He stopped only when Lily called out a third time. “George Ezekiel Peters—put her down and get in here this instant!”
“Bossy, isn’t she?” I teased. He rolled his eyes and I pressed a quick kiss against his cheek.
“All right, my irresistible bride, come on,” he said, setting me down and taking my hand as he began escorting me back toward the church. “Let’s get married.”
10:25 pm
As I stood on the far side of our new hotel lobby, staring out into the darkness that coated every inch of the small town, I felt as if I were dreaming. There I was, standing alone—still in my wedding attire—waiting patiently for myhusbandto return. He had requested that I “sit tight” while he carried our bags up to our suite, compliments of his—our—parents; I was grateful for the gift of a moment alone.
I had gone into the day refusing to place too much pressure on the event that would change my life. In the end, I realized that even if I had expected too much, my wedding would still have far exceeded anything I could have ever dreamed. It wasn’t my color choices or my dress or the seating arrangements, or even the remarkably delicious wedding cake that made it all so perfect; all of those things, and more, were necessary—but it was the people who surrounded me that made this day the happiest of my life.
I got to spend the evening with fifty-three of the most important people. The family I was born into, along with the family I had just married into, had showered me with love. Their support, manifested in their presence, their affection, and their joyous celebration, was the best gift any of them could ever give me. And my friends, new and old alike, helped to make our reception a night I wasn’t likely to forget—they brought the party and George and I were their honored guests. We reveled in the love we had for each other, the love we had for our friends and family, and the promise of the future we would share together with all of them.
I closed my eyes, a small smile playing at my lips, as I thought of Lily. She had been my hero that day; she held my hand when I needed her to and forced her hand when the situation called for it. I couldn’t thank her enough. And when I told her that she had been the most amazing matron of honor, she winked at me and said: “I’ve had plenty of practice. Third times a charm, right?” But I knew it was more than that. Everything that she did, she had done it for both her brother and me. And she was my sister now, too.
Then, of course, there was George. My husband.My husband—my darling, sweet, sweethusband.
I opened my eyes when I felt his fingers gliding their way between mine. He smiled down at me, my handsome husband, before kissing me in greeting. “I’ve come to collect my wife,” he said with a grin.
“I’m all yours,” I murmured, my stomach suddenly filled with fluttering butterflies. George dropped my hand and scoped me up, cradling me against him as he made his way to the elevator. We passed the reception desk, where I saw our little, happy audience, and I giggled, kissing my man on his bristled cheek.
“What’s funny?” he asked as we stepped onto the elevator.
“Nothing. I’m just unexplainably content right now.”
When he smiled at me, his blue eyes seemed to glisten. His face said more than words could express and I knew that he was just as content as I was. “This whole day has been unbelievable,” he muttered, as if in awe. “I married my best friend. And I found out my sister is having a baby! I am going to be an uncle—and you are going to be an aunt!”
“I am,” I replied with a grin, loving the sound of my pending title coming from his lips.
“I love you,” he whispered.
I gripped him tighter and reached for a kiss before I replied, “I love you, too.” I freed a whimsical sigh as I rested my head in the crook of his neck. It felt nice being held up in his arms. Usually I hated when people picked me up. I had been so small and light my whole life and people always thought it was fun to lift me from the ground in jest. But with George—I felt safe and protected, treasured and loved; with George, I felt as if I belonged in his arms.
“Are you tired?” he asked as we reached our floor.
“Not at all.”
“Good,” he breathed as he lips found mine.
With that one word, all the butterflies in my stomach burst into flames and the resulting heat spread to the crown of my head and all the way down to the tips of my toes. I bit my lip, suddenly feeling both anxious and bashful.
As we entered the suite, the only things I was conscious of were the bed and my husband. I wouldn’t take in the details of the room until much later. It couldn’t be helped. I was about to make love for the first time and I was too blissfully terrified to think about anything else.
“Are you okay? Do you need a minute, or maybe some water?” George asked softly as he gently set me down on my feet.
“What?”
“You’re breathing kind of fast.”
I hadn’t noticed, which made me laugh. George looked a little confused and worried, the emotions providing a thin veil over the impatience he seemed to be reigning in. He ached for me; I could feel the same desire for him with every beat of my heart. I thought back to our kiss in the parking lot and how I didn’t want it to stop—the self-control we had both enforced in that moment, and for the rest of the evening, was quickly slipping away.
I reached for his hand and placed it against my chest, so he could feel my racing pulse. “I don’t need a minute. I don’t need any water. I just need you,” I managed.
He slid his hand up to my cheek before pulling away. His gazed stayed locked with mine as he shrugged his way out of his jacket. He draped it over our bags at the foot of the bed before reaching for my feather-hairpiece, delicately removing it and placing it on top of his jacket. As I watched him move, it became harder and harder for me to breathe—my thoughts too focused on his decisive acts of preparation. He watched me watch him as he undid his bow-tie and slowly freed the first button at his collar.
I knew the man before me had never seduced a woman before, but he was doing a fine job captivatingme, so much so that I grew impatient. When I lifted my hands and started unfastening each button in haste, his deep breathes became labored; and when he was finally rid of the garment, his undershirt thrown carelessly in the growing heap of clothes on the floor, I was transfixed.
My husband was a masterpiece.
I’d seen him without a shirt on before—but this was different. This time, I could explore without abandon. And I did, with trembling hands and timid lips. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but it felt natural and I felt comfortable enough with my husband to keep going. I knew I was doing something right when he moaned softly and cupped my face in his hands, drawing me closer until his mouth found mine.
I wrapped my arms around him, leaning into the kiss as he fumbled for the zipper at the back of my dress. I was anxious to be free of it, suddenly feeling shackled and untouchable wrapped in its fabric. It only took him a couple seconds before he found what he was looking for and my gown fell around my feet. He took my hands and helped me step out of the mound of satin and organza ruffles, the white symbol of my virginal status discarded and all but forgotten.
Then there I was, in my lacy bridal undergarments, my bold blue garter, and my fabulous green heels—on display for him to see. I watched him take me in. We’d both been thinking about our wedding night for weeks—that went without saying. Yet, what he was feeling had been a mystery to me and I was left with my own self-conscious fears. I thought that I might feel nervous and trepidatious in that moment—the moment when I offered myself up to him—but it turned out that I wasn’t afraid at all. I felt beautiful and desired. I was his wife. He chose me—all of me, just the way that I was—and I was ready to show him that I would chose him, andonlyhim, forever.
reading books on Archive.
For the One Chosen: a novella companion to For the Lost & Wayward Found (Crossroads) Page 5
