Cruel Legacy (Cruel 3)

“Now, Natalie, place the ring on Penn’s finger and repeat after me,” the officiant said.

I gulped and then moved forward, slipping the ring onto Penn’s finger. I looked up at him in amazement at how easily the silver band fit him. How it looked like it had always been meant to be there.

“This ring is a token of my love,” I said, repeating the officiant’s vows. My eyes were stuck on Penn’s blue ones. “I marry you with this ring, with all that I have and all that I am.”

Penn’s smile was wide as he slid my ring on my finger, where I planned to keep it for the rest of my life. “This ring is a token of my love,” he repeated. “I marry you with this ring, with all that I have and all that I am.”

“Having witnessed your vows, it’s my honor to now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Penn reached across the divide and scooped me into his arms, pressing our lips together and sealing our union. I melded my body against him, feeling the secure weight of him. This was all I wanted. And I was somehow here against all odds. I’d feared that we were broken, but it turned out that we had come out even stronger on the other side. And I could feel every ounce of that in this one perfect kiss. Just like our first in front of the Eiffel Tower all those years ago.

A cheer rose up from our unwitting crowd. We laughed and broke free, smiling brightly at each other.

“I wasn’t expecting a crowd,” I admitted.

“That’s our life.”

I stood on my tiptoes and pressed another kiss to his lips. “As long as I’m with you, that’s all that matters.”

“You’re mine.”

“I am. And you’re mine.”

He winked at me and then shook hands with the officiant. “Thank you for your time on such short notice.”

“Of course. Congratulations!” the officiant said. “Enjoy your honeymoon in Paris.”

“We will,” Penn said and then swept me up in his arms and carried me to the photographer who took picture after picture of us.

After another hour of pictures, we thanked the photographer as well and headed back to Penn’s flat.

The last three nights, we’d spent in Penn’s hotel room, as planned, before moving everything to his flat. He wanted our first night here to be as husband and wife. And I was jittery and excited to spend the night in his bed where I’d had my first time. In fact, that thought alone felt so surreal.

“Here we are,” Penn said, turning the key and pushing the door open.

I stepped forward, but he stopped me.

“You can’t deprive me of this.”

He swept me up into his arms and carried me across the threshold.

“Oh my god, I love you.”

He didn’t put me down when we got inside. Instead, he kicked the door shut behind him and walked me straight back to the master suite. “I love you, too….wife.”

I circled my arms around his neck and fiddled with his hair. My cheeks were rosy pink from his words and also because I was unbelievably happy. “Wife,” I whispered.

“Oh, yes,” he said, stepping into the room and laying me back against the center of the enormous bed. “My wife. Shall I call you Mrs. Kensington?”

I blushed even deeper. “Oh definitely, husband.”

“Mmm,” he muttered, taking the flowers from my hand and tossing them to the side. “Say it again.”

“Husband,” I breathed.

He assessed me. “How fond are you of that dress?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m considering shredding it to get to you.”

I chuckled. “You don’t think you’re getting this off that quickly, do you?”

“Yes.”

I stepped off the bed. “You owe me a dance.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, and cake, I think, too.”

“How about macarons and champagne?”

“Even better.”

Penn disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a box of macarons and a bottle of Cristal. Music filtered in through the speakers, and I laughed.

“Ray LaMontagne’s ‘You Are the Best Thing,’” I said. “Good choice.”

“He’s a longtime favorite,” Penn said, popping the champagne and pouring each of us a glass. “Plus, he was what we listened to that first night. Felt fitting.”

“It’s perfect.”

He held his glass up, and I raised mine to his.

“To us, my love. For being lucky enough to find the love of our lives and stubborn enough to refuse to let go.”

I chuckled at his words and nodded. “To us.”

I sipped the champagne, stole a passion fruit macaron, and then moved into Penn’s arms as the soft lyrics swept us away. Penn twirled me once in place as it came to a close and then dipped me with all the skill of someone who’d had too many ballroom dance lessons as part of his etiquette training.

Our lips met, and the song bled away into oblivion. His fingers found the bow at the back of my dress and slowly pulled it loose. The straps slipped off of my shoulders next. The long, billowy material caught on my hips once before being tugged down, down, down. Landing in a heap on the floor of the flat.