His Forbidden Love (Manhattan Billionaires #2) - Ava Ryan Page 0,72
my hand, then back up at him.
“But—”
“Ally. We belong together. We’ve both always known that. We’re getting married.”
I search hard, looking for any detectable sign of uncertainty and finding only open adoration. As though this wonderful man loves me exactly as much as I love him.
“Oh my God,” I say, lapsing into a hysterical hybrid of laughing and crying as I fling my arms around his neck and feel his tighten around my waist. “We’re getting married.”
Epilogue
One Year Later—Ally
“Great dress, by the way,” Michael says, taking my hand as we head down the sidewalk. “That pale yellow is your color.”
“You think so?” I say, using my free hand to straighten the belt’s bow. It’s hard to go wrong with a wrap dress. This one is simple, fluttery and elegant. Basically summer in a garment, plus it does wonders in terms of sprucing up my extra pounds. “It’s amazing what getting out of your scrubs and throwing on some heels every now and then can do for a person. And with you complimenting me like that, I’m going to start to feel like a sexy woman.”
“You are a sexy woman,” he says, his appreciative gaze sweeping me up and down with a pointed detour around the cleavage area. “I plan to remind you later.”
“My memory isn’t what it used to be, but didn’t you just remind me this morning?” I ask, a purr creeping into my voice.
“Do I hear a complaint?”
“The one thing you’ll never hear from me in that department is a complaint,” I assure him.
Those blue eyes of his smile at me over the top of my hand as he brings it to his mouth for a lingering kiss.
“Good.”
“You look very sexy yourself in your gray suit,” I say. “Your tie even matches my dress.”
“Huh. Interesting.”
“I’m still not sure what the occasion is,” I say.
“I told you. Between work and all this crazy wedding planning, we need a special lunch. Something just for the two of us.”
“Agreed. I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth. At all. As long as we’re done in time to get to Valentina’s for the cake tasting at three. We wouldn’t want to miss that.”
“Fear not.”
“Is our restaurant on the river? I was hoping we might get a glimpse of Lady Liberty. I don’t think I’ve been this far south since the night of the dinner cruise for Dr. Smith. You probably don’t remember that night.”
“Funny. You came with another guy,” he says with a narrowed sidelong glance. “I remember that.”
“My point is,” I continue loudly, “that it’s hard to believe it’s been a year. And that we’ll be married in just a couple more months — oh, look. Speaking of weddings.”
I point at the city clerk’s building across the street, which is basically Manhattan’s answer to Vegas’ Little Wedding Chapel. A cottage quickie wedding industry has sprung up including photographers, flowers and even wedding rings. Everything one needs for the ceremony seems to be available for purchase. Several happy couples, wearing everything from full-on cathedral-worthy gowns, veils and tuxedos down to matching track suits and sneakers, mill around, chattering happily.
“That’s how to do it. Quick and easy,” Michael says. “They all look like geniuses from where I’m standing.”
“Yeah, me too,” I say wistfully as we stop and watch them. “As we celebrate the first anniversary of our endless engagement.”
“Don’t get me started,” he says, scowling.
I know what he means. Planning a wedding is not for the faint of heart. Especially in NYC, where venues tend to book up years in advance.
I open my mouth, struggling to put my ambivalence into words. I’m getting my dream wedding with my dream man. Nothing to complain about here, folks.
And yet…
“I still want the big wedding with all our friends,” I say.
“And your custom dress from Mia. Don’t forget that,” he says with a wry smile.
“And my custom dress from Mia. I want that for sure.” The thought of my gorgeous dress makes me grin. On the other hand, the reminder of all the waiting we’ve done in our relationship makes me sigh. “But I wish we were already married.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he says with grim satisfaction as he tightens his grip on my hand. “Let’s go.”
And he takes off for the crosswalk, tugging me along with him.
“Go?” I say with an incredulous laugh. “Go where?”
“Let’s go get married,” he says without breaking stride.
“What, now?”
“Yes,” he says with that quiet intensity that always makes my heart stop. “Now.”