Savage Ending (Savage Series #4) - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,1
priest. Oh, and Candace, how would a March wedding sound to you?”
Candace’s eyes light up. “That would be wonderful.”
“That is forever from now,” I interject. “I’ve waited a long time to marry her. Can we do this any faster?”
“Eagerness is appreciated,” Rosa states, “but she’s running to you, not away. You have a lifetime together.”
Candace captures my hand in hers. “Yes, we do,” she says softly.
Rosa offers an approving look and motions us forward. She disappears inside the church and when Candace would step forward, I tug her toward me. “Five months is too long to wait.”
She studies me for a moment and presses her hand to my face. “We don’t have to do this here or in March. I love you. I don’t need this. I need you. But we’re still walking into the church.”
I blink. “What? Why?”
“Because you’re afraid of yourself and therefore this church. You have to get over that. You’re not going to burn up or be struck with lightning when you enter.”
“That’s up for debate and possibly not for long.”
“We’re going inside, Rick,” she says sternly. “And then we’ll decide when and where to get married, over a drink I believe you need right now.”
She steps inside the church and tugs me forward. Of course, I could hold my ground, but damn it, she’s right. I’m afraid. Which is embarrassing. Rick fucking Savage is not a pussy-ass bitch scaredy-cat. I hold my breath, steel myself for what may happen next, and follow her inside the church. I don’t burn up. Lightning doesn’t strike me down. “Thank you, God,” I murmur.
Candace steps in front of me and smiles. “See? All is well.” Her gaze lifts to the towering ceiling painted with biblical images and she murmurs, “Incredible.” She twists in my arms and stares at the giant pillars attached by towering arches that frame the rows of seats, stained glass in every arched window, of which there are many.
Rosa steps next to Candace. “It’s stunning, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “It really is that and more.”
I imagine Candace walking down the aisle. This is a place of a Cinderella storybook wedding. And after all she’s been through, after all I put her through, she deserves a Cinderella story of her own.
This is where we’re getting married.
Candace turns to look at me and when her eyes meet mine, she reads my mind and grants me a perfect, beautiful smile. The kind that lights up a room and this dark heart of mine. She throws her arms around me, fixing me in a pretty green stare, love in her eyes. “We’re getting married right here.”
I stroke hair. “Yes,” I say. “We are. Forever and ever, baby.”
“Forever and ever,” she agrees.
“Shall we?” Rosa queries, directing us to our left. “The priest is waiting on us.”
“As long as he’s willing to marry a sinner and an angel,” I say. “Lead the way.”
A few minutes later, after Rosa meets with the priest one on one, we’re brought into an office lined with books. The priest, a man in his sixties, with white hair, but a young voice and chiseled face, studies us from behind a heavy wooden desk. “Who’s the sinner and who’s the angel?”
“I’m the sinner,” I say. “Is that a problem?”
“It’s not my role to judge you,” the priest assures me. “But you’re welcome to join me in the confession booth.”
“No,” Candace says quickly. “That won’t be necessary.”
I laugh and she scowls at me.
“That won’t be necessary,” I repeat. “We wouldn’t want to scare you away, Father.”
He laughs, and says, “I don’t scare easily, but let’s move on and talk about your wedding.”
And just like that, I dodge the confession booth and a bullet.
We’re home-free and walking with fancy feet now.
Onward to the wedding.
And the hot honeymoon night.
CHAPTER TWO
Savage
March, less than a week before the wedding…
“Is Barney getting married and why are you showing me his purple tuxedo?”
The store attendant, some new guy who has his nose in the air and a stick up his ass, bristles. “Is this not your tuxedo?”
Adam laughs. “Can it please be his tuxedo?”
I scowl in his direction and then eye the snobby attendant with a badge that reads “Nicolas.” He is such a fucking Nicolas, too, which as far as I’m concerned is the equivalent to a Karen. Nicolas scowls. “The tag says right here, Jackie Mitchell. If you have buyer’s remorse—”
“Once upon a time Jackie and Jill went up the hill. If I were Jackie, Jill would tumble right on top of