In short, I hurt all over, but with an exquisite sort of discomfort.
Hot desire rushed through me at the memories of last night. Or, rather, this morning. Or… I looked up and out over the bay from the open-walled suite and noted the gray sky. Hesitating as I lay on my side, I suddenly realized that my blindfold had slipped off.
Adam was still in my bed. Shit.
I dove under the covers, making sure my head and every part of my body was covered by sheets. Then I turned and nudged him with my leg.
“Adam.”
He didn’t move.
“Adam, you have to get up. It’s almost dawn.”
I nudged him again, harder.
“Adam.” I shoved him with my leg, and suddenly, he left the bed with a big thump.
“What the hell?” he said from the floor.
I winced. “Sorry, but you weren’t waking up. I didn’t mean to push you out. You need to go back to your room.”
“Damn, a simple shake of the shoulder would have sufficed.”
“I tried. I promise. You were out.”
“Some hot chick wore me down to a nub last night.”
“Lucky you. Now go.”
“All right, all right. Jeez.” I could hear him get off the floor and gather his clothes. The sound of his footsteps then faded in the direction of the bathroom.
I stayed under the covers until he returned, presumably dressed. “I’m still exhausted.”
“Well,” I said, “all that last night was your idea.”
“Yes. An amazing idea at that. I’m gonna go back to bed. See you at six.”
“Bye. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” he muttered before shutting the door, and he was gone.
I lowered the sheet, glancing at the clock, aware that I’d slept a grand total of maybe three hours the night before. Wondering if I could grab a few more, I rolled over, found one of the blindfolds, and pulled it over my head.
I slept two more hours before the excitement of the day caught up to me and I just couldn’t anymore. Dark circles or no, I had to get up.
Thank God for coffee. And concealer makeup.
***
The rest of the day passed in a blur of my mom and closest friends coming up to the suite. The makeup artist and hair stylist arrived and rotated among us. We shared them—along with the nervous excitement and the jokes.
I had to conceal that I was still sore from being used in the best way possible practically the entire night the night before. Damn, it had been hot. But hopefully, not enough to wreck my look and make me appear half dead in the wedding pictures.
Nevertheless, the stylists worked absolute magic.
My makeup had been done to flawless perfection, every blemish concealed in a natural glow. The stylist had left my dark hair flowing around my shoulders in loose curls, as I’d wanted.
And shortly before the ceremony, my mom helped me into the dress. The gorgeous garment had been altered to fit me perfectly. Mom stood behind me in the full mirror.
The gown was floor length, figure hugging, with a backless dip that draped in folds above my waist. It was adorned with tiny Swarovski crystals and trimmed with silver thread and accents.
“I’ve been dreaming of this day since that morning I first held you in the hospital. You were minutes old and I wanted the world for you, my beautiful Mia,” she said in a trembling voice, her eyes watering.
I turned to face her, my eyes and throat stinging with emotion. “Mom, I need to ask you to stop talking like this, or I’m going to start crying and ruin this makeup.”
She nodded silently, smoothing my hair and checking her watch.
A short time later, we were on the highest patio, facing west and overlooking the pointed green mountains and the aquamarine waters of the beach far below. The west patio seemed to hang off the mountain, providing a view that looked out over an infinite horizon against a champagne-colored sky. The guests sat in white linen-covered chairs on either side of an aisle, covered by gauzy awnings.
My mom and I stood at the back, hidden by a screen, awaiting our cue. When the string trio began to play Pachelbel’s Canon, Mom turned and hugged me for a long time. Then we stepped out from behind the screen, and she walked with me down the aisle to my future.
One of the defining moments of a wedding is when the groom turns and turns his eyes upon his bride in her gown for the first time. There are clips and montages all over the Internet showing that moment at different weddings. Some grooms show no emotion at all, sometimes a slight change in their eyes. Others are overcome with emotion, crying to the point of doubling over.
Adam was somewhere right in the middle of those two extremes. He definitely showed emotion, but he didn’t cry. He appeared more like someone had hit him violently in the stomach with a medium-sized metal club. Like he was holding his breath, though his body was screaming out for him to breathe.
Me? I totally cried. Smear-proof makeup was my friend.
And…if I’d concede any type of princess fetish, it would be that I did feel like fairytale royalty in this moment, standing here in front of all these people in my gorgeous gown in this stunning setting.
And the prince I had caught… He was beyond handsome in his black tux—with only a vest, no jacket, and a long necktie. In spite of the beard joking, he was clean-shaven, his perfect jaw and dimple revealed once more for all to see. His hair, freshly cut and styled, was combed to perfection. And yeah, dazzling as ever.
After all the buildup, the ceremony itself was rather short. We took each other’s hands and said our promises in front of our family members against the backdrop of the sinking sun—the sky all afire with gold, pink, and orange streaks.
We couldn’t have ordered a more beautiful sunset if we’d budgeted it in.
And yet as we were announced husband and wife, there were no rocket-generated shooting stars, though I half expected them.
Shortly thereafter, the party started. Right there. No procession out or any of that formal stuff. Because it was a small, intimate wedding, the chairs were moved to tables that were already set up. And the food was brought in.
We ate, we drank, and we danced. All with our closest loved ones.
It was the best.
I didn’t think anyone suspected that the bride and groom were almost too exhausted to enjoy it.
We danced our first dance to “Wonderful! Wonderful!” by Johnny Mathis, repeating those steps to the foxtrot that he’d taught me so long ago on our first date in Amsterdam. It was hard to believe that here we were, three years later. After all we’d been through, we were finally starting our forever. Together.