISTEN, SHIT HEAD, stop your damn pacing or I’ll make you,” Ben spews from his place in front of the mirror, absently styling his already styled hair.
“Fuck off,” I reply, fiddling with my tie, aimlessly pacing back and forth, wearing thin the Persian rug-covered floors of the church chamber room.
Time is dragging, every minute passing painfully slower and slower. Fuck, I gnaw at the corner of my mouth. Aby Ryan is mine, and it’s killing me to have to wait to slip that ring on her perfect little finger, sealing the deal for all time. That symbol that represents everything she means to me - everything I am for her, because of her - is so much more than the chunk of gold it was created from - is worth so much more in my heart than the diamonds adorning it.
“You do have the ring, right?” panic bites through my words, my feet frozen in place waiting for the relief of his reply.
“What ring?” Ben smirks.
“You’re an asshole,” I clench my jaw, continuing my restless jaunt around the room, her perfect smile, beautiful lips calling to me…to make her mine. To finally call her my wife. My wife. The thought sends intense emotions coursing through my veins. Elation. Poss
ession. Completion. Love.
“Seriously, man, you need to calm the fuck down,” he calls over his shoulder, returned to his reflection, adjusting his tie. “You getting cold feet, fucknuts?” he turns to face me, his typical sarcastic expression contorting to genuine concern. Misguided concern.
“Don’t be daft, dick. I’m dying here. The wait is killing me. I want to marry Aby. Right. Now.”
“Fuck,” Ben chuckles. “That’s a relief. I hadn’t anticipated having to break you out of here. I wouldn’t know where to start,” he adds, looking around for some kind of inconspicuous escape.
“Very funny.” I make my way to the settee in the corner. “What time is it?” I ask, despite staring at my watch - the watch Aby gave me. To my Alexander the Great…If she only knew how much having her in my life made me feel just that.
“It’s about quarter past my ass,” he snickers. “Dude, I’m going to need reinforcements if you don’t snap the fuck out of it.”
I can’t resist my long, drawn out sigh of frustration. Fifteen more agonizing minutes. What’s fifteen more minutes when I’ve waited a lifetime for her? I’ve managed to make it through a full year since bending before her on my knee. Twelve long months since the day I proposed - Aby’s adamancy that we prove ‘them all wrong' with a lengthy engagement merely solidifying our love for each other, the rightness of us. I can get through another fifteen minutes, right?
Fuck me, I ring the back of my neck, pulling and stretching to work the kinks out.
“Wow, buddy, you’ve got it bad,” Ben chuckles, jarring me back to real time - where moments slow further.
“If by that you mean I’m madly in love with her, then hell yes. She’s my whole fucking world and everything in it.”
“I’m happy for you, man, I really am. But all this gooey romance shit you’re sprouting is pinching my last manly nerve. You’re hooked, shithead. She has you fucking hooked. Wrapped around her little finger.”
Bound to her…“Admittedly,” the reminder pulls my smile, “And I love every minute of it.”
“Knock, knock,” Mo enters, closing the door behind him. “Almost ready?”
“Almost?” Ben quips, his sarcastic tone of old returned full force. “The man is damn near out of his mind ready.”
Smiling down at me, Mo winks, reaching into in his pocket to pull out three cigars. “Perhaps a stogy will calm you down, my friend.”
“Brilliant idea,” Ben mutters, quickly making his way to join Mo at the door.
“Not now, Ben,” I halt his process, eliciting his annoyed stare. “I don’t want to smell like a cigar when I kiss my bride. But thank you for the thought,” I smile at Mo.
“My pleasure, buddy. You ready for this?” he asks, sitting down beside me.
“More than you know. I feel like I’ve been ready forever - waited forever - for Aby.”
“It was fate. Cupid’s arrow,” Ben swoons dramatically, dangling his hand through the air. “Cupid’s arrow, my ass,” he snorts, “more like your dick licking her ass when she fell into your lap.”
My best friend is a dorky dickhead, I lean my elbows on my wide spread knees, looking down to the floor, shaking my head.
“That wasn’t fate, brother, he made that shit happen,” Mo pulls my gaze to his knowing grin.
“He didn’t make her fall into his lap, dick,” Ben retorts, his face twisted as though he’s actually weighing the thought.
“No, but the minute she did, I knew I had to make her mine.” Our connection was instant, and I can’t help but smile remembering her nervous ramblings that night. So confident about she wanted, yet so real with naïve self-doubt. Real. My perfect reality.
“She’s a good girl, Alex, my man. And it was clear from the first time I met her that she has it equally bad for you. That night at the Imagine Dragons’ concert, the way she was looking at you…Man,” he shakes his head. “I’m elated for you both,” he slaps my knee, moving to stand.
“Come on-n! Don’t encourage him. He’s turning into a fucking chick - a blubbering, ass-whooped Romeo.”
“You’re one to talk,” Mo pipes in, “I’m fairly certain I heard you babbling sonnets for the lovely Helena earlier.”
Flipping us the bird amid our laughter at his expense, Ben resumes my previous pacing of the room, Mo giving him a playful shove.
This feels good, I take in my two best friends, our incessant meanderings never waning, regardless of the venue and monumental event about to take place. Life doesn’t get much better than this.
“Okay boys, time to make our way out,” Mo warns, looking at his watch.
Hell yeah. “Let’s do this,” I rub my eager hands together, joining them at the door, the word mine carrying me through each step.
SHIT, MY HEART is threatening to burst through my chest at the introduction of the bridal march, my eyes glued to the double doors at the end of the aisle. It isn’t nerves, it’s fucking excitement. Yearning. And when she comes into view, it threatens to burn me alive.
Stunning doesn’t begin to describe Aby in this moment. There are no words.
Her gorgeous brown curls are piled high atop her head, loose tendrils sweeping beneath the angelic veil draping down her back. I could never have prepared myself for the vision of her - her blue-gray eyes glistening, holding me hostage, her beautiful smile meant only for me. She takes my breath away.
She pauses there, in the doorway on her father’s arm, her love radiating in her gaze towards me in the distance between us. My perfect love, calling to me in it’s unspoken depth, every cell of my being fighting to run towards it, to claim it - knowing it’s walking my way, the only thing holding me in place.
The need to devour the length of her pulls my gaze, my eyes begging to take her all in as she walks on the arm of her father up the aisle. Her dress is mind-blowing, the strapless lace top framing her chest in the shape of a heart - romantic, fitting and incredibly sexy. The full, flowing skirt accents her tiny waist to perfection. She looks like a fucking angel. My angel.
Reaching me, she steals my breath once more, a loose curl hanging along her perfect neck triggering an itch to just lean down and place a gentle kiss on the soft flesh. Time stands still as I lose myself in her beautiful face, the world around us melting away to nothing but my undying love.
She smiles wide as I take her hand, gently squeezing it as we turn to face the altar - in body only, since I can’t tear my eyes away from the angel at my side.
Words blur - heard, though fleeting in comparison to her strong hold of my heart - before her vows steal, capture, what I will remember for all time, “…to honor and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live.”
I hang on her every word, overcome with emotion from the sincere purity of her love - love that steels the composure of my own overwhelming, recital of our vows. Every word, every promise I return, meaning more than I ever thought possible as I stare down into the face of the woman I love more than life itself.
I love you, I mouth, wiping a fallen tear from her cheek.
Anything and everything around us is nothing but a hushed whisper - the only thing that matters standing before me, her gentle smile, her eyes gleaming with so much elation it leaves me bewildered that she’s mine.
Mine…even before I hear the words of declaration, “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice.
Cupping Aby’s perfect face in my palms, I lean down placing the most heartfelt of kisses to her lips, trying my damnedest to convey the sheer magnitude of my love and devotion to her among the whispered cheers of the crowd. I feel the pull of her beautiful smile against my lips as the kiss extends a little longer than it should.
“I love you,” she whispers as I pull away.
“I love you more.”
“HOW DO YOU feel, Mrs. Tate?” I brace my hand on the back wall of the elevator, pinning my beautiful bride, stealing a
caress of her cheek.
“Mmmm, perfect,” her breathless reply slithers down my groin, my dick twitching at the perfection of her.
“You’re perfect, sweetheart,” I reply, meaning every word.
She laughs and the sound sends a second strike to my raging erection. I’ve waited hours to get her alone - hours to make love to my wife - each agonizing minute closer to taking her sending my ardor careening higher. I feel like a randy fifteen year old, unable to keep his dick in his pants from the excitement of using it for the first time. That’s how she makes me feel. How she’s always made me feel. I can’t get enough of her.
“Fuck, I love you,” the words escape amid my attack of her perfect mouth.
The memory of our first kiss - the intense rush of need to make her mine right there in the elevator of this very hotel - floats through the euphoric dance of our lips and tongues. It was in that moment, my lips touching hers for the first time, that I finally knew the taste of happiness. I felt it. And my need for her now - right here, in this moment - supersedes my wildest dreams. She makes me feel like tomorrow is more than just another day. And each and every day, I fall further and further under her spell.
Coming to a stop on our floor, the elevator signals the opening of its doors, our kiss unbroken as I pull her out into the hallway. The only thing allowing the pull of my lips from hers is my dire, desperate need to get her to the suite. Our honeymoon suite. The entire notion hits me hard with longing, possession…love.
Quick, needy strides lead us down the hallway, our hands linked eagerly with anticipation. Stopping at the door, I wrap her in my arms, pulling her flush against me, leaning my back on the wall.
Mesmerized, I watch her lips part on a breathless gasp, her cheeks instantly blushing, hands gliding up my chest to rest on my shoulders. She loves it when I lose control, showcasing my desire for her, my need for her.
