Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
He is never stepping in this apartment after tonight, and by the end of next week, he will be my husband. I can’t believe I almost let such a catch slip out of my grasp.
Chapter 31
Dalton
Everyone looks like a bug to squash when you’re in a monster truck. But this one is driven by a chauffeur and blasts “Marry You” by Bruno Mars, so I suppose there will be no squashing today.
I admit that I didn’t expect Corvus to agree to my request for our wedding ride, since he’s all about the gothic aesthetic, and the gothic revival church in a small Upstate New York town demands a carriage, or at the very least a fancy vintage car.
He is somewhat embarrassed by our choice of vehicle, and his family will surely poke fun at him for it, but he actually cares about fulfilling my dreams too. So here we are, arriving to our wedding in a monster truck and I’m having the time of my life.
Corvus must really love me to have agreed to this.
I lean in to kiss him when the monster truck parks as close as it can get to the church. One thing’s for sure, the Van der Horns are gonna remember this wedding until the end of their lives once I’m done putting my stamp on it. I might have gone a bit all-out with everything from the decorations to the food we’ll be having later, but I never claimed to be responsible with money. I choose to blame Daphne, since we did spur each other on. After all, if Corvus was unhappy with it, he would have made that known.
Instead, he slides his fingers to the back of my head and pulls me closer to the sound of some hooting and cheering down below.
I’m so proud of him. He’s been thrust into coming out, fell into the relationship with me, struggled with how he feels about his sexuality, and here he is, out and proud at my side.
He loves me. I know he does.
“Come on now, lovebirds, no stalling,” Remo says, shoving closer a movable set of stairs, complete with a railing adorned with black lace. He’s sporting a new bruise, even though the old one is still fading, but I suppose that for people like us it’s almost like wearing makeup. The right person loves a man with scars.
I know how many guests we’ve invited, but it’s still a shock to see the massive crowd filling the churchyard and spilling into the old graveyard. Fresh snow has fallen earlier today, and while it’s been swept from paths, piles of white fluff are draped on trees stretching their branches above the yard.
It gets dark early in January, but the silvery Christmas lights are still up, and they shimmer everywhere around us as my feet touch the ground.
For a moment I consider giving Corvus a hand on the last steps, but he doesn’t need my assistance. What he could use is a warmer jacket and a hat, but my man is too vain and went with whatever suited the rest of his look best. It might be worth it, because he’s stunning in his elegance, dressed in all black, with just a burgundy cravat matching the color of my suit. His outfit isn’t particularly flamboyant, with the exception of the orchid in his breast pocket and a large bejeweled cross pinned to his tie, but Corvus doesn’t need to be flashy to stun, his sharp cheekbones and beautiful blue eyes do that for him.
I could wax poetically about him for days. He’s the man I want to fall asleep with every day, and who I’m maybe a little unhealthily obsessed with. I’m already considering ways of adjusting my life just so I can spend more time with him.
When he descends the steps and finally grabs my hand, I squeeze it to reassure myself that it’s solid. This is not a dream. A month ago, I was meant to die for the amusement of the Van der Horn family, and now this amazing man is making me a part of the same clan. The greatest writers couldn’t have made this shit up.
Corvus stalls when the guests cheer for us, still self-conscious about being open with his sexuality, but I offer him a smile, and he dives in, kissing me with a tenderness no one ever touched me with. I might not be a precious piece of porcelain, but damn, does it feel good to be handled like one sometimes!
“Quite the ride you have there,” Roger, Corvus’s uncle, states, approaching to pat my back. The frost on his horseshoe mustache glints in the colors of winter, and I suppose he appreciates that his cowboy hat is not completely out of place among the gothic finery.
“It’s fucking sick!” Aspen exclaims and pats the front wheel with amazement glimmering in his blue eyes. He turns to his dad. “Can I take it for a spin?”