Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“No. There.” Gala takes me by the shoulders and thrusts me right into Ashton.
Holy shit. There’s an erection poking my ass.
What. The. Fuck? Does Ashton just walk around with a hard-on? Or did he sprout it just to bring forth that heart attack for real?
“Say ‘conjugal,’” Gala squeaks.
Everyone does, but thanks to his proximity, Ashton’s voice is like a purr in my ear… and it reverberates in my nipples.
“Thank you,” Gala says. “I think I got it.”
Thank God. I leap out of range of Ashton’s cock and take a few steps down the pier, just in case it chases me.
I really don’t want a heart attack right now. Or an orgasm.
“Hi, everyone,” says a newcomer who’s dressed like a priest. “The bride and groom are going to be here any minute, so please take your positions.”
After some confusion, we’re told where to stand, and it’s pretty obvious in hindsight: bridesmaids on one side, groomsmen on the other.
A live band shows up, seemingly out of nowhere, and starts playing classical music, a melody I soon recognize as “Billionaire” by Travie McCoy.
I choke back a laugh. This is clearly Emma’s idea of a joke. Then I see Ashton grinning, which ruins my mood.
Predictably, considering the song, Marcus walks down the aisle and stands in front of the priest—with Emma’s grandmother at his side, which is so adorable my eyes get misty.
Smoothly, the band transitions into the traditional “Here Comes the Bride.”
Everyone looks to the base of the pier as Emma appears in a magnificent Vera Wang ivory lace concoction that flatters her curves and makes her pale skin glow. Her hair, styled in a gorgeous updo, looks especially radiant with the sunlight shining on it. Her grandfather is escorting her down the aisle, a proud smile on his weathered face.
Damn it. I should’ve brought some water with me. Between my eyes leaking and the dampness in my panties from being next to Ashton earlier, I’m at risk of dehydration.
“Dearly beloved,” the priest says and proceeds with the charming ceremony, the highlight of which is when one of Emma’s cats walks down the aisle on a leash held by Marcus’s butler. At first, I’m unclear as to why, but then I spot the little pillow attached to the cat’s back.
The fuzzy furball is the ring bearer.
Actually, no. The highlight of the ceremony is when Emma and Marcus read their vows—because they are heartfelt and touching, and contribute further to my dehydration.
“—and now, I pronounce you man and wife,” the priest concludes. Smiling at Marcus, he adds, “You may kiss the bride.”
Oh, wow. The kiss Marcus gives my friend is of the type where, under any other circumstances, everyone would say “get a room.” It’s so passionate and possessive it makes me feel like a voyeur.
Flushing, I look away, only to have my gaze fall on Ashton’s lips.
Shit.
Catching me looking at him, Ashton arches a questioning eyebrow.
I pretend to wipe a bead of sweat off my forehead… with my middle finger.
He slowly shakes his head and mouths, “Very mature.”
Before I can pantomime a response, the newlyweds finally disconnect from their scorching kiss, and everyone claps.
“Time for more pictures!” Gala shouts and proceeds to usher us to the beach, where I manage to somehow steer clear of Ashton’s cock.
“The cocktail hour and reception will be at the mansion,” Gala tells us when she’s done with the million pictures.
On the way there, I take the limo that Ashton isn’t in, and I avoid drinking too much at cocktail hour because if I get drunk, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay civil… or keep my legs shut.
At the reception, I’m happy to learn that we’re allowed to pick our seats, so I sit far, far away from Ashton, which helps me enjoy the scrumptious first course.
“Can I have your attention please,” Gala says into the mic. “First, say hello to your band: The Wedding Smashers.”
Said band begins playing their rendition of “I Gotta Feeling” by The Black-Eyed Peas, but instead of anyone singing, mid-way through, Gala announces, “And now, for the first time as husband and wife: Mr. and Mrs. Carelli.”
The music grows louder, and Emma and Marcus make their grand entrance. Between her hair seeming a touch frizzy and Marcus’s tie being askew, they look suspiciously like they’ve already consummated their marriage.
Their first dance starts, and if I thought their kiss was scorching, the way they sway together is the closest thing to sex in public that I’ve ever seen.
In fact, I’m shocked that they go to sit at their table afterward instead of sneaking out for a quickie.
Soon after the next course arrives, Emma’s grandfather and grandmother each give a beautifully touching speech to celebrate the blissful newlyweds, and I thank the makeup gods above that I’m wearing waterproof mascara. After that, Gala demands that everyone head over to the dance floor.