by Kendall Ryan
I chuckle and take a sip of my beer. “I’m going to need some help here. What did Olivia’s dream wedding consist of? Can you remember anything from that scrapbook you mentioned?”
Camryn looks out over the bar, taking a moment to think. “You know what? No.”
“Excuse me?” I’m taken aback.
She gives a flick of her wrist. “Those were her childhood dreams, the ramblings of an adolescent girl. Olivia’s a woman now. And you know her better than anyone. You’ve got this.”
How did I not know this was coming? Every time I’ve asked Camryn for help, she finds a way to make sure I’m forced to figure it out on my own.
“And besides, this . . .” She waves her hand in my direction. “This is amazing.”
“What are you talking about?” I squint at her.
“A groom planning a vow renewal is about the sweetest, nicest thing ever. Go with it, trust your gut, and I’m sure Olivia will love it. It’s inherently romantic because you’re the one making an effort for her. That’s what true love is all about, selflessly doing for another.”
Before we get all mushy, I mutter a solemn, “Thanks.”
Camryn just grins and takes another gulp of her drink.
“Check, please,” I call to the bartender.
“Happy hour’s over already?” she asks, pouting.
“Sorry to cut it short, but apparently I have an entire wedding to plan.” I take the last swig from my beer bottle and rise to my feet.
“It’s not a wedding. It’s a vow renewal.”
I roll my eyes. “Semantics.” If it includes the wedding-night sex I never got, I’ll be a happy man.
Plus I have another idea—a surprise for Olivia tonight that will prove to her she’s the only woman in my life.
I slap down a couple of bills and tip my chin at Camryn. “Thanks for the chat.”
She gives me a little wave as she polishes off her margarita. “Anytime. Good luck.”
• • •
Once Olivia gets home, it’s our standard evening fare. Relaxing small talk, a light dinner enjoyed together at the table, and now, savoring a glass of wine in the living room. She’s flipping through a stack of catalogs that came in the mail today. I shift on the couch, more nervous and excited than I realized I’d be.
“So, what were you up to this afternoon?” she asks.
I’d skipped out of work early to take care of a couple of things, telling Olivia I’d meet her at home.
“I had some business to take care of. I actually met Camryn for happy hour.”
“Camryn? What for? Work stuff?”
I shake my head. “Personal stuff. I’ve been thinking about planning a do-over for our wedding. A real reception, all of it. Wanted to get her perspective on some things you might like.”
She smiles tenderly, her gaze meeting mine. “That’s awfully sweet of you, Mr. Tate.”
“So you’d be game?” I trace my thumb over her jawline, and Olivia leans in to my touch.
“Of course.” She presses a small kiss to my lips. “Did Camryn give you any ideas?”
I smirk. “Nope. She basically said I needed to figure it out on my own.”
She chuckles. “That sounds like Camryn.”
I pull Olivia closer on the couch. Lately every evening has ended with us making love, but for the last several nights, she’s been distracted by thoughts of her dad and work, not one hundred percent in the mood. Tonight, I need to show her what a good stress relief fucking can bring.
“I’ve been thinking,” she says, curling against my side.
“About?”
“I have an idea for replacement assistant.”
“You do?”
I’m surprised to hear that Olivia’s put more thought into it. The control freak in her has been busy turning down every applicant who’s walked through the door. Not that I’ve minded too much . . . it’s cute to see her territorial side come out.
She lifts her head from my chest and nods. “Rosita would be perfect, Noah.”
“Rosie?” My eyebrows dart up. “I love Rosie, but I doubt she’s qualified.” I reach across the table and take her hand. “Babe, you honestly have nothing to worry about. Even if I hired the world’s hottest supermodel as my assistant, I’d still only have eyes for you.”
“A supermodel wouldn’t be qualified, either,” she jokes. Then her smile softens, genuinely soothing. “I know. I mean, deep down, I do know that. And I trust you. It’s just, I don’t know . . . it’s annoying to think that there are women out there who are only interested in sleeping their way to the top, who seduce the men they work for to get ahead.”
I get what she’s saying. Olivia has worked her ass off for every promotion she was awarded. It was due to skill and merit, not because of how short her skirt was or how low-cut her blouse. I can see that her anti-bimbo hiring practices have nothing to do with not trusting me and everything to do with her own personal code of ethics.
The significance of this conversation has taken a turn. I hadn’t planned on showing her now, but what the hell—I need to prove to her that she owns me in every way possible. I start to unbutton my pants.
“I guess I shouldn’t have gotten this, then . . .” I pull down the zipper and push down my boxers.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What is with you and whipping out your . . . whoa!” Olivia slides from the couch and drops to her knees in front of me, inspecting my crotch with wide eyes. “What in the hell is that?”
The warning of the tattoo artist, the gun already buzzing in her hand, rings through my head. Are you sure about this, buddy? You realize it’s permanent. Shit, maybe I have made a mistake . . .
Olivia plants her hands on my thighs and leans closer.
With her head practically in my lap, my dick starts to appreciate the attention, hardening and readying himself for action.
“What did you do?” she repeats.
The ink is still tender on my skin, and I probably shouldn’t have removed that bandage, but I wanted her to be able to see.
Low on my groin, just above my junk, is written Olivia Quinn Cane.
I got it to cement my love for my wife, but since she’s looking at me like I’m crazy, I’m not sure she appreciates the gesture. I scratch my head sheepishly.
“I know that was one of the things that bothered you when we first got together. You said I’d slept with half of Manhattan.”
Olivia’s eyes dart up to mine. “The female half, yes.”
“And while that’s not true, I got something today that I hope will show you I’m yours now. In every sense of the word.”
She traces the gracefully lettered script. I bite my lip at her feather-light caress—the tattoo is still fresh enough to sting like a mofo, but my flesh also tingles at the gentle touch, so near my dick . . .
“I can’t believe you put my name here,” she murmurs.
I swallow hard, my voice husky with emotion as well as desire. “It’s yours. I’m yours.”
She climbs into my lap and kisses me deeply. “You’re incredible. Crazy . . .” She chuckles. “But incredible.”
“I love you.”
“Love you more,” she murmurs against my lips.
“Not possible.”
I rise to my feet and carry her to the bedroom.
Chapter Thirteen
Olivia
We waited to schedule our vow renewal until after Dad was released from the hospital into home hospice care. We also decided to hold it at the Cane family estate, where I grew up, so that he wouldn’t have to travel anywhere. But Noah wouldn’t let me do any of the planning beyond that, because he wanted everything to be a surprise.
Whatever he’s concocting, I’m sure it’ll be a far cry from the day we were legally married. That barely qualified as a wedding ceremony; it was only a legal union, just signing some papers. There was certainly nothing romantic about it. Today we’ll be surrounded by a crowd of family and friends, all laughing, congratulating us, and
toasting our happiness.
More importantly, I’ve come to grips with my feelings. I can look Noah in the eye and tell him I love him. I know exactly what my future holds, and I’m eager for every minute of it.
Well, the future in a general sense, anyway. Right now, I don’t know anything, because Camryn is covering my closed eyes with her hands as she guides me through the house. She put on my makeup and helped me zip up my dress—a gorgeous pale pink princess-cut gown, boat neck with lacy cap sleeves—but she refused to breathe a single word about Noah’s plans. I haven’t even seen what she’s wearing yet.
“Almost there,” she says.
“I can tell.”
I’m pretty sure where we are. The floor beneath my high heels has changed from the hardwood of the hallway into plush carpet, and I hear the buzzing murmur of our many guests talking, muffled by thick glass. We must be in the den, near the French doors that lead out onto the patio and rear garden.
“Don’t open your eyes yet.” Camryn’s hands leave my face. A door handle clicks and the noise from the backyard abruptly becomes louder. “Okay, open them!”
The entire garden, already lovely in the golden light of late afternoon, is festooned with paper lanterns and garlands of fluffy peonies in every color of the rainbow. Each table holds its own small bouquet of peonies as a centerpiece. A bar and a long buffet table piled with what looks like tapas occupy the far right corner of the garden. On the opposite side, the same band we booked for Tate & Cane’s big beach party provides a mellow instrumental backdrop.
And through the middle of the lawn, a snow-white runner marks the path to a tall, arched floral bower. Beneath it is an altar where we’ll recite our renewed vows—and where Noah already stands, devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo, his glowing smile directed at me like I’m the only woman in the world.
My sister, Rachel, and a gaggle of my other female relatives encircle the patio. While I stand gawking at everything, they cheer at my approach, turning heads throughout the larger crowd and sparking off a round of applause. All the women are wearing identical tea-length tulle gowns in an airy shade of seafoam green, as if they were bridesmaids. And when I turn around in astonishment, I see that Camryn is dressed the same way too.
“You like it?” She laughs, pulling me into a hug. “Noah picked my brains about your perfect wedding. He must have sent me a million e-mails confirming everything.”
Then the band starts playing the opening bars of the wedding march. The bridesmaids scatter to take their places along the aisle, and Camryn shoos me off, insisting, “Go on, you’ve got a husband to smooch!”
Blinking back tears of joy, I walk through my bridesmaids toward Noah. The man who so quickly became my friend, my groom, and finally my lover. Not the order that most people do romance in . . . but I wouldn’t have things any other way, because this is our story.
As I reach the altar to stand at Noah’s side, I spot Dad in his wheelchair at the very front of the audience, with an attending health aide sitting next to him. Of course I know that he’s not well, but he’s beaming like this is the best day of his life.
“You look stunning,” Noah whispers to me, taking my hand and stroking the back of it. His eyes are shining like I’ve never seen.
The depth of emotion reflected back at me takes my breath away. I don’t think his expression in this moment is something I’ll ever forget for as long as I live. I feel like his entire world, his most important treasure, his everything. And I love it.
Noah turns to address our audience directly. “Three months ago, Olivia became my wife. But as many of you may know, our union was not a typical one. We married in stressful times; our families’ company was facing the end of an era. And our relationship itself has had its share of rough spots. But we overcame every obstacle, and our love bloomed despite the circumstances.”
Taking my hand, he turns to face me, still speaking clearly enough to let our guests hear. “You’ve made me a better man, Olivia. I believe in this marriage more than ever. I am so grateful that I get to spend the rest of my life at your side, and I eagerly await whatever that life may bring us.”
My breath catches in my throat, but he’s not done yet.
“On our wedding day, I pledged my commitment to you. I promised to honor, cherish, and comfort you, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or for worse. Now I want to add true love to that list. I am honored to stand here today, in front of these witnesses”—with his free hand, Noah makes a sweeping gesture that encompasses our entire audience—“not only to reaffirm all my wedding promises, but to announce that I love you. I always have and I always will, for as long as we both shall live.”
Noah suddenly drops to one knee. “Will you take me as your husband again, Olivia?”
Blinking back tears, I take his hand and encourage him to his feet. I lift up on my toes and press a kiss to his lips.
“I do,” I whisper against his mouth.
The crowd surrounding us bursts into a chorus of whoops, whistles, and applause. I glimpse Dad and several of the bridesmaids dabbing at their eyes.
Just as the sun touches the horizon, the paper lanterns blink to life, one by one, transforming the garden into an enchanting dance floor. The band eases down into a languid, soulful tune and the singer starts crooning “At Last” by Etta James.
Noah stands up, still holding my hand. “May I have this dance, Mrs. Tate?”
Our first wedding dance . . . it might not be our first dance as a married couple, but it means the same thing.
I step close to Noah and loop my arms around his neck. “Of course. Lead the way.”
Gently rocking, wrapped warm in each other’s embrace, we sway in slow circles around the dance floor. I rest my head on Noah’s shoulder and enjoy the feeling of moving together with him, our rhythms united. We’ve spent our whole lives so close, but just barely out of step. Now we’re finally in tune, in sync, in love.
When the song ends, it feels like waking up from a dream. Our guests applaud as we step off the dance floor and others step onto it, letting the reception officially begin.
A white-coated waiter serves us chilled glasses of champagne, each topped with a slice of floating strawberry.
We take a sip, and as the bubbles dance on my tongue, I find myself blinking back tears once again. The scene before me is almost too much. Every inch of this reception is beautiful. And all of it was planned for me by my husband. Seriously, what guy does that?
“What do you think?” Noah asks, dropping a tender kiss onto the back of my neck. “Is it everything you hoped it might be?”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s more.” My throat is tight, and I know he can see my eyes brimming with tears. I blink them away, refusing to ruin my makeup that Camryn spent an hour applying.
“I love you,” he says simply.
We walk over toward our head table that faces out on the garden and all the guests.
“Why did you say no to me all those years ago?” I ask.
He looks at me quizzically. “When?”
“That summer at Puget Sound. I was ready to hand you my virginity on a silver platter.”
He laces his fingers with mine. “Because I knew back then I wasn’t ready for a woman like you. You weren’t the casual type. You were the marrying type. And I was still just a dumb kid—all I wanted to do was sow my wild oats. I didn’t deserve the greatest gift you could offer.”
His answer is so honest, so sweet, that all I can do is merely nod.
He helps me into my seat, then inclines his head at the buffet table. “Do you want me to get you something?”
“Yes, please.” Lunch was more than a few hours ago.
I smooth my skirts out around me and settle in to wait, watching the laughing guests as they mill and mingle. Soon Noah returns with two glasses of red wine and two heaping plates of tapas.
“This looks great.” Noah sets a plate down in front of me but before I can dig in, I hear him c
huckle.
Following his gaze, I spot Rosita on the dance floor and smile, watching as she dances with her thirteen-year-old son who’s taller than she is.
“What did she think about her promotion?” I ask, helping myself to a bite of grilled prawn.
With the same fondness in his eyes that a son has for a mother, Noah smiles. “She hugged me. And then when I told her the pay increase, she cried.”
I place my hand over his. My sweet, loving husband is a good man underneath it all, and I know I’m blessed beyond measure.
“Looks like everyone’s having a good time,” I say as I raise my glass to my lips. The reception party for our not-a-wedding is in full swing.
Noah chuckles. “That’s for sure. I can already tell who’s going to hook up later.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on, Snowflake. You can’t tell me you’ve never played that guessing game at weddings before.”
It does sound kind of fun, but I still roll my eyes at him. Just to tease him, I point to Sterling and Camryn, standing near the bar.
“Okay then, how much do you want to bet on them?” I ask sarcastically. No way would those two ever hook up.
Noah squints in their direction—then bursts out laughing.
“What? Are you okay?” I ask, bewildered.
“So that’s why Sterling has seemed so restless lately. Damn, how did I not see it before? He was getting laid just like usual, but the difference was, there was a specific girl he wanted who he couldn’t get. All the signs were there; I was just too wrapped up in my own shit to notice. I’ll have to bring him a beer later . . . and tease him about his little crush until he punches me.”
Now I’m staring toward the bar too. “Sterling and Camryn? Really?” My brain is still hung up on that part. But when my gaze falls back to Noah, I shrug, smiling. Then again, I guess stranger stars have aligned.
“Hey, Noah,” I say softly. “I’ve been thinking about something. Specifically, about us . . . having a baby.”
He whips around to gape at me. “What do you mean?”
I take his hand in mine. “I’ve thought a lot about this. Everyone said your life will change. Well, just like I always do, I had to break that down into pros versus cons. I wasn’t sure I wanted our life to change. But ever since the whole heir clause thing, it’s been on my mind, and after I had some time to think about it, I realized . . . I like the sound of starting a family with you.” I rest my forehead against his, looking deep into the dark eyes I hold so dear. “It’s more than worth it to me. And I’m not saying right away, but maybe we just see. So if you’re okay with it too, I wanted you to know . . . I’m open to the possibility.”