“Hmph.” Oliver pursed his lips. “Well, if Andre knocks you up and the baby pops out of you Alien-style, I’m shooting it.”
“Oliver, shut the hell up,” Leanne said, snatching an hors-d’oeuvre from a passing waiter.
“I’m just saying.”
“Why is anyone talking about babies?” I asked. Geez, I got married mere hours ago.
“Seriously, sweets?” Oliver lifted his fingers and began ticking off reasons. “One, this is a wedding. It’s everyone’s excuse to rush your life the hell up and make you feel as uncomfortable as possible. And two,” Oliver gave my groom, who was chatting with some of my relatives across the room, a once-over, “that man is a stallion. He can just look at you, and boom, you’re pregnant. If it weren’t for your birth control, the dude would probably have to wear two condoms when you did the nasty, just to be safe.”
“I’m so not comfortable with this discussion,” Leanne said, making a face as she ate her appetizer.
Andre glanced over then. Even from across the room his heated gaze burned into me.
Oliver leaned in. “Boom. Pregnant.”
I gave him the side-eye. “Say that again and I’ll make you my unborn child’s future nanny.”
“Ew, a nanny to a little monster? That would be … acceptable. He’d be the cutest little shit ever, and I could be his fairy godmother … oh, I dig.”
“‘He’?”
“Sorry to inform you Gabrielle, but that man,” he nodded to Andre, “shoots straight Y’s.” The man in question had returned to his conversation. I noticed his lips twitch, however. The punk was totally listening in.
My mother came over then, wrapping her arms around Leanne and me, and gave us a squeeze. She rubbed my arm affectionately. “What are the Three Stooges up to now?”
“The Three Musketeers,” I clarified.
She snorted. “That will be the day.”
Did I ever mention that my mother was snarkier than me?
Oliver jumped in. “I was just telling Queen of the Damned here to lie back and think of England tonight.”
“Ugh,” I said, wincing, “that is so not appropriate.”
My mother, however, didn’t seem to mind nearly as much as I did. She peered over at Andre, then turned back into our huddle. “England?” She shook her head. “That would be a waste of some perfectly dirty thoughts.”
Oliver squealed. “You did not just!”
She gave him a wink and pulled away. “I’m parched and the wine here is good.” From the nice pink tinge to my mother’s cheeks, I was thinking that she’d already had plenty to drink. “Try not to get up to too much trouble—I’m looking at you, Oliver.”
Oliver placed a hand to his chest. “Moi?”
“Mhm.”
“Never,” he said.
Leanne and I exchanged a look, and then broke out into laughter. Oliver swiveled back to us and raised his glass. “To best bitches, forever and ever.”
We joined our glasses with his and clinked them together. “To best bitches, forever and ever.”
The reception was winding down when Andre took my hand and led me back to our room, flashing me a secretive smile that had my heart racing.
Early on in our relationship I’d assumed that even soulmates’ passions cooled as the newness of their bond wore off. But, if anything, time had deepened the sweet ache I felt for Andre.
He glanced back as he led me through the halls of his—our—house, and his nostrils flared at the scent of my desire. Once we were out of sight of any prying eyes, he scooped me up in his arms.
When I wove my arms behind his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek, he raised an eyebrow. “No objections to being carried?”
I shrugged a shoulder. “I’m willing to go with tradition just this once.”
His lips quirked. “I’ll make sure to savor it then.”
He placed me down only once we were inside our bedroom. I took in the hundreds of flickering candles that lit the room up. The sight of them had my skin brightening.
The door to our bedroom clicked shut, and I swiveled around. Andre leaned against it for a moment as he drank me in. His look was all predator. He’d kept himself away from me for over half the day entertaining guests, and before that, preparing himself for the wedding.
He was done waiting.
In two swift strides, he caught me. An arm snaked around my waist, the other cradled the side of my face as our lips met. The current between us amplified at our closeness.
Andre pulled away. “Gabrielle de Leon,” he rolled the name on his tongue, “my wife.”
A smile split across my face. “Andre de Leon, my husband.”
He flashed me a blinding smile of his own. “We did it, soulmate,” he said. “We survived the devil, a near-apocalypse, and—most insidious of all—a wedding.”
A surprised laugh slipped out at that.
Andre’s eyes fixated on my mouth, and then he leaned in, capturing my laughter between his lips. With a moan, I fell into the kiss, pulling his head closer to me. By the time our mouths parted, we were both breathing heavy.