She: Part 2 (58 page)

“This is…this is where it happened?” I ask, my voice barely audible.

“If by
it
you mean love at first sight, then, yes,” Logan laughs jovially.

“Logan,” I whimper, my bottom lip trembling.
Seriously
,
Gem
,
get that lip under control
. But I cannot. This moment is too meaningful to keep all these good feelings inside, and crying is the second best way that I can express myself. The
best
way would hardly be appropriate given our public setting.

Tears start streaming down my face, as Logan tells me, “I’ve invited the people we care about the most to join us — my parents, your mom, Amber, Buddy, Karen, Abby — they’re all coming, but they’re not supposed to get here from another ten minutes or so.” Evidently expecting my tears of joy, he adds, “I thought you might want a little time to enjoy the sentiment, just the two of us.”

That’s the politest way possible to say:
a little time to pull yourself together
. Who am I kidding? My bottom lip doesn’t stand a chance against him!

“You think you know me so well,” I cry in mock outrage, making him laugh once more.
He
does
know me so well. I stare at him in amazement and feel certain that he can hear my hammering heart from across the room.

Wow
, I think. I’m not only blown away by him organising this, here, but also by the obvious fact that Logan’s memories of that party are not tainted with anger or sadness that I was unavailable to him. What he told me on Thursday night is true, and in bringing me back here he’s confirming that that night and the two years that followed weren’t arduous, but were filled with a knowingness that one day we would be together.

It’s the
perfect
place to celebrate our engagement, because despite how unaware and asleep I was at the time, it was that night in this room that changed the course of my life forever, and which has eventually lead to this full-circle moment.

“Oh, Logan,” I murmur again.

I walk over to him; he stands still, watching me approach. As I walk, I marvel that he waited for me for two years without anything to encourage him other than the surety that the sight of me somehow provided for him.
I must
’
ve looked damn good the night
, I muse. And albeit he stayed at a distance, he still stayed, and that’s the
only
reason that I am able to stride into his open arms, cup his smiling face in my hands, and kiss him like there’s no tomorrow.

Stealing his line from this morning, I whisper against his lips, “There are no words to describe you sometimes.” Though that fact in itself says enough about him. His graciousness overwhelms me. He’s more thoughtful, more romantic, and more loveable than I believed a person could be. As I gaze up at him, I still don’t quite believe he’s real, and perhaps I never will. Perhaps that’s just Logan’s charm, and I’ll just have to suck it up, I think sarcastically.

Logan smiles at me, looking at me as though I’m the one who brought him here and gave him this beautiful surprise. How backwards he’s got it, and abruptly I need him to know that.

“Every good thing that has happened, that is happening, and that will happen between us is
all
because of you, Logan.” I wrap my arms around his neck, trying to get even closer to him. “You’re the greatest love that I’ve ever known, and the best man, the best
person
,” I amend, “that I’ve ever met. You’re an inspiration to me, and I want to spend the rest of my life making sure that you know just how grateful I am that you waited all that time,” I tell him. I press my lips to his for a long, memorable moment, while I move one of my hands onto his chest and revel in feeling his thundering heartbeat. I utter, “We wouldn’t have any of this if it weren’t for you, so thank you, baby,” I breathe against his lips.

Logan’s face breaks into a breathtaking smile. He’s touched by my honest words.
Good
. “You’re welcome, Gemima. Besides, waiting for you was easy. I just applied the same practise that I do in business,” he tells me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Oh
? I can’t keep from laughing at his unexpected words. “Which is?”

“I never settle,” he says simply. “How could I ever settle for anything less when you were, and still are, the pinnacle of everything that I’ve ever wanted?”

His words enliven me; every ounce of my being is happy right now. “You do deserve the best,” I say, slyly.

“And I have her,” he nods surely. “You’re my best friend, and I can’t wait to flirt with you, play with you, date you, and make love to you for the rest of my life. I can’t wait to say
I do
.”

Cue the bottom lip tremble. “I can’t wait, either,” I say, my voice suddenly quietly. I really,
really
can’t. “What about July fourteenth?” I ask him out of the blue.

That’s Bastille Day here in France, a national holiday, and there are always amazing celebrations taking place all over Paris. It’ll be like the whole city is celebrating with us.

Logan beams at me. “I think July fourteenth can’t come soon enough.” He’s brimming with youthful, boyish enthusiasm as he adds, “How do
you
feel about Versailles?”

Uh…
what
? I gaze at him incredulously, my heart beating overtime once more.

“
That
’
s
the green light that Buddy gave me the other night,” he finally reveals. “We can get married in the gardens of Versailles.”

My mind goes blank. “Are you…are you serious?” I ask, in barely more than a whisper.

“Completely,” Logan laughs, enjoying my speechless reaction.

He wraps his arms around my waist and peers down at me, waiting for me to say something but I can’t; I can’t attain a firm grasp on what’s just been decided because it’s simply too surreal, too magical. I’m struck dumb. He told me that he thought he’d found my dream location, but the truth is that Versailles is so far
beyond
my dream wedding location that I’ve never once given it a thought.

Besides… “I thought you had to be royalty to do things there. And not just construction industry royalty,” I blurt out, my shock-induced babbling commencing.

Logan shakes his head, laughing once more. “We’re allowed,” he confirms. “But your clear lack of enthusiasm—”

“No,” I shake my head, not wanting him to mistake my disbelief for resistance.

“Uh…
no
?” he asks in surprise, and I suddenly realise that he was only teasing me a moment ago, and now he thinks that I’m not interested!

My eyes grow wide; my excitement has rendered me too damn flustered.
Be clear
,
Gem
,
for fuck
’
s sake
,
Versailles is on the line here
!

“I mean yes,” I shout loudly. “Yes, Logan,
yes
!”

I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around his neck again as I kiss him eagerly, headily. We’ve got seven minutes of prime make out time before our friends and family arrive, and aside from kissing Logan, the only thing that I am currently able do is echo his sentiment — July fourteenth can’t come soon enough.

He smiles into my mouth, and whispers, “It’s a date.”

Four months and two days later.

T
he cubicle lock clicks, and the door swings wide open. Amber stares up at me from the toilet, her maid-of-honour dress taking up every inch of space around her.

“I need your help,” she says, sullenly.

I stare at her for half a second before laughter overcomes me and it takes at least fifteen seconds for it to abate.

“I thought it was your job to help
me
pee on my wedding day? Not the other way around,” I giggle, stepping towards her and holding out my hands to pull her up. Fortunately, my dress’s design, and the fact that I’m not pregnant, has thus far allowed me private toilet visits.

Thinking similar thoughts, Amber says, “I’m almost six months pregnant, Gem. Some days I need all the help I can get.”

Once she’s standing I make myself scarce, leaving the cubicle, and walking over to the sinks, admiring the decor as I go. This bathroom is amazing, as bathrooms go.
Everything
at Versailles is, nothing here is less than opulent, less than stunning, or less than mind-blowing. I still have to assure myself that I’m not dreaming. We really are here, I really am married.

I gaze at myself in one of the large, adorned mirrors, while I wait for my best friend. I doubt I’ve ever looked happier, or more put together than I do right now. My dress is simply stunning — an above the ankle, champagne-coloured, strapless number that I had to trudge through five overwhelmingly large bridal shops looking for, without success. I ended up finding it by accident while strolling through Saint-Germain-des-Prés one weekend two months ago, and it was love at first sight. It fits me so perfectly, complimenting my hourglass figure, while still remaining modest. The full, silk tulle skirt is the third softest thing that I’ve ever felt against my skin, after Logan and Samuel, and from my thighs upwards the dress is decorated with gorgeous lace-work, parts of which have been replicated for my matching champagne-coloured heels.

My sophisticated up-do, with thanks to my mother, and my classic but striking makeup are both inline with the elegant style that I was hoping to achieve today, and as I gaze at myself, I revel in the feeling of pulling it off. I’ve managed to combine elegance, poise, and total calm…that’s no easy feat for me.

Amber finally reappears, beaming as she joins me at the sinks. “You look
so
beautiful!” she effuses.

I smile back at her, drinking in every single second of this day, committing every element of it, even this bathroom break, to memory. I don’t want to forget a thing.

“Come,” I hold my hand out to her, “our
husbands
will be waiting for us,” I say, excitement coursing through me.

Outside of the pavilion, standing in the warm late-afternoon sun, facing out towards the huge grounds that we’re lucky enough to call our wedding location, stands Logan and Seamus. I practically drag Amber over to them, my eagerness overpowering her slow movements.

“Just go on without me,” she says dramatically, but when I turn to look at her, she’s smiling at my obvious enthusiasm, and nods towards Logan. “Go,” she tells me.

I give her hand a tight squeeze before releasing it, and leaving her to make her way over at a more serene pace, I start marching faster than any bride ought to. Once I’m standing behind him, I wrap my arms around Logan’s stomach and tuck my chin onto his shoulder.

“Hello, husband,” I whisper.

His hands naturally glide over mine, and I feel it instantly — his new wedding ring. I hold his hand out in front of his body to gaze at the thick, platinum band.

“Sexiest thing ever,” I grin into his neck.

And it is, it
really
is! I’ve never felt possessive of Logan, but I can’t deny to myself how incredible the last couple of hours have been, catching glimpses of that ring on his finger, knowing what it stands for, and knowing that it’s going to stay there for the rest of his life.

Logan laughs at my words, and turns around, his hands coming up to cup my face. “Hello, wife,” he murmurs in response, looking at me with those light-green adoring eyes, and leaning in to kiss my lips.

It’s a long, heady, delicious kiss, during which I slip my own hands inside of this custom-made tuxedo jacket, letting them roam all over his delectable body. He tastes, smells, feels, and looks phenomenal. He’s a treat for my senses.

“You look even more handsome as a married man,” I tell him when we break apart.

He smiles back at me, and I try very hard to stop time for a moment, so that my eyes might rove over this breathtaking face until they’ve had their fill. His skin is beautifully tanned due to a warm and sunny Parisian summer; his hair is a lot tidier than most other days, and I have to remind myself not to run my fingers through it (at least, not until later); his strong, masculine jaw is lightly stubbled and draws my eyes up to gaze at his full, pink lips. Watching me watching him, evokes an even broader smile from Logan, and those old friends of mine, his dimples, become etched into his cheeks. Like a thousand times before, I reach up and kiss both of them.

“And you look enchanting and surreally beautiful, Gemima. You are transcendent,” he says, giving me an appreciative look up and down.

His words thrill me, as does the memory of earlier this afternoon when I revealed my decked-out self to him for the first time. His mouth hit the floor, his eyes grew uncommonly wide, and his whole demeanour lit up.
Ah
,
the satisfaction
, I muse, remembering how I swooned on the spot. His unmistakable awe made me feel every bit the blushing bride, until my own impression of him turned me into a drooling mass of lust.

Granted, I see Logan looking good on a twenty-four-seven basis, but there’s just something a little extra about the way he looks today. He wears his medium-grey wedding tux, complete with a vest and a tie that is akin to my dress in colour, with his usual mix of Logan-charm and I-want-to-get-him-naked sex appeal. His is so classical handsome and so suited to this kind of attire, that I may have suggested that he should consider modelling men’s wedding wear professionally. He probably thought that I was joking; I wasn’t.

“Are you ready for our first dance as husband and wife?” Logan asks, sounding as gleeful as I feel.

I nod vehemently, and it’s only when we start walking that I realise we are quite alone. Amber and Seamus are already half way on their way to the marquee, some five hundred metres away, where our reception is being held. I must’ve been more immersed in our kiss than I realised, I think.

“Are you going to tell me our wedding song?” I try my luck.