“Elizabeth,” the officiant prodded.
“Yeah, I got this,” I said, and the audience laughed. I took a deep breath and tried to find words that would equal his. “Weston, you knock me off my feet every time I walk into a room. You frazzle my head and you make my insides do somersaults and somehow you make me braver than anyone I’ve ever known. I’ve never felt more wanted and important and worthy than I do when I look at myself through your eyes. And how you make me feel about myself is only a fraction of how I feel about you. I don’t want you to ever let me go. I want to serve all my days beside you as your queen.”
The rest of the ceremony went by in a daze. We exchanged rings and it didn’t feel awkward or pretend—it felt real.
It was real.
And when it came time to kiss the bride, we reached for each other like we were starving and a kiss was the only thing that would nourish and bring us back to life.
Afterward, there was chaos and confusion and hubbub, and LeeAnn was rushing us along to our next destination. The ballroom was being changed over to fit our reception in the very same space, and we were hurried out to take photographs. Some of these were to be alone and some with family, including Darrell, and I knew there wasn’t time for chatting or trying to figure out what had just happened on that podium in front of everybody.
Nevertheless, Weston pulled me into the event room across the foyer, an area we had reserved for breakfast earlier in the day, and when LeeAnn scolded him, saying she needed us right then, he said, “One minute with my wife,” with such finality that she backed off.
And a shiver ran through my entire body because I was his wife.
He closed the door and I wanted to jump into his arms and kiss him some more, wanted to tear him out of his so carefully fitted clothes and ravage his body, but even more I wanted to ask him, needed to know, “Did you mean it?”
“I meant it. Every word,” he said practically speaking over me.
Just like the ceremony, we were standing face to face, our hands held in each other’s, this time with new matching rings on our left hands.
“I meant it too, Weston, I meant it too. I want to be with you.”
“I want to be with you, too,” he said kissing my face everywhere, quick and urgent. “I want my home with you. I want a life with you.”
“I do too. I was so scared that you didn’t. I thought—“
“I know. I should’ve—“
“No, I should’ve told you.”
We were talking at the same time, kissing and laughing and apologizing. And everything inside me threatened to burst. I wanted to throw open the door and yell to the whole room, Everyone, it’s real. Weston and I are real!
“You make me so happy,” I told him instead, knowing I only had a second, and I couldn’t say anything out there.
“When you don’t want to kill me that is,” he added, joking.
I nodded and laughed. Another explosion of joy went off inside of me as I imagined our life ahead, us living together, taking over my father’s company. “You’re going to love life in France.”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ve been there before. When are we going to France?”
“Well, we’ll live there. To run the company.”
Weston chuckled. “What do you mean, we’ll live in France?”
It was my turn to chuckle. His forgetfulness was becoming legendary. “You’re kidding, right? It’s always been the plan that I’ll live in France. Dyson Media is headquartered in France. My father lived in France.”
He took a cautious step back from me, dropping my hands, and sticking one of his in his pocket. “No, no. You can be a shareholder without having to live in the country.”
“But you know that I want to be more than a shareholder. I want to be on the board. I want to be an officer.” His expression didn’t budge. “Weston, you know that was always the plan. That’s what you’ve been training me for all these months.”
He shook his head slowly.
“You’ll have the subsidiary. You’ll merge with Reach and you can still have the business there. Is that what this is about? We can still live there and you can still have your company.” We’d just found each other. And he was saying we couldn’t be together already?
No, I wouldn’t lose him this fast.
“Elizabeth, I can’t. I—”
LeeAnn knocked on the door, and came in without being invited. “You guys, the photographer is waiting! And your guests! We have to go!”
“Weston?” I asked, not caring that LeeAnn was still standing there. I was begging, pleading with everything I had, by saying just his name.
He looked at our wedding planner and back to me, and shook his head one final time. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I can’t go with you.”
The photographer was waiting to capture my heartbreak; there was no more time left for this. No more time left for us.
We walked as one out of the room and into our separate lives.
Weston and Elizabeth’s story concludes in Dirty Sexy Games! Buy it on Amazon.
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Girl Meets Billionaire Page 179
