Page 116 of The Pact
“What are you doing?” she yelps.
“I have to carry you over the threshold.” I kiss her on the cheek.
She tilts her head back and laughs.
The suite is ridiculous. Like, not just nice. Opulent.
Tall windows with a view of the city. Fresh flowers on the table. Champagne chilling near the seating area. And because I got Alie involved to help me plan this, a small Oreo tower.
I set Presley down, and she walks over to the table.
“Is that?—”
“Our Oreo cake,” I say. “I suppose not technically a cake, but more of a tower?”
She looks at me, then at the Oreo tower. “This is … perfect.”
I shrug, like it’s no big deal, even though it is. “It’s in the pact.”
The look on her face changes, like she’s happy but maybe a little overwhelmed.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said it was the most important contract of my life.”
She crosses the room and touches the edge of the cake stand the Oreos are on, and laughs softly.
“This is amazing. Seriously.”
I pull out my phone and pull up my Garth Brooks playlist, specifically to “To Make You Feel My Love” and press play. Then I move behind her, sliding my arms around her waist.
She leans back against me without hesitation.
We stand there for a quiet minute absorbing the significance of what today means for me, for her, for the kids.
But tonight, it’s just us. No kids. No work. No grief.
Presley covers my hands with hers, and we sway to the music.
“This is really sweet,” she whispers.
I press a kiss to her temple.
“You deserve sweet.”
She turns in my arms, looking up at me. “What do you think you deserve?”
I’m not really sure how to answer that. So I just go with the first thing that comes to mind. “You.”
Her eyes soften. “You have me.”
Fuck. Those three words nearly take me out.
I kiss her then, slow and careful.
And when we pull apart, she rests her forehead against mine. “I can’t believe we’re really married.”
I smile. “Yep.”
“You’re my husband.”
