"Because I wanted to. I think it's good practice to always kiss your wife h.e.l.lo."

"I'm not your wife yet."

"You could be, today, if that's what you really want. I'll make it happen. I've been working on a plan, but if you want to wait, I get that too. If you want to hold out for the big fancy place and the hand-pa.s.sed hors d'oeuvres, I'm all for it. Whatever you want, Mags."

Her grin intensified, making her eyes sparkle. "What do you want, Ian?"

"You," I said simply, skimming my thumb across her cheekbone.

She turned her face into my hand, kissing the center of my palm. "That's what I want too."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

I clapped my hands together, rubbing them back and forth. "Alright then. You get upstairs and get ready."

"You're not going to tell me the plan?" Her eyes narrowed at me.

"It's a surprise."

She huffed and folded her arms across her chest, so I gave her a light shove in the direction of the stairs. "Get going. I'll send your mom up."

Her curls bounced as she shook her head, but she blew a kiss in my direction before hurrying up the stairs.

I walked back into the room and stepped to the front, clearing my throat to get everyone's attention.

"Alright guys, here's the plan."

Five hours later, the wedding was off to a late start, but the fact that it was happening at all was a d.a.m.n miracle. The pastor stood to my right, the cuffs of his black pants soaked from his trek through the snow after Ben retrieved him from his house. Icicle lights were tacked to the beams that ran the length and width of the barn, and a combination of folding and dining room chairs were scattered in front of me as seats for anyone who could make it.

Surprisingly, everyone in the area made the effort-some trekking by foot, others putting their faith in their oversized four-wheel-drive vehicles, or even breaking out an ATV if they had one. Mom had cooked just about everything we had in the freezer and pantry. There was an interesting combination of lasagna, fried chicken, and hot dogs, with side dishes of mashed potatoes, cubed cantaloupe, and green beans.

The generator kept up a steady hum, supplying energy to the s.p.a.ce heaters that were making this drafty old barn pa.s.sably warm. A set of speakers with a playlist quickly crafted by Gavin sat off to the side, waiting patiently for the end of the ceremony. The only thing we were waiting on was Felix and Maggie.

With a squealing of unoiled hinges, the barn door swung open and was quickly kicked shut, letting in an icy blast of air. Maggie was draped across Felix's arms, her hands locked around his neck. He'd insisted on carrying her so that she wouldn't get her dress wet. For a big guy who looked almost savage as he pounded away on the drums, he could be surprisingly sensitive.

Setting her down on her feet, he strutted up the makeshift aisle with a wink in my direction. Maggie ran a quick hand over her hair, her eyes traveling from the people gathered in front of her, to the twinkling lights, to me.

I couldn't stop looking at her, drinking her in. My throat closed up like I was having some type of allergic reaction, and for a second there I wasn't sure I was going to be able to breathe again. To say that she took my breath away would be cliche and trite, but it would also be entirely accurate.

Her dress, like her, was beautiful without being overstated. Vintage and delicate, lacy and white. A thick white ribbon wrapped around her waist, and the smallest of trains trailed behind her. Her thick hair had been gathered up, but small ringlets had fought their way free, brushing against the smooth column of her throat.

As she walked down the aisle, her hand tucked in the crook of her dad's arm, Ben plucked out the chords to "Can't Help Falling in Love," serving double duty as Best Man and instrumentalist. My fingers found the heavy weight of the gold pocket watch, hidden in the front pocket of my pants. I squeezed it as I thought of Dad, naively hoping that somehow, some way, he was with me in that moment.

With every step forward she took, my heart slowed, beating with a certainty that was strong and sure. When she was standing right in front of me, eyes overflowing with tears that twinkled on her eyelashes, she threw her arms around my neck, sealing her lips to mine with a fierceness that was like a brand to my soul. I wrapped my arms around her slim waist, pulling her closer and staking my claim right back.

A loud clearing of a throat had us drawing apart.

The pastor adjusted his wireframe gla.s.ses on his nose with a slight twist of his lips, like he was fighting down a smile. "Maybe save a little bit for after the ceremony, eh?"

The crowd behind us chuckled, and Maggie's cheeks flushed red-or really just redder, since they were already chapped from the arctic wind. I tweaked her nose, and she stuck her tongue out at me, stepping back into her place and sliding her hands down so they twined with mine.

The words came with ease, flowing without conscious thought as we vowed to love each other unconditionally, forsaking all others, and all that good stuff. It might have been the first time I was uttering them aloud, but my heart had already settled on those things a long time ago. The thin, platinum band I slid on her finger (no stone, no engagement ring by her insistence) shone in the low lighting, and I ran my thumb over it, excitement flipping my stomach at the sight.

We did it. She was mine. Mine. Just as much as I was hers, and always would be.

This time when we kissed it was as husband and wife, with a round of cheers going up around the room and the blinding flash of a camera. Someone had the bright idea to bring in buckets of snow, so as we walked back down the aisle we got pelted with the cold stuff. Felix, Gavin, and Ben snuck up behind me, shoving a handful of snow down the collar of my suit.

We were wet and freezing, but Maggie demanded wedding photos-outside, in the snow, with Rachel's little point-and-shoot. By the time we made it back inside, Maggie's dress was soaked, and we were all shivering and tinged blue. We laughed, we danced, we loved.

Underneath the cover of the stars, I carried a half-delirious Maggie back to the house, a honeymoon suite at the Marriott subst.i.tuted with my old bedroom. My fingers were so numb, I could barely feel the tiny zipper between my fingers to pull it down and free Maggie from her dress. She giggled, her frozen fingertips struggling equally with the elusive b.u.t.tons of my shirt.

The white fabric puddled at her feet, and she stepped out of it, left only in a white lacy bra and matching panties. Kicking off my shoes, I crossed to her, pressing her back into the wall and lifting her arms. I threaded my fingers through hers and pinned them above her, dipping my lips to her neck and licking at the dampness of melting snow.

She moaned, arching her back to press firmly against me. Hooking a foot around my leg, she tugged me closer, running her toes underneath the hem of my pants. I ground my hips against hers, making her gasp and flex her fingers in my grasp.

A heavy fist banging against the door had my lips briefly pausing against the cool skin of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Go away!"

"Ian!" Ben yelled. "Open up, I forgot to give you your wedding present!"

I couldn't tell if he was drunk or just insane. I had to bite my lip to stifle a groan as Maggie sunk her teeth into my earlobe, only letting up to shout at the door, "Not now, Ben!"

"Trust me, you wanna open this door."

Clearly, he wasn't giving up.

I blew out a frustrated sigh, and Maggie thumped her head back against the wall. "This better be freaking amazing," she muttered.

Readjusting myself in my pants, I cracked open the door and stuck my head out.

Ben grinned like he'd just won the lottery, and Felix and Gavin hung back just a few steps with s.h.i.t-eating grins of their own.

Felix smirked at me. "Getting an early start to your wedding night?"

"You doin' alright in there? Need any pointers?" Gavin asked, running his thumbs under the length of his suspenders.

I let out something that sounded close to a growl and went to slam the door shut, but Ben's hand appeared on the door, shoving it back open. He held up his phone. "You'll never guess who I just talked to."

"I don't know, Ben. Santa Claus?" He had to be kidding, he was interrupting this over a phone call?

"Ewan Marx," he said, harshly enunciating the words.

I straightened, letting the door slip open another few inches. "The Ewan Marx? Of Red Ocean Records?"

"The guy we talked to last night sent him our demo-"

"They want us," Gavin interrupted.

"Record deal, tour, the whole shebang," Felix added, bouncing up and down on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet.

"Holy s.h.i.t, are you serious?" I ran both hands over my head and kept them there, holding it so it didn't explode with excitement.

"Dead serious," Ben replied, with a small shake of his head like he was still trying to wrap his mind around the whole thing. "I told him I'd get back to him after I talked to all of you, but I have a feeling our answer is-"

"h.e.l.l yes!" Felix interrupted with a whoop.

"What do you say, Ian? Gotta ask the missus?" Gavin asked, waggling his eyebrows at me.

The door was ripped from my grip as Maggie yanked it open, dropping a hand to her hip and staring them all down in her underwear. "The answer is obviously yes, you idiots. Now go away." She slammed the door closed, but not before the three of them broke out into whistles and catcalls.

"Feisty!" Felix called.

"I love a woman who takes charge! You gonna tie him up, Mags?" That was Gavin.

Ben was too busy choking on his laughter to say much of anything.

I scooped her up, and with two quick strides, tossed her on the bed. She bounced on the mattress, slipping her arms up and tucking her hands under a pillow. Sliding one foot up and down the comforter, she sucked her lower lip into her mouth. "So, Mr. Mathis, looks like you're about to become a rock star. How does it feel to have all your dreams coming true?"

Slipping my shirt off, I tossed it in the corner and crawled on top of her, leaning down to give her one quick kiss on the tip of her nose. I smiled at her, loving the way her hair fanned out across the pillowcase in a crazy tangle. "You don't get it, Mags." I twisted one curl around my finger. "They already did."

Chapter 25: Bianca.

If one more thing went wrong I was going to scream.

I handed the cabbie a soggy twenty and slipped out the door, alone. Harper had been called into work last minute due to a no-show waitress, and here I was, using my purse as an ineffective umbrella in the monsoon that was flooding New York.

By the time I made it to the door of the Blackbird, my hair hung in straggles around my shoulders, any makeup I had on was a mess, and my clothes were soaked through and clinging to my skin. Gathering my hair in one hand, I wrapped it around my fist and wrung it out. Water dripped onto the floor, pooling at my feet.

The place was packed, the music loud enough to almost drown out the buzz of voices. Someone was working their way through an awful rendition of "Mr. Jones," and as for Ian, he was nowhere in sight.

I shoved through the crowd to the bar, shedding my coat and pulling at my shirt to try and un-suction it from my stomach. It was warm in here, but it'd have to be a whole lot hotter to dry me off. Leaning against the rough surface of the bar, I flagged down the bartender and ordered a shot of tequila. He took one look at me, and gave it to me on the house.

I must have looked awesome.

I downed the shot, and it was like swallowing fire. Lifting my hand so I could cover my mouth with the back of my wrist, I coughed and coughed and coughed some more. The bartender looked on in amus.e.m.e.nt, and it was the very first time in my life I was tempted to give someone the finger.

A familiar face broke through the crowd, but not before being waylaid by at least half a dozen people. I watched in bemus.e.m.e.nt as Ian stopped and chatted, shook hands and smiled at people. It was like I was seeing a completely different person. He'd said his friend owned this place, but I was still wrapping my brain around the fact that he had friends. That he socialized. Where was the awkward, lonely guy who was so nervous to go to a yoga cla.s.s with me that he drank himself under the table?

He walked toward me, a goofy grin on his face, and I felt jealous. I tried to fight it down, but there it was, plain as day. Not only that, but I was angry. So much so that I felt the warm tingle of tears flooding my eyes. I fought tooth and nail for every miniscule quirk of his lips, and despite all my best efforts, I'd never seen him smile quite like that. What. The. h.e.l.l.

He stepped in front of me, stooping down to kiss me on the cheek. Not the lips, the cheek. I reigned in my surging emotions, struggling to get them under control. When he pulled back, his eyes searched my face, then scrolled down my body. "You . . ."

I grimaced, running a hand down my leg. "Yeah, I know. Thanks." My words had a bite to them that they usually didn't, and his eyes narrowed with my tone.

He snagged my coat from where I'd folded it over my arm. "C'mon, there's a bathroom in the back."

He held his hand out behind him, and I took it, keeping a step off his heels. The crowd was thick around the bar but much thinner through the tables. For the most part, everyone was focused on the new singer ("Wanted Dead or Alive," this time), though a few stray waves were sent in Ian's direction.

I was so busy taking everyone in, silently freaking out as I counted how many people were there that when Ian stopped, I walked right into his back, nose first. My eyes watered and I stumbled back, a flash of pain climbing up the bridge of my nose. His shoulders blocked my view so I couldn't see who he was talking to, but I could hear them well enough.

"-looking for you."

"I don't have time for this right now, Ben."

"Well, you're gonna make time. You think you can keep blowing me off and then just show up here?"

"Seriously, not now."

Ian swayed backward like whoever this Ben person was had just shoved him. I'd had enough already, and with these stupid leather pants chafing in all the wrong places, I lost it.

Dropping Ian's hand, I stepped around him and confronted this annoying impediment to my bathroom trip. "Hi, Ben, is it? Are you deaf or just dumb?"

There wasn't much room between us, maybe an inch, if that. He took a step back, looking thoroughly confused by my appearance. He stared at me, eyes widening, and sweeping down my length. When Ian dropped a hand on my shoulder, Ben's mouth fell open, and his gaze darted up and over my shoulder with an expression of shock.

My stomach twisted in knots, and my mind immediately flew off into a thousand directions as to what that look could have possibly meant. Get it together.

"Great," I said. "Deaf it is. If you'll excuse me." Brushing by him, my shoulder clipped his, but I didn't stop to apologize. I kept right on walking until Ian appeared next to me.

"Bianca, are you okay?"

"No." I didn't let myself say any more because I honestly wasn't sure what was going to come out of my mouth. "Bathroom?"

He pointed just in front of me and to the left. I let my eyes scan his face, before I squeezed mine shut. I was such a mess. His fingertips grazed my cheek before I pulled away and shoved the bathroom door closed behind me.

I popped the lock into place before wrapping my fingers around the white ceramic sink. I pressed my fingertips into my eyes, swallowing heavily. I needed to calm down and relax.

It took a few minutes, but slowly I was able to fend off thoughts of my parents, the annoyance of Harper standing me up at the last minute, the aggravation of getting rained on, the anxiety of tonight, the constant ache of missing Renee, and the c.o.c.ktail of emotions I was feeling toward Ian. An image of that smile flashed across my brain one more time, and my heart clenched, aching like a day-old bruise. I had to stop this, right now.

I sniffed and reached for the toilet paper, wiping up the black smudges across my cheeks of runny mascara, and, okay, a tear that managed to escape against my permission. Untying the halter top I was wearing, sans bra, I turned on the hand dryer and worked on that. When it was mostly dry, I ducked my head under the machine and finger dried my hair.

The leather pants caused an issue, and I made a mental reminder to myself to strangle Harper later for the suggestion. Once I had them down and towel-dried my legs, it was nearly impossible to get them back up again. Bouncing, hopping, and tugging, I finally succeeded, but by then my face was almost as red as my shirt.

With one last glance in the mirror, I readjusted my top and finally exited the bathroom. Ian lounged against the wall, his short-sleeved shirt showing off his ink and his arms folded across his chest.

He pushed off the wall when he saw me. "Better?"

I nodded. "I'm fine." I let my gaze coast over him, searching his face for that elusive smile.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"