All those days so long ago, when I’d walked into a hospital room and met a shy, sweet girl—who later managed to steal my heart with her courageous spirit and zeal for life—I’d never expected to see her blossom into such an amazingly voracious woman. I’d loved her then—when she’d been young and naive about the world around her—and every day since, I’d found new pieces of her to fall for all over again as she took her place in this life she so desperately deserved.
The chauffeur held the car door open for us, and we both stepped out, mindful of the billowing fabric that encompassed Lailah. Every time I looked at her, I still found myself doing a double take. On a normal day, she was lovely, a vision even. But today? I couldn’t even find words. I couldn’t stop staring at her. I was dumbfounded by the fact that, just mere hours ago, she’d stood in front of a church filled with our family and friends and pledged her life and soul to me.
In all my days, I’d never understand how I deserved so much.
With her hand tightly laced in mine, I tugged her toward the entrance, not bothering to wait for our luggage. The chauffeur knew what to do. I had other things to worry about—like just how many buttons were on the back of that heavenly dress and how long it would take me to get it off her.
Check-in was quick, and within minutes, we were gliding upward in the elevator toward the top floor.
“Oh, no. What have you done this time?” she asked warily as the numbers zoomed by, and we climbed higher and higher.
“Don’t fuss. It’s our wedding night. I only did what was required for such a monumental occasion.”
I didn’t miss the slight roll of her eyes, but she didn’t say anything further. She must not have noticed the quick swipe of our key across the elevator panel before the doors had closed. Once they opened again, the gasp of surprise that escaped her lips immediately filled the tiny space.
This hotel room wasn’t an ordinary room. It was the presidential suite, and it took up the entire top floor. When the doors parted, we were met with dozens of glowing candles lining the private entryway into our suite.
“Jude,” she whispered, her hand reaching up to clutch the spot where her heart resided, “it’s beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you.”
“Will you let me carry you over the threshold?”
She simply nodded, her eyes dotted with tears. Bending forward, I lifted my bride, my wife, and my reason for breathing, and I carried her over the tiny threshold of the elevator and into our future.
“YOU’RE INSANE!” I exclaimed the minute my feet touched the plush carpet of our suite.
If you could even call it that.
Mini palace stuffed inside the inner workings of a hotel seemed a bit more adequate.
“Maybe a little,” he said.
My eyes continued their seemingly endless tour from one side of the living area to the other. Through a slightly open door, I could see another room, which appeared to be a library. It looked to be covered in wood paneling and filled with books.
Our honeymoon suite had a library.
A freaking library.
“A simple bed would have sufficed,” I muttered, pulling my eyes away from the books. I tried to hide the drool as I secretly wondered what treasures might lie inside.
He chuckled as our eyes met. “I’ll let you dive in there—later,” he said, the light green of his irises darkening. “Much later.”
My stomach clenched in anticipation. Books, a fancy hotel room, and every other detail that was floating around in my erratic brain suddenly went dormant, except for one—Jude.
There was only him.
And every part of me wanted to melt into his warmth and his unwavering strength and never solidify again.
He must have noticed the change in my tone. One second, he was playfully smiling at me from across the room, and the next, I was in his firm embrace.
“You are my wife now, Lailah,” he said softly, the words spoken with such reverence.
My breathing slowed as I inhaled each beautiful word.
“The other half to my soul. The angel I managed to steal from heaven itself.” His fingers lifted to brush hair from my eyes. “I didn’t think it was possible that I could love you more, but you constantly prove me wrong, each and every day.”
I couldn’t take any more. Could a woman’s heart actually fail from too much romance?
Because one more word, and that new ticker of mine might combust.
He was too good. I could spend a lifetime doing nothing but good deeds, and I’d never fully earn the love he believed I was worth. He thought I was the better half of the whole we’d created, but he was so incredibly wrong.
He was my better half in every way, and the fact that he didn’t see it proved my point exactly.
Before he had a second longer to utter anything more, I silenced him with a kiss—the kind of kiss that spoke a hundred words and a thousand emotions without a single sound. It spoke of love, commitment, and devotion without syllables or vowels. Poems and stanzas were unnecessary when two mouths moved against each other in perfect synchronization. A sonnet or even the most captivating ballad couldn’t surpass the incredible masterpiece that was made when his lips touched mine.