“I’m in college,” she says, and I can hear the pride in her voice. “I’m majoring in environmental science.”
“Oh, Olivia. That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m so proud of you!” She hugs me carefully, not wanting to mess up my dress. “Can you believe today is your wedding day?”
“Sometimes, I really can’t,” I tell her.
My parents are here for the occasion, of course, and I know they’re enjoying sharing babysitting duties with Kyle’s parents. It’s been a great opportunity, over the last few days, for the whole family to get to know each other properly. All the parents seem to be getting along really well. Kyle’s parents have taken mine out to dinner at their favorite local restaurants. My mother took over our kitchen to cook dinner for everyone one night.
I was worried there might be arguing or hurt feelings when it came to who would take responsibility for the twins during the wedding, but to my surprise and gratification, all four parents agreed that they’d like to spend the day together with the kids, bonding as a family. They’ll be sitting in the front row out there, each of my kids held in the arms of a loving grandparent as they watch their mom and dad get married.
Olivia hugs me again, pledges to come and find me afterward, during the reception, and then slips out the door. I catch a glimpse of her running across the grass before the door closes and realize Bev must be here too. I’ll be able to introduce my family to my ranch family. I’d have expected that thought to make me nervous, but to my surprise, I feel nothing but joy. These are, after all, the people I’ve loved, the people who love me.
Everyone here today cares enough about me to want to watch me get married. There’s something magical about having them all in the same place.
The knock at the door comes again. Courtney steps in. She looks beautiful in the simple peach bridesmaid shift I picked out, her hair twisted up off her neck.
She smiles at me. “Are you ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
She leads me out the door and onto the San Diegan beach Kyle and I selected for our wedding. Both my parents walk me down the aisle, a choice I made because we were out of each other’s lives for so many years and I’m still seizing every opportunity to include them in things. When we did this yesterday, in the rehearsal, I couldn’t keep from tearing up, and I worried that I would ruin my makeup on the big day. But the tears aren’t coming at all.
Instead, looking at Kyle dressed in his tux and watching me intently from the altar, I can only smile. I can’t believe that after everything we’ve been through together, we finally made it here. I can’t believe we’re finally getting married.
“Hi,” he says, taking my hand from my father.
“Hi yourself,” I grin.
“Been waiting a long time for you, you know.”
Only the fact that there’s an assembly of people watching us keeps me from kissing him right then and there.
The officiant speaks for a while, then hands off to us to recite the vows we’ve written for each other.
“Tammy,” Kyle says, “From the moment we met, I recognized you as someone special. I knew that you would have an impact on my life. But in that moment, I had no way of anticipating how important to me you would come to be.”
I can’t help it. Tears spring to my eyes. I knew I wouldn’t be lucky enough to make it through this entire ceremony without crying. I just hope the waterproof makeup I’m wearing is as good as its name.
“You struck me immediately with your intelligence, wit and charm,” Kyle continues. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, even when I was most determined to do so. And the day I discovered you were pregnant with Abby and Jack was one of the best of my life.”
He meets my eyes and I know we’re both thinking the same thing—that was the day he was shot. He was shot in the stomach, and it was still one of the best days of his life.
“I love you,” he concludes, “and I can’t imagine a better way to spend the rest of my life than with you by my side.”
He squeezes my hand and, to my astonishment, I see a single tear trickling down his cheek. I’ve never seen Kyle cry.
“Kyle,” I say, “for years, I thought maybe I’d never marry. I thought I’d never meet a man I felt enough of a connection with. But from the day I met you, the thought has been in the back of my mind. I used to wonder if I was crazy, thinking about marriage with a man I hardly knew, but every time I tried to pull away from you, circumstance and fate brought us back together. Your strength has gotten me through some of the most difficult times in my life. I already know you are an amazing partner and father. I’m ready to make official what you and I decided together a long time ago.”
The officiant hands us the rings. Kyle slips the ring on my finger, lifts my hand to his mouth, and kisses my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine. The officiant clears his throat and the assembled congregation laughs. He’s supposed to be waiting to kiss me, of course. But I don’t want to wait, either.
Our whole story so far has been about waiting. Waiting until the trial was over before admitting to our feelings for each other. Waiting until the babies were born before planning our wedding. Even back on the ranch, Kyle was waiting until his mission was complete, knowing that he couldn’t honestly confess his feelings to me until I knew who he really was.
Neither of us wants to wait anymore. I put my ring on his finger quickly and look up at the officiant. Let’s speed this along.
The officiant sounds amused. “You may kiss the bride.”
Then, Kyle’s hands are on my back, on my waist, and gravity has shifted precariously, but I feel perfectly safe. It takes me a moment to realize he’s dipped me and is holding me above the ground, close to him, as he kisses me.
“Can you believe we made it?” Kyle asks me.
The reception is finally winding down. Everything was picture perfect, just as I planned it, from the beautifully designed cake to the many moments spinning around the dance floor in my new husband’s arms. Almost as enjoyable was watching Jack and Abby race around the dance floor in their tiny formalwear. And, of course, there was the fact that every twenty seconds or so, our guests clinked their forks against their wine glasses in an attempt to make us kiss. I’ve heard people complain about this practice, describe it as annoying, but I was eager to seize any excuse to kiss Kyle. I have no complaints.
The food was absolutely amazing, but unfortunately, I couldn’t manage more than a few bites because I’m so tightly laced into my dress that my stomach has no room at all to expand. Kyle, as usual, came to the rescue. He visited the kitchen and asked for a portion of the dinner to be boxed up and sent to our hotel room so I can try it later, when I’ve changed out of the dress.
Right now, though, I have other things on my mind than dinner.
Kyle and I are riding back to our hotel in a limousine. I’ve cracked my window open to allow the salty beach air in—I spent about the first hour of the day fretting about what it would do to my hair before accepting the fact that I couldn’t control the weather and giving up on worrying about it. Kyle is already picking playfully at the ties to my dress, clearly eager to get it off. He pulls one of them loose, allowing me to breathe a bit more deeply.
“You’d better not untie that all the way before we’re inside,” I warn him, teasingly.
“Mmm.” He pulls me across the bench seat into his arms and kisses the back of my neck. “Are you sure we need to go inside? Are you sure you don’t want to…right here?”
“There’s a driver,” I point out, although he’s weakening my resistance more than I think he knows. Already, I’m starting to think, who cares if there’s a driver? Doesn’t matter. Bet he’s seen worse than this.
“There’s a partition,” Kyle points out. “We could just…”
“Our hotel is one minute away,” I say as sternly as I can under the circumstances. “Come on.”
Kyle sighs. “You’re right, my love.”
The hotel room is lovely. Someone has taken the trouble to place a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice at the foot of the bed, and the bedding looks soft and luxurious enough to spend a whole day in—which I am looking forward to doing. I turn my back to Kyle so that he can finish loosening the ties on my dress.
He sets to work, but after a moment, his hands slow down, as if he’s distracted. As if his mind is somewhere else.
I look back over my shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“Do you want to go somewhere?” he asks.
I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. “Weren’t you just in such a hurry that you didn’t even think you could make it up here from the parking lot?”
“Well, yes,” Kyle admits. “But I’ve got an idea.”
“What kind of idea?”
“Grab a couple of those beach towels, will you? I’ll get the champagne.”
Ten minutes later, we’re back out on the beach. The chairs from the wedding ceremony have been cleared away, and the swimmers and sunbathers have all gone inside. The place is utterly deserted.
I never thought about it before, but a beach at night is a dark place. The only place I’ve ever been that was this dark at night was the ranch. This beach is exactly the same. I’m used to seeing street lights or the lights from houses at night, but there are no lights here. Off in the distance, I can see the bright windows of our hotel, but there might as well be a lake between here and there. The middle ground is swallowed up by darkness.
“Stay close,” Kyle says.
“Where’s the water?” I ask. I can hear it, the waves lapping at the shore, a kind of all-consuming roar. I don’t think about how big the ocean is when I can see it, but now that it’s hidden, it’s intimidating to stand so close to such a massive and powerful force.
Kyle’s hand finds mine. “The sand is dry, here. We’re still a ways up.”
He pulls me down onto a spread beach towel. A minute later, I hear the pop of the champagne’s cork. The bottle is pressed into my hand and I take a drink.
“To us,” Kyle says.
“To us,” I agree.
Kyle rolls over me like a wave, like the wind. We’re outside, but somehow, in the cover of this overpowering darkness, it still feels like we’re alone, and I’m unembarrassed, unafraid. It’s like it was the first time we were ever together, in the woods. It’s desperate and wild, hands and hearts, hidden in plain sight. The difference now, is that it doesn’t feel stolen. It doesn’t feel like a moment that doesn’t belong to us, that we’ve claimed illegitimately and will have to pay for in hurt and loss later.
This is ours now. We belong to each other.
Afterward, I drift in and out of sleep, tucked under Kyle’s arm, my wedding dress now hanging loose on my body, covered in sand. In a few hours, I will have to get up, take this thing off before anyone sees it and figures out how we spent our night, and prepare to go get my children and return to my life—a life I cherish—of being a mother.
But for a few more hours, I will be young and free and careless, and I will lie here in the sand with my husband, listening to the crash of the waves and watching as the sun rises on the first day of the rest of our lives.
The End
We hope you’ve enjoyed Kyle and Tammy’s story! Sign up to Layla’s mailing list and be the first to know about all her new releases.
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My Protector
Layla Valentine & Holly Rayner
Time for a tease!
Up next is the first chapter of My Protector, the previous book in my series, Once a SEAL, Always a SEAL
Happy reading!
Layla x
Copyright 2018 by Layla Valentine and Holly Rayner
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.
All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Jenna
I’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about people by the way they behave in airports. Maybe that’s because I spend so much of my time in airports, though, and one of the only things to do on a seven-hour layover is people-watch.
Today, I’m at a regional airport, which is what I prefer. International airports don’t give you any idea of the flavor of the country you’re in, but this airport feels like France. Most of the people in the departures lounge with me are French—at least, I assume they are by the fact that they’re speaking to each other in rapid French. My own French is good enough to ask for directions and extend polite courtesies to service workers, but I sure as hell can’t keep up with any of the conversations around me.
Of course, the bad thing about regional airports is that there’s very little to do. This one has a single, solitary bar, tucked into a corner behind a ridiculously large planter. I’m seated on one of the uncomfortable bar stools, well into my second cocktail. My flight to Paris doesn’t take off for another three hours, and from there I have another two-hour wait for my flight back to the States.
So in the meantime, I’m checking out the people in the airport. It’s the usual cross-section of society. Some people are traveling in sweats or pajamas, slumping in the rigid seats at the gate with feet propped up on their luggage. Although part of me judges them for letting it all hang out in public, I have to admit there’s a part of me that’s jealous.
I know I look immaculate with my dark hair in an updo, my legs sheathed in stockings, and my perfectly tailored business suit, but it would be nice not to have to dress like this on international flights. I know I’m not going to feel comfortable again for hours, and when I finally peel these clothes off at the end of my journey, I’m going to be sweaty and sticky and disgusting.
A lot of the waiting area is occupied by young people—younger than my twenty-seven years—sporting backpacks. Looking at them also makes me experience a stab of jealousy. I never had the chance to travel around the world after college—I went straight into business. And, okay, it’s true that I get to travel all the time for my job, meeting with executives in other countries. But that isn’t the same, and even I know it. I spent the majority of this trip to France in conference rooms in the hotel and didn’t get to see anything cool or touristy.
That said, the trip was a success, and I’m proud of what we achieved. It’s always a great feeling when a new company agrees to come on board, and not just because of the extra profit we earn. I work as a consultant for philanthropic organizations. My company helps charities we believe in raise money so they can pursue their mission. Sometimes being a business executive feels like a very cold, detached way to live, but other times I really feel like I’m making a difference in the world.
It’ll be nice to have a couple of days off, though. Every December, my firm closes for a couple of weeks so that employees can spend their holiday of choice with friends or family, and, as usual, I’ll be spending the time with my father. I’m going home to Manchester, New Hampshire today, but in another week’s time, I’ll be driving to Boston to spend a week with him. Dad and I haven’t seen each other in months—unfortunately, I’m usually too busy with my job—and I can’t wait to be there. We always have a
good time together. He’ll have bought a bottle of high-end whiskey for the occasion, as he always does, and we’ll go out into the backyard and chop firewood together so we can make a fire in his fireplace and sit beside it with our drinks.
A smile makes its way across my face as I imagine it. Even though we don’t see each other as often as I’d like, my dad is probably my best friend. I’m an only child, so ever since Mom died when I was a baby, it’s been just the two of us. I think it’s probably thanks to him that I’m so good at my job—he raised me to be confident and assertive, both of which are very important when trying to pitch your services to people. But he also raised me with compassion, a trait non-profit organizations are always glad to see. If it weren’t for Dad, I wouldn’t have had any of the successes or the opportunities I’ve had in my adult life.
But when we spend holidays together, our focus is always on the fun things we have in common. Dad is a great cook, and he’s been trying for years to teach me. I don’t have his touch, so I’ll be his sous chef as we prepare Christmas dinner. I picked him up a French cookbook during this trip, and I’ll give it to him as an early Christmas present. I know he’ll love picking a recipe for us to make together.
And we’ll play chess. So much of our time spent together is funneled into our ongoing chess tournament. Dad’s currently beating me 105 games to 87, but I’ve been studying technique online, and I think I have a few moves that might surprise him. I sip my drink and smile, imagining him staring in consternation at the chessboard as I capture piece after piece and eventually maneuver him into a checkmate. It’s about time he took me seriously as an opponent.
Getting away from work for a few days will be great, too. I look around at the travelers in their sweats and imagine a whole week without putting on a business suit and heels. It’s going to be heaven.
In Deep - A Secret Twins Romance (Once a SEAL, Always a SEAL Book 6) Page 18
