Page 14 of Meesha & Connor (What Happens In Vegas #2)

I’ve lived this moment a thousand times in my head, but nothing prepared me for reality.

Meesha floats toward me in ivory lace, her smile incandescent against her beautiful brown skin.

The beading on her dress sparkles with each step, creating tiny constellations across the fabric.

My heart swells impossibly full, overwhelmed by the miracle of her walking toward me after we nearly lost everything.

It’s been only nine days since a madman held a gun to my head in what should have been our bedroom. Only nine days since I thought I might lose her forever in the most permanent way possible.

Yet here we are.

Maman sits in the front row, her expression neutral. Frédérique returned to Quebec, where she belongs. To my right, Pierre, my cousin, stands as my best man, with Kamal and Jaxon flanking him in matching suits.

Jasmine and Jessa precede Meesha down the aisle of this historic Winter Bay estate, their sea foam dresses exactly the shade Meesha wanted. I make a mental note to tell her the choice was perfect.

But then everything else fades away.

Meesha approaches, one arm linked with her father’s, the other with her mother’s, while Carmen and Antonio complete their family procession. This moment feels perfect in ways I couldn’t have anticipated.

When she reaches me, her eyes are already brimming with tears. I’m not faring much better.

The officiant speaks, but I barely hear the words. My focus is on the woman before me.

When it’s time for our vows, Meesha speaks first. “Connor, ten years ago, I left a hockey game with a boy I barely knew because something inside me recognized you. Not just as someone I could love, but as someone who would challenge me to become more fully myself.”

I swallow hard as she continues.

“I promised you I’d always be honest, and I nearly lost you with my fear and silence.

Standing here today, I vow not just my love and fidelity, but my truth, even when it’s difficult, even when I’m afraid.

I choose you, Connor Beauregard. Not because you’re my first love, but because you’re my last and greatest love. ”

When the officiant nods at me, I take a deep breath. “You once asked if I ever doubted us, and I said no. That wasn’t entirely true. I’ve doubted many things. My career, my decisions, whether I deserve someone as remarkable as you. But I’ve never doubted that you are the love of my life.”

Her fingers tighten around mine.

“I saw firsthand what it means to love fearlessly when you placed yourself between me and danger without hesitation. Today, I promise to love you with the same courage. To never let pride keep me from fighting for us. Je t’aime, ma belle. Not perfectly, but completely. For all my days.”

A tear slips down her cheek, and I reach up to catch it with my thumb, just as I’ve done countless times over the years.

As I slide her wedding band onto her finger, my hand quivers. I consider how close we came to throwing everything away, how easily our story could have ended before this chapter began.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant declares.

The large gathering erupts in applause, their joy a tangible force surrounding us as I pull Meesha into my arms. Our kiss is charged with promise for the future, forgiveness for the past, acknowledgment of our growth, and commitment to the hard work that still lies ahead.

It feels like sealing a covenant more binding than any legal document could capture.

“Mrs. Beauregard,” I murmur against her lips.

She laughs, that bright sound that’s been my north star for a decade. “That’s me.”

We turn to face our loved ones, hands firmly clasped together. What we’ve created isn’t unbreakable because it never fractured, but because we chose to repair it, making it stronger at those broken places.

Outside, twilight has settled over the estate grounds, transforming the landscape into something magical. Hundreds of tiny lights illuminate the garden, creating a canopy of stars above the dance floor. The atmosphere buzzes with celebration.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ announces over the sound system, “please welcome, for the first time as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Beauregard!”

Cheers erupt as we step onto the wooden platform for our first dance. I pull Meesha close, one hand resting at her waist while the other holds hers, and we begin to move to the gentle rhythm of the French ballad.

“Are you happy?” I ask softly, my lips close to her ear.

She responds by resting her head against my chest. “Beyond words,” she whispers. “I’m going to spend every day making sure you never regret giving me this second chance.”

I tilt her chin up, ensuring she meets my gaze. “Hey. No more of this talk. We’re here because we chose to fight for us. That’s all that matters now.”

The music fades, but I hold her for one moment longer, committing this feeling to memory. With reluctance, I lead Meesha to our seats at the head table, our fingers remaining intertwined.

Pierre rises for his speech, surprising everyone with his emotional depth as he recounts our childhood in Quebec.

His words paint vivid pictures of snowy adventures and teenage mischief before concluding with the observation that he’s never seen me as happy as I am with Meesha.

His sincerity brings unexpected moisture to my eyes.

When Jessa takes the microphone next, her stories elicit both laughter and tears from our guests. Her affection for both of us shines through every word.

After the speeches comes the cake-cutting ceremony. Meesha’s eyes sparkle mischievously as she cuts a small piece of our three-tiered masterpiece, and I immediately recognize the playful threat in her expression.

“Don’t even think about it, ma belle,” I warn with a laugh, eyeing the cake in her hand.

She grins, considering my fate before relenting. With gentleness, she feeds me the cake instead of smashing it in my face as I half-expected. I return the favor with equal care, stealing a quick kiss that tastes of chocolate and vanilla frosting.

“Bouquet toss!” the DJ announces, shifting the celebration to its next tradition.

Meesha stands confidently on a chair, surveying the crowd of single women gathered on the dance floor.

With a laugh that carries across the garden, she turns her back and tosses the arrangement of hibiscus and roses over her shoulder.

Jasmine catches it, looking momentarily surprised before dropping it as if it were hot coal, much to everyone’s amusement.

“Your turn, babe,” Meesha says with a teasing smile, gesturing to the garter around her thigh.

I kneel before her with theatrical gallantry, sliding my hands beneath the folds of her dress as our guests cheer and whistle. When I emerge triumphant with the lace band, I tuck it discreetly into my pocket and retrieve a brand new one that I’d hidden earlier.

With deliberate aim, I send it flying directly at Kamal, who steps nimbly aside. Antonio, engrossed in conversation with Meesha’s father, finds himself unexpectedly decorated when the garter lands squarely on his head.

“Calisse, I did not see that coming,” I laugh as Antonio fixes me with a glare from across the room.

As the formalities conclude and the dancing begins in earnest, I lean close to Meesha, my lips brushing her ear. “I have a surprise for you.”

Her eyes light up with curiosity as I take her hand, leading her away from the celebrating crowd toward the waiting limo.

“I spoke to the prosecutor yesterday,” I say, watching her profile in the passing streetlights. “Dennis accepted a twenty-year plea deal.”

Meesha turns to me, relief washing across her features. “Really? Twenty years for nearly killing us?”

I squeeze her hand. “That’s not all. They found evidence connecting him to an unsolved murder in Nevada. Once he serves his time here, he’ll be transferred there to face those charges.”

“So he’s really gone.” Her voice is almost disbelieving. “For good.”

“For good,” I confirm, lifting her hand to my lips.

When we pull up to the driveway of our house, Meesha turns to me with a questioning smile. “What are we doing here?”

“Rewriting the memories of our house.”

As we reach the porch, I pause, turning to her with a grin. “Wait. We need to do this properly.” Before she can respond, I sweep her into my arms, cradling her against my chest as she laughs in surprise.

“Connor!” She wraps her arms around my neck.

“Traditional, ma belle,” I explain, carrying her across the threshold of our home. “This is our first time entering as husband and wife.”

Her eyes shine as I set her down carefully in our foyer. “I love you,” she whispers, rising on tiptoes to press a soft kiss to my lips.

Taking her hand once more, we climb the staircase to the second floor. At our bedroom door, I pause, watching the play of emotions across her face—curiosity, anticipation, and the faintest trace of remembered fear.

Opening our bedroom door reveals a space transformed by dozens of battery-operated candles, while rose petals form a crimson path to our bed. The bullet hole has been repaired, the walls freshly painted in the soft blue-gray we originally chose together.

“When did you do all this?” She steps into the room.

“The past five days.” I close the door behind us, my fingers already working at the buttons of my jacket. “I wanted our first night as husband and wife to be special.”

Meesha presents her back to me. “Help me with these buttons first.”

My fingers trace each pearl fastening down her spine, replacing each touch with a kiss. When the dress finally pools at her feet, revealing white lace underneath, I momentarily freeze by the sight of her.

“Tabarnac, tu es magnifique,” I murmur, pulling her against me.

I turn her, needing to see all of her. Her eyes meet mine, and in them, I see a perfect reflection of my own love, my own certainty.

I reach up, slowly pulling the pins from her hair, letting it cascade down around her shoulders. I run my fingers through it, marveling at its softness. She watches me as I trace the strap of her bra, slipping it off her shoulder.

“Connor,” she whispers.

I lean in, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss. Our tongues tangle, exploring each other as if for the first time. I can taste her desperation, and it’s intoxicating.

Unhooking her bra, I let it fall forgotten to the floor. I cup her breasts, weighing their perfect fullness as my thumbs brush over her hardening nipples, drawing a soft sound from her throat.

Lowering my head, I press my lips to her collarbone before trailing kisses down to her chest. I pause briefly, taking a moment to admire her beauty in the candlelight before taking one brown nipple into my mouth.

She grips my hair as I lavish attention first on one breast, then the other, her breathing becoming more ragged with each passing moment. When I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and pull them down, I sink to my knees before her.

I kiss her stomach, her hips, her thighs, feeling her shiver under my touch. Looking up the length of her body, I hold her gaze as I hitch one of her legs over my shoulder, opening her to me.

“Ma belle,” I whisper before leaning in to taste her essence.

She cries out, her head falling back as I explore her with my tongue, taking my time to rediscover every fold, every sensitive spot that makes her gasp and moan. Her hands tighten in my hair, holding me to her as she grinds against my mouth.

I slip two fingers inside her pussy, curling them to find her sweet spot. She comes undone with a cry of my name, her body shuddering with release.

Rising to my feet, I sweep her into my arms and carry her to our four-poster bed, laying her down before covering her body with mine. Her fingers immediately work at the buttons of my shirt, her touch both urgent and tender. I shrug the fabric from my shoulders, letting it fall to the side.

Her hands explore my chest with appreciative touches, tracing the lines of muscle. I capture her wandering hands, pinning them above her head as I grind against her. She moans, her body arching up to meet mine, her heat evident even through the fabric of my trousers.

With one hand still holding her wrists, I reach down to unbuckle my belt, freeing myself from the confines of my remaining clothes. Our skin finally meets without barriers, and the sensation is electric.

“Je t’aime, ma belle,” I whisper as I slowly push into her welcoming heat. She whimpers, her body yielding to accept me fully, drawing me in until we’re completely joined.

She wraps her legs around my waist, urging me deeper as I begin to move. My pace starts slow, but quickly builds to desperation. Her hands find my backside, nails digging into my flesh as she grinds upward to meet each thrust.

I feel her inner walls clench around me as she reaches her peak again. I drive into her, holding myself deeply seated as I release inside her.

Afterward, I roll to the side, pulling her with me. She snuggles into my chest, her head coming to rest over my heart as if listening for proof of my love.

“I love you, Connor.”

“Je t’aime, Meesha,” I reply.

We are complete. And I know with bone-deep certainty that no matter what challenges we face in the years to come, we’ll face them together.