Page 269 of Things We Left Behind

I’d sent my half of the bridal party and my mother downstairs to welcome Mary Louise and Allen, who had just arrived, while I took a private moment to freak the fuck out.

I was dressed, made-­up, shoes on, ready to go. And starting to panic.

Not seeing Lucian since the—­thankfully drama-­free—­rehearsal dinner had stirred up my nerves.

I paced in the most romantic, perfect wedding dress in the history of wedding dresses and thought about how far we’d come in the past several months.

Lucian had set his sights on making every wish I’d ever had come true, starting with renovating our bathroom and installing not one but two rain showerheads and a platoon of body jets and continuing to complete the library in record time with new bells and whistles the entire town was still swooning over.

I nervously smoothed my hand over the ball gown satin skirt as I wandered our room.

As happy as I was for this particular occasion, I still felt the hole of my father’s absence. Knowing how proud he would have been to walk me down the aisle, how he would have loved quizzing Kurt, now Maeve’s fiancé, about his curriculum for the year, how he would have danced with Mom until their feet hurt, my heart was still just a little bit broken.

“Shit. Don’t freaking cry now and wreck the eye makeup,” I warned myself.

Tiffany would kill me if the makeup artist had to come back.

I fanned my hands in front of my eyes and thought about not sad things. Like the fact that Wylie Ogden was in prisonand would never have the opportunity to hurt anyone I loved ever again. And Lucian was working from home two days a week and commuting—­often by helicopter—­on the other days. And about how the entire town had turned out for the grand reopening of the library.

Crap. I was back to teary again. I wished Lucian was here. He always knew how to calm me down…or rile me up, depending on the situation.

I thought about texting him and then remembered that Naomi had my phone to document the big day without me having to do the documenting.

A tap at the window startled me. I spun in a voluminous pool of taffeta and satin to find Lucian Freaking Rollins crouched on the porch roof in a tuxedo.

I ran to the window as he opened it.

“I thought it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” I said even as I half dragged him through the window.

He stood staring at me, then slowly shook his head. “I don’t believe in bad luck. Not anymore.” His smile was devastating.

“What do you think?” I asked, twirling in front of him.

“I think you’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen and I’m the luckiest man on earth.”

It was the boob-­highlighting corset top, I decided.

I stopped twirling and fell into his arms. “Good answer.”

“Are you still sure about everything?” he asked, tipping my chin up to look into my eyes.

“Marrying you?”

“Marrying me. Two weeks in Fiji. Fostering. All of it.”

When we returned from our excessively sexy honeymoon, we would be beginning the application process to become foster parents. Traditional baby-­making efforts were still ongoing and very, very enjoyable, but neither of us wanted to wait to start our family.

“Absolutely,” I promised. The tears were welling up dangerously fast this time. “Thank you for making all my dreams come true, big guy.”

Lucian ran a thumb under my eye, catching a tear as it spilled free.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do,” he said earnestly.

“Nope! No! Stop it right now,” I ordered as I stepped out of his arms. “No more sweetness or I’ll cry and ruin my entire face, and Tiffany scares the hell out of me. She might call off the wedding.”

“Tell me what you need,” he said, a faint smile curving his lips.

“I need one of your insulting pep talks. Don’t hold back,” I insisted, gesturing for him to bring it on.