“I want the world to know I’m marrying you, Mia.”
My heart squeezes and I press my hand to his jaw. “And I love you for that, but what I’d love is to have a ceremony on New Year’s Eve at the house with the tree still up. That way your father is there in spirit.”
“What about the lighthouse?”
“It’ll be too cold for the lighthouse, but when everyone leaves, we can escape to be there together, our private place, alone. I can still wear my dress. It will be small and intimate and special.”
He searches my face. “You really like this idea?”
“I love this idea. I can’t believe we didn’t think of it before now. It’s still a fast turnaround with Thanksgiving only two weeks away, but it’s the perfect way to start a new year together. My only negative is the three months won’t be over. But it will be close and we could lock ourselves away here for the last two weeks, just you and me. And this makes this our story, not your parents’ story. What do you think?”
He studies me for several more beats, his green eyes warm before he molds me to him. “Yes. Let’s get married on New Year’s Eve in the Hamptons house.”
I smile a genuine ear-to-ear grin. “Then I want to go look at my dress. I’m actually dying to see it right now. I never saw the final dress after alterations.” My brows furrow. “You haven’t seen it, right? That’s bad luck.”
“I haven’t,” he assures me. “It’s bagged in the upstairs spare bedroom. Go look, baby. I’ll go open a bottle of wine.” He stands and pulls me to my feet and kisses me before he reaches for his pants.
I smile again, excitement bubbling over as I highjack his shirt that I’m still wearing and take off for the bedroom door, and hurry through the apartment, still not taking time to enjoy the luxurious living room. It takes me about two minutes to climb the winding stairs and run down a hallway to enter the walk-in closet. I flip on the light and butterflies flutter in my belly at the sight of the garment bag. Hurrying forward, I unzip the bag. My heart in my throat, silly nerves fluttering all over in my belly for no reason at all. Once the zipper is down, I don’t pull the dress fully from the bag, but I don’t have to. I stare in wonder, a stunning white gown that is simple elegance accented by tiny butterflies in the lace. Butterflies that to many cultures, and to me, mean hope and a positive future but they hold another meaning to many that somehow feels all the more appropriate: resurrection. The resurrection of our love. Everything else fades away but this man and our wedding, images of me in this dress, and Grayson handsome in his tuxedo. And the tree that we’ve decorated together in the background, symbolic of many more years together to come.
My heart squeezes and I zip it back up, before rushing from the closet and the room in search of Grayson. I find him in the kitchen behind the shiny gray marble island, filling two wine glasses, the television over the island playing the news. It’s something he always does, like a habit. He turns on the news when he’s in the kitchen. It’s this familiar part of our life that warms me all the more. I missed these moments when he’s just being himself when we’re just sharing our lives, living life.
I hurry to his side and wrap my arms around him, this man who is my Prince Charming.
“It’s still the dress and you’re still the man. There was never going to be another man.”
“And there was never going to be another woman,” he says, cupping my face. “You’re home, Mia, and that home is with me. Forever.”
“Forever,” I whisper, and when his mouth comes down on mine, it really is like I’m finally home. I’m where I belong. With him.
He offers me one of the wine glasses and once he picks up his glass, we’re about to toast when the newscaster says, “We have breaking news. There’s been an explosion in a New Jersey residential home with a fire that is now threatening nearby residences. While firefighters work to stop the blaze and contain the damage, we’re getting word that the home belongs to an attorney named Brian Johnson.”
My heart skips a beat and bile rises in my throat. Grayson and I set down our glasses because we both know who Brian Johnson is. Without a word, Grayson snakes his phone from his pocket and dials a number. And I know why. We both know who was in that house tonight and I pray that Eric and Blake’s team were out before the explosion.