2 years later
When I was ten years old, my gran promised me the day I was married, my life would be perfect. I’d love nothing more than to tell her perfection doesn’t exist. I chased that dream of perfection and it bit me in the ass. But I can’t.
As I stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, staring at myself, I know she was right. Perfection isn’t about a dress or a venue. It isn’t about the exact number of guests at each table or the centerpieces they peek around to see one another.
No, perfection lies in the love between a man and woman who know beyond a shadow of a doubt their story is the kind epic romances are written about and movies are created for. Within the broken pieces, a beautiful and forever kind of love is born.
When I was fifteen years old, I met a boy who showed me friendship and my first love. What I didn’t know was one day that boy would be a man who sent my heart racing and lit a fire in me that fueled not only my passion but my drive. He showed me what true and undeniable love is, and for that I will always be grateful.
I planned my wedding day my entire life, never skipping a detail. That was for a different woman than the one who looks back at me in the mirror. Gone is the satin and poofy skirt of my former self, and in its place is a fitted gown covered in Chantilly lace with a plunging neckline. My long caramel hair is curled and flowing loosely over my shoulders with the antique comb my gran left me holding up my hair to display the side of my neck. My future husband loves to nibble my neck, and it’s the least I can do to offer it to him.
A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts as I turn to see my best friend enter the room. Jessi has been my biggest supporter and strongest ally in the quest to find myself. I won’t say being my best friend has been easy nor has it been fun, but she’s been there for me every step of the way. And I know there isn’t another person happier to stand by my side today, the day I marry my other best friend.
“Whit, you’re beautiful,” she whispers.
“Do not fucking cry or I will punch your vagina.”
“Jesus, Bridezilla is back.”
Yeah, so what if I plan and organize weddings for a living. When it’s your own wedding, you maybe get a little over zealous. Shoot me.
“Your husband-to-be is here, and I had to threaten to move in to your house to keep him from coming in here. I swear that dude needs Dr. Phil. He’s a little co-dependent. He had this for you.” She holds out a square box with a large bow on it.
“He is not co-dependent; he’s horny. I told you I cut him off last week.” I take the box from her and walk to the table in the corner to open it. As I untie the ribbon, she continues.
“I know you did, which is why I may have said the words “blow job” and “coming” like three times before I came in here. The groan he gave was epic.”
We break out in a fit of giggles when there’s another knock at the door, signaling we only have a few minutes left before it’s go time. Answering I’m almost ready, I open the box to find a bouquet of heart shaped suckers. Just like the one he gave me when we got back together, just like he would have in high school.
“See, co-dependent,” Jessi teases. I flip her off in response.
“You ready for this?”
I don’t answer immediately. Instead, pull the candy bouquet from the box and take in the smell of cheap cherry suckers. My favorite scent. Placing the suckers back in the box, I set it down before turning to step in front of the mirror. Smoothing my hands across my hips, I smile at her in the reflection.
“I’ve waited for this day my entire life. I’m beyond ready.”
“You know your mom asked me if I’m pregnant three times already.” I say my new husband. My hot new husband. Damn, I’m a lucky bitch. Lucas has always been handsome, but there’s something about him with that onyx ring on his left finger that has me clenching my knees and looking for a closet or a dark hallway to have my way with him.
“Babe, she’s been asking me since the day I told her we were officially dating.”
“Yeah well, there’s no bun in this oven. I want to enjoy our time together,” I say reaching up to adjust his tie while we stand to the side, waiting for the next part of the reception festivities. When he takes my hand and places a kiss to the palm of my hand I let out a little moan.
“I bet you’re regretting this week long abstinence plan of yours, aren’t you?”
“I refuse to answer that to protect the innocent.”
“Whit, baby, I don’t think that applies here.”
Rolling my eyes, I open my mouth to offer a snarky retort when the DJ announces it’s time for our first dance. The guests clap and shout as Lucas leads me to the dance floor, spinning me around before pulling me to him. I have no idea what song we’ll be dancing to. The only request Lucas had for our wedding was that there be no “Pony” played during the reception, prior-occupational memory, and that he could make the final choice for our first dance. As much as it pained me to give up the control, I conceded and let him choose.
When the opening chords of “Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon begin playing, I catch him looking at me with a huge smile. Tears form in my eyes. If ever there was a song to define our relationship, this is it.
I met Lucas DeCosta when I was a silly little girl with grandiose ideas of perfection. I hated him for a long time and while I regret that, I know it was necessary. Without that time, we wouldn’t be here. Every choice we’ve made in our lives, every road we’ve traveled, has led us back to one another. Led me back to him.
In the most epic of ways, he showed me what it was like to love and be loved. I may have had a different definition of perfection, but if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that perfection is what you make of it. And, Lucas is my perfection.
“I love you, Whitney DeCosta.”
“Say it again,” I say as Lucas pulls me closer to him.
“I love you.”
“No the other part.”
“Whitney DeCosta.”
Sighing, I smile up to him.
“That’s Mrs. Doctor DeCosta.”
“Almost doctor,” he smirks.
“Close enough.”
“Thank you, Lucas.”
“For what, baby?”
“For being my everything. For showing me what real love is. But, mostly, for showing me that sometimes you have to say I Don’t before you say I Do.”
When my husband drops his lips to my forehead I swoon. I used to believe forehead kisses were my undoing, but now I realize it was never about the kiss but about the man. Smiling up to him, I mold my body to his as he lays his lips upon mine, and I realize I’m finally where I’m meant to be. In the arms of the one man who showed me that the zing, the zang, and the electricity between two people really boils down to one thing—It. With love anything is possible. It’s especially possible when you put yourself first and say yes to spontaneity and road trips with a male stripper.
Thirty minutes later . . .
“Lucas, we cannot sneak off from our own wedding reception.” I cannot believe he is dragging me down this hall, looking for somewhere to consummate our marriage.
“If you’d stop arguing, we’d already be somewhere. I can’t wait another minute . . . here,” he says, pushing in a door marked “Janitor.” He has to be kidding. I am not going to have sex in my wedding dress among brooms and mops.
“Lucas there is toilet bowl cleaner on those shelves. This is not making me feel sexy.” My tone is firm but the minute he produces that damn dimple, I know as well as he does, I’m going to cave.
Tugging me toward him, Lucas closes the door as I fall into the room and his arms. The small room is pitch black, but Lucas fumbles a little before finding a light switch, turning on a dim overhead light.
“Fuck, baby. You look amazing in this dress. I almost creamed in my pants when you walked down the aisle. Of course, your dad took that opportunity to glare at me, so it was short-lived.” His eyes glide up and down my body, his tongue licking his lips like he’s contemplating eating me. I could go for offering up a little snack to my sexy husband. Damn, I love saying that, even in my own head.
Giggling, I wrap my hands around his waist and pull his body flush with mine. His erection is evident, and I’m instantly turned on.
“I swear to God, Lucas DeCosta, if you get my dress dirty, I will enforce more celibacy. If you thought this week was tough, just you wait and see.”
“I love it when you get dominant. Turn around and pull that dress up, baby. This is going to be quick, it’s been too long.”
Rolling my eyes and not following directions, I walk around him to a table against the wall. Spreading my legs a little, I shimmy my hips as I pull my fitted dress up my legs. When I am able to gather the hem, I pull it to my hips. Peering over my shoulder, I give my most seductive look to Lucas and he growls.
Sweet peppers, that’s hot.
The sounds of his belt clanking and unzipping pants follow, and I smile in anticipation. I love every time my husband makes love to me. Regardless if it’s hard and fast or sweet and slow, every single time is amazing. His love makes me feel beautiful even on the worst of days. His appreciation for my body and his need to ensure I’m fully satisfied never leaves me doubting his love.
But this version of him is new. This is primal and raw. My heart races, and my panties dampen as he steps toward me. No, stalks toward me. Wrapping his arm around my waist, his hand slides down to my core, grazing my wet silk thong.
“You’re so wet for me. I fucking love it. Thank you for wearing your hair like this. You know this is my favorite spot,” he says as he places his lips to my neck. The moment his tongue connects with my skin, he inserts a finger in me and I let out a moan. This week of abstinence has sucked for me too.
“Lucas, I need you,” I pant, my orgasm building quickly.
Without another word, Lucas pulls my thong to the side, bends his knees, and enters me from behind. He’s so deep and it feels amazing. I match each thrust, and it’s only seconds before a sheen of sweat blankets my skin.
“God, Whit, you feel amazing. I love you so much.”
“I. Love. You. Too,” I pant as I let out a long-drawn-out mewl. I really hope nobody chooses this time to grab a mop.
Lucas immediately follows after me and we stand motionless for a few minutes, him still inside me, and our labored breaths filling the air. I’m not sure what comes over me, but I start laughing. Not a regular laugh or even a demure giggle. Nope, this is a full-blown belly laugh accompanied by a snort. Or two.
Pulling himself from me, Lucas joins me in his own fit of laughter before handing me a few of our cocktail napkins from his pocket. With a raised brow I look at him questioningly.
“You can never be too prepared.”
I shake my head and clean myself up before smoothing my dress back into place. Once we’re both as put together as we can be for two people in a janitor’s closet, Lucas opens the door.
After a stop by the bathroom, we manage to make it back to the reception as the DJ begins playing “Pony.” Lucas glares at me and I shrug as I look toward my best friend, and she raises her glass in toast.
“Come on sexy, let’s get our dance on,” I say as Lucas grumbles, “I hate this fucking song.”
I don’t know how he can say that. In many ways, this is our song. And I wouldn’t change a thing.