Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology #2) - Jodi Ellen Malpas Page 0,173

George to overtake them. I drop to my haunches as he staggers towards me, catching him just before he takes a tumble. ‘Hey up, boy.’ I laugh, lifting him into my arms and smothering his chuckling, chubby cheeks with wet kisses.

‘Dadadadada!’ His frantic palms smack my face repeatedly, knocking my glasses askew and spiking a roar of badly contained chuckles from the congregation.

Eleanor’s mother rushes forward to claim him, but when I try to pass him over, he shouts his protest and throws his little wilful arms around my neck. ‘I’ve got him,’ I say, transferring him into my right arm so I can welcome Eleanor into my other. She releases Gramps’s hand, kisses him tenderly on the cheek, and then walks straight into my free arm, burying her face into my shoulder. I swear, there’s not one thing in the world that could feel as good as this – my boy and my woman snuggling into me. I press my lips into her temple and breathe her into me. ‘Give me a twirl,’ I order gently, forcing her away from me. She smiles that knowing smile and performs a slow spin on the spot, giving me a peek of one of my favourite assets. I blow out air on a whistle, drinking in the exquisite sight of her arse being hugged by satin. ‘Super,’ I whisper to myself.

She curtseys and takes my hand, turning us to face the priest, and the holy man instantly eyes George in my hold, but a quick nod tells him to get on with things. I have an arse dying for my attention.

‘Welcome,’ he chants, a Bible resting across his palm. ‘To the union of Eleanor and Becker.’

We stand together, our son in my arms, while the priest conducts the ceremony. Eleanor constantly squeezes my hand, and I constantly flick my gaze to hers, reminding myself that this is all so very real. Me, Becker Hunt, father and husband. They’re the craziest things of all the things to happen. And the best. The most exciting, the most satisfying. I’ve found my treasure.

‘For better, for worse,’ I breathe, repeating the priest’s words, keeping my eyes fixed on hers. ‘For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.’ I pause, fighting to keep the lump in my throat from hampering my vows. I’m feeling a little overwhelmed. ‘Until death do us part.’ I swallow, grateful to George when he reaches for my forehead and rubs his hand vigorously across my brow. Because now I don’t need to wipe the sheen of sweat away.

‘Are you breaking out in a nervous sweat, Hunt?’ Eleanor asks quietly, smiling up at me.

‘It’s hot in here.’ I brush off her observation before she clings on and teases me with it for the rest of our lives together.

‘You have declared your consent before the Church,’ the priest declares. ‘May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with his blessings.’

‘And treasure,’ Eleanor adds, and I grin.

‘Amen.’

‘Amen,’ the crowd repeat, and before I get the heads-up from the priest, I’m swooping in to claim my prize, kissing the ever-loving, gorgeous life out of her while George smacks us both on the head and she laughs into my mouth.

‘Um . . . you may kiss your bride,’ I hear the priest say over the ear-piercing clapping of the congregation. I only break away when I need to shift a wriggling George in my arms and, placing him on his little feet, I take Eleanor’s hand in one, George’s in my other, and walk the loves of my life out of the church.

‘Ta-dah!’ I sing, and George giggles relentlessly as I magic a shiny silver coin from behind his ear. He claps his hands in order for me to carry on, so I straighten him up on my lap and rest back on the couch, pulling my bow tie from around my neck and casting it aside. I show him the coin lying flat in my palm and he quietens down, his little, intrigued eyes studying it closely. I close my hand into a fist. ‘Tap,’ I tell him, and he smacks my hand on a shout. Then I open it up, revealing an empty palm.

‘Ta-dah!’ he shouts, bouncing up and down so vigorously I have to catch him quickly before he leaps from my lap. I laugh and haul him into my chest, and his little hands rest on my cheeks, his forehead meeting mine.

‘You’re gonna be a genius like