I wear a dress with a plunging back, a long train, and a veil made of the most exquisite lace.
Matt and I settled, along with the chef, on a four-course meal with wine pairings, including crab and Bibb salad with pear and goat cheese, butternut squash soup, roast lamb with rosemary vegetables and poached Maine lobster, and my favorite dessert of the White House, the chef’s special apple pie cheesecake. All served on silver-rimmed plates that look gorgeous over the ivory silk tablecloths and with the gilded silver chairs.
Among our wedding guests are twenty-one presidents and their first ladies, two prime ministers, NBA players, Hollywood directors, actors and singers, Nobel prize winners, all of the children of the Children’s National hospital, and our families and friends.
But with my groom in the vicinity, even all of them combined play a second fiddle to him—the POTUS, in a sharp black tux, wearing one of his most charming, disarming smiles as he watches me walk down the long red carpet in the gorgeous White House Rose Garden with a train of white ruffles trailing behind me, finally making me his. Finally his in every sense of the word.
Matt looks stunning with his bow tie and crisp white shirt, the small flag pin of the United States pinned to his jacket.
Hot.
Powerful.
And mine.
With the backdrop of the gardens behind him and the thousands of white roses up the trellis behind the makeshift altar, I cannot believe that today America’s prince, who now so easily wears the king’s crown, is marrying me.
Today he’ll be taking his second oath of the year—the two most important of his life, in the same year.
The best thing of all, as I walk down the aisle, is the smile on his face. It’s a subtle smile, not overtly wide, but combined with the quiet, intense, brilliant look in his eyes as he watches me approach, along with the chorus music, it makes a knot form in my throat as my dad walks me down the long red-carpeted aisle.
My dad is clenching his jaw really tight and his eyes are a little red, and I can’t imagine what my father is feeling to see his only daughter get married . . . to this man.
“You take care of her, Matthew,” my father murmurs as he hands me over, and Matthew assures him, “I will, sir.”
His fingers slide over to grip mine and he locks eyes with me as he leads me up the two steps to the altar to stand before the priest.
Beneath the flowing skirts of my dress, my thighs feel flowy, like I’m made of air.
I know that we’re being televised and I keep wanting to restrain myself from getting overly emotional, but my eyes keep stinging, simply being aware of his powerful presence beside mine.
When we face each other to deliver our vows, I’m sure my throat has caught fire and there’s no chance of swallowing at all.
His voice, so firm and commanding but with an edge of huskiness to it, kills me most of all.
“I, Matthew, take you, Charlotte, for my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.”
My voice comes out steady but soft. “I, Charlotte, take you, Matthew, for my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.”
The ceremony continues, and I memorize the way Matt stands there. He’s not one bit emotional. He simply looks certain. So certain of becoming my husband, making me his wife.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride, sir,” the priest says.
Matthew raises his brows at me as if saying you’re done for, now, and he tugs me closer, the sparkle in his eyes a full-on blaze as his gaze falls to my mouth.
He rubs my lower lip with his thumb, and he keeps his thumb beneath my lip as he frames my face in both hands and sets the most delicious, the most tender, and the most firm and confident kiss ever on my lips.
“Ladies and gentlemen. The President of the United States, and the First Lady!”
Beckett slaps Matt’s back and I embrace Kayla as cheers erupt. Then Matt leads us down the aisle, and I’m laughing because of the crowd and cheers and the camera flashes, so wild and blinding, and I love that I feel his smile against the back of my hand as he kisses my knuckles.
25
FOR LUCK
Matt
“Long life, President Hamilton!”
I pull her to the dance floor, and I want to devour this girl. I want to run my mouth all over that sweet, smiling face, kiss the lips she’s been gnawing nervously all day, slowly unbutton the buttons on the back of her dress and have my way with her.
I feel invincible, like I can do it all, have it all.
And as I twirl her and hear her laugh, then hear her sigh when I pull her back up against my chest, I know for certain—I want for nothing more.
I used to argue with my father, those last few years.
“Why would you marry a woman if you weren’t going to pay attention to her?”