Page 97 of If You Claim Me

“She loves them, too,” she adds.

“She has a big heart.”

“She’s good for you.” Meems pats my hand.

“I think so, too.”

When I return, my eyes are on the dance floor, but I’m cornered by my father and a few of his business associates and am sucked into a dry conversation I couldn’t care less about. Eventually I’m able to excuse myself and join Kodiak and some of the guys from my team, who are hanging out by the bar, watching the women dancing.

I give Mildred her space to enjoy the evening, since we’ll be spending the next few days together, just the two of us, for our honeymoon. The flush in her cheeks and her glassy eyes toward the end of the night tell me she’s enjoyed the champagne. I can’t blame her. I’ve had a few glasses myself. It’s been quite the gauntlet since we started down this road a mere handful of weeks ago.

A little after midnight, I whisk my bride off her feet and carry her out of the ballroom while she waves to her friends and everyone throws confetti. Once the doors close behind us and the cameras stop flashing, we head up to the weddingsuite. Mildred is quiet in the elevator, and I don’t force conversation.

We exit on our floor and walk together until she stands in front of the double doors. “Are we sharing a room?”

“Yes, darling.” I pass her the keycard.

“And a bed?”

“That’s entirely up to you.” I bend and slide my arm under her legs, lifting her off the floor.

She gasps and wraps her arms around my neck, exactly like she does every night when I carry her from the library to her bedroom. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” I smile down at her. “Allow me the honor, Mrs. Grace.”

She taps the card against the sensor, and I open the door and carry her inside.

“Oh wow.” The suite is massive—and romantic, meant for people in love. The huge four-poster bed is littered with pink rose petals. Champagne chills in a bucket alongside a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries.

“Meems booked this for us,” I explain as I set her on her feet.

“Of course she did.” She turns to me, eyes full of emotion. “We made her so happy today.”

“We did,” I agree.

Her eyes move over me. “We’re really married.”

I tuck a hand in my pocket. “We are.”

She nods once. “We should do shots.”

My stomach sinks. I don’t know what I expected. “Reality finally setting in?”

“Pretty much.” She crosses over to the wet bar and lines up four shot glasses.

I shrug out of my suit jacket while she pours vodka into each glass, adding a dash of simple syrup and lemon. She passes me a glass and takes one for herself.

“To making the people we love happy and keeping them close.” She clinks her glass against mine and downs the shot.

I do the same.

She passes me the second one, and we shoot again.

“Feel better?” I don’t know what to do or say. She’s stuck with me for the foreseeable future. I’m definitely the winner in this arrangement.

“A little.” She leans against the bar, eyes glassy.

“I have something for you.” I slide my hand into the breast pocket of my tux. I’ve been carrying it with me all day, waiting for the right time to give it to her. I pull the small, wrapped box out and pass it to her.