TOBY

I can’t stop touching Cara, because I can touch her. And every time I do—when I take her hand, brush my fingers up her arm, or hold her close—she gives me the biggest smile.

Apparently, this isn’t the first elopement photo shoot the photographer, Tanya, has done. After she introduces herself, she runs us through the basic shots she likes to get. To get us a good set of thirty pictures, she wants to take a couple hundred, so she encourages us to just do our thing and let her click-click-click without too much interference.

Easier said than done, like this entire thing.

“When did you get here?” Cara asks as she snuggles into my side in the limo, Tanya at the other end of the stretch vehicle.

“Yesterday morning,” I murmur against her temple.

I don’t miss the way she quietly sucks in a breath. “So last night?”

“I was just down the road.”

She ducks her head, her cheeks pink.

“I’ll make up for that this afternoon,” I promise, and a shudder racks through her body. “If you want.”

Instead of answering, she presses even closer and tips her face up so we can kiss.

The ride to the location on campus where we are meeting the officiant only takes a few minutes. It would have been a ten-minute walk at most, but I’m glad we have the car. As soon as we’re done with the photographer and the officiant, I’m going to want to be alone with Cara—and the back of a limo is plenty enough privacy for my purposes.

The photographer gets out first, giving us a moment alone which I take full advantage of. Then I step out and offer my hand for my pink-cheeked, bright-eyed bride.

“You’ve thought about how we’re going to explain this to Ben?” Cara asks. The lilt of her voice and the lightness to her step promises she doesn’t really care if I have.

That’s my troublemaker.

“I have. I’m going to tell him I fell in love with you in the most unexpected, ordinary way. That one phone conversation turned into another and another, each one longer than the last, because talking to you became the most important part of my day.” I cup my hand around her upper arm and point toward the official-looking guy heading our way. “I’m going to tell your brother the truth. That I woke up one day and realized I loved you, and knowing you’d want an elopement on your terms, I came to Toronto and surprised you.”

“You’re going to tell him the truth,” she whispers. “So we don’t need to lie.”

“And because it’s a pretty decent love story, too. Is that our guy?”

She nods. “I think so. Mr. Graham?”

“Ms. Russo, a pleasure. And this is your unconventional beau?”

She laughs. “I must apologize, Mr. Graham. It turns out I’m the unconventional one. Toby—I mean, Alex—is a closet romantic.”

I extend my hand. “Tobias Alexander Hunt. The romantic, at your service.”

* * *

We get unofficially married under a stone archway.

“Do you, Tobias Alexander Hunt, commit your life to this woman? Do you take her to be your partner in all meanings of the word, to support her and nurture her in her life’s endeavors?”

“I do.”

“And do you, Cara Elizabeth Russo, commit your life to this man? Do you take him to be your partner in all meanings of the word, to support him and nurture him in his life’s endeavors?”

She nods before saying, “I do.”

As the officiant flips a page in his leather folder, we exchange a look that replaces any other vows we might need to make. What about Australia? I ask her. We’ll figure it out, she promises back.

And we will.

“As we do not have an exchange of rings—”

“We do, actually.” I flash Mr. Graham an apologetic smile for interrupting. “I wanted to surprise Cara.”

“Cara’s surprised,” my bride says faintly, her eyes wide.

I reach into my inside pocket and snag the platinum band, yellow diamonds set flush inside the woven design. I don’t need the officiant’s script for this part. “Cara, I give you this ring as a symbol of my endless love, our enduring friendship, and the adventures still to come.”

She holds out her hand, and I slide it onto her shaking ring finger. Then I keep going, drawing her into my arms so I can dip her back and seal my promise with a kiss.

The officiant waits until we break apart, then he gives us an approving nod. “I now pronounce you officially committed in a way that makes you happy and still pleases your family.”

Cara blushes. “About that…”

He waves her off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had stranger requests. And who knows. Maybe one day you’ll want to make it official, and if you do, then you know how to contact me.”

I shake his hand, then Cara slips an envelope out of her clutch and hands it over.

“Thank you again,” she murmurs.

He departs, and we’re left with the photographer, who takes one look at my face and suggests just a few more poses there under the archway.

“That sounds great,” I manage to growl, and Cara’s blush deepens.

I’m already counting the seconds until I get to explore just how far it extends beneath that dress.