Intercepted (New Hope #1)

MALLORY'S EPILOGUE

Mallory

Five Months Later

I'm not nervous.

Butterflies are currently throwing a wild rave in my belly, but I'm not nervous.

When I married David, I threw up four times before our civil ceremony in the town courthouse. I'm marrying Mason in less than four minutes, and not a single dry heave. Maybe I should've listened to my gut the first time around.

Our intimate wedding is being held at a country club just outside Philadelphia, with fifty of our closest friends and relatives in attendance. Given Mason doesn't have any family apart from us, we opted to forgo the separate bride and groom sides of the aisle. It's a stupid tradition anyway. Today is about a merging of life and love, not a division.

Dad is anxious enough for the both of us. He meets me under the vine-threaded archway, sweat glistening on his brow. When he sees my dress, he can't hide the shimmer of tears in his eyes. I don't know how Mason managed to hire a world-renowned designer to create a wedding dress in five months, but he did. The end product is a simple satin mermaid gown with Swarovski crystal beading along the bodice. The neckline is high, but the scooped back makes up for the modest front.

Dad shakes his head, as if he lost his train of thought. "You look perfect, Mal. Absolutely perfect. I can't believe I had a hand in making you."

I secure a last-minute bobby pin, certain my skull will bleed before my updo loses its volume. "That's really sweet, Dad."

He holds his elbow out, smiling warmly. "Let's get this show on the road. And for the record, this is the last time I'm giving you away. This tuxedo isn't breathable."

Dad makes jokes, but I know this means the world to him. He didn't get the opportunity to walk me down the aisle for my first marriage. The courthouse didn't have an aisle. Just some folding chairs, a bored officiant, and stale coffee. Still, I don't regret my marriage to David. We were happy, even if I wasn't loving to my fullest potential. Besides, Blake came from it.

It's like Mason said—every decision we've made would've led us to this point. We were traveling different roads, but our destination remained the same. The time we've lost doesn't matter. It's the eons ahead of us that we'll make the most of.

With that, Dad guides me toward the white aisle, bouquets of daisies and silk sashes lining the wooden chairs on either side. The sun is setting behind rolling hills of green, glinting off the dark waters of the golf course pond. A light breeze ruffles the curls around my face, soft tendrils tickling my neck. The floral smell has an undertone of freshly mowed grass and heady oak trees.

Our guests stand, but from the moment I cast my gaze on him, everyone else in the room blurs. 

It's not the solid black tuxedo, the trimmed beard, or the mess of caramel hair atop his head. It's not the shiny shoes or the solid gold watch. It's those chocolate eyes, which brighten when his awestruck stare lands on me, like miniature flares are lighting him from within. His lips twitch, as though he wants to smile, but can't remember how. His mouth opens slightly, his chest inflating with a ragged breath.

Mason Reeves, utterly besotted and patiently waiting for me under the arbor, is truly a sight to behold. Stephanie stands to the left of the priest, Grace directly behind her. Of course, beside Mason is Aidan, who is smiling softly at the astonishment on his father's face. It's clear as day, the look of a man whose most heartfelt dream is finally within reach.

I also happen to witness the moment his patience snaps.

Dad and I are only halfway down the aisle before Mason vaults off the altar, his strides eating up the distance between us. A collective gasp and muffled shuffling overtake the gathered crowd. I widen my eyes, my heart thumping inside my ribcage, but Mason is a man on a mission. He stops in front of my father, palm held out, pleading with him to do the exchange now.

"You waited sixteen years," Dad grunts, but there's an amused twinkle in his eye. "And you can't wait a second longer?"

"Is that a yes?" Mason twiddles his fingers aggravatedly, gaze fixed on me. "Either way, I'm taking her."

Chuckles erupt in the audience, a few of Mason's old team members snickering. Mom has her fingers clasped over her mouth, watching this unfold with horrified fascination. I guess we're breaking more than a few traditions today.

"Caveman. Might as well chuck her over your shoulder and carry her into the woods." Dad untangles my arm from his, giving me a loving shove toward my future husband. "I willingly give you my daughter's hand, you arrogant bastard."

Mason wraps me in his arms, my feet skimming the white runner as he carries me toward the altar. "Arrogant son-in-law, Sean!" he calls over his shoulder.

I'm deposited in front of Mason, but he doesn't remove my hand from his. Stephanie takes my wildflower bouquet, handing it to Grace, who rolls her eyes at her father's antics. Aidan grins lopsidedly, undoubtedly getting terrible ideas for his own wedding, which will hopefully be in the very distant future.

Our fingers interlaced, we repeat the officiant's words. Mason's eyes flit across my face, memorizing each and every facet of it. I fight my blush, overwhelmed by the absolute adoration in his expression.

The priest hasn't even finished speaking before Mason slides my wedding band onto my finger, fitting snuggly next to my engagement ring. I do the same for him, fixing a sterling silver band onto his callused finger.

"You may kiss—"

That's all the poor man is able to get out before Mason's lips are on mine. One hand at the small of my back, the other cupping my jaw, he's careful to keep his tongue in his mouth. I made him practice restraint two dozen times, knowing he'd need it. Still, the kiss manages to sweep me off my feet, my heart fluttering in my throat. Stars dance behind my closed eyelids, heat ensnaring my veins. My skin blazes with the physiological response to such an outpouring of love.

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the priest says, closing his Bible with an annoyed snap. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mason and Mallory Reeves."

Mason pulls me into his embrace, his nose tucked into my neck. It puts me at the perfect angle to whisper in his ear, and with our guests cheering, not even the disgruntled priest can hear my words.

"I just want you to know," I murmur, my breath skating across his throat. "I'm not wearing underwear."

Mason's entire body stiffens, his fingers digging into the muscles along my spine, snagging along the crystals of my bodice. When he leans back, eyes wide, I chuckle at the incredulity on his face.

"Are you trying to kill me, Mrs. Reeves?" he asks, gaze fixed on my mouth. "We have to make an appearance at the reception, you know."

I shrug, smirking mischievously. "We can leave early."

He pokes his tongue against his cheek, raising a brow. "And your mother won't be horrified if I've got a raging hard-on in our wedding photos?"

"Given your proclivity for being inside me as much as possible, I think that'll be an accurate start to our marriage."

Mason grins, planting another one on me, his tongue teasing the corner of my mouth. "Damn right."