I don’t believe that, though. I would have always found her.

Always. Without a doubt.

It’s not an exaggeration when I say I fell for her at first sight. If anything, I downplay. Not on purpose. The effect she had on me is simply beyond words, and when I attempt to voice it, the true experience becomes abridged and reduced. In all honesty, the woman who stood on that stage left me speechless. Her business ideas were only part of it. They were sound and innovative, but really, there are bright, intelligent up-and-comers around every corner. This went beyond that. I can’t even pinpoint if it was her mannerisms or her pattern of speaking or the shocking depth to her chocolate brown eyes. Whatever it was, there was a definite recognition of her soul by mine. An awareness of something greater that tied us to each other upon first acquaintance. As if some part of me had always known she was out there, had been waiting for her to come and bring me to life.

It took me quite some time to label that as love. At first, I didn’t know what it was. And now that I do, I still hesitate to call it that since the word fails to express the multi-dimensional way I feel for her. But it’s the nearest thing I have, and I say it to her now as often as I can. Then I try to tell her what I really mean by that simple four-letter verb. That not only does my world revolve around her, but she is my world. That she’s not just my reason for breathing, she’s air itself. That she’s the meaning behind every one of my thoughts, every thrum of my pulse, every whisper of my conscience. She’s my entire everything. It’s as simple and as complex as that.

I don’t know that she’ll ever understand, but I’ll happily spend my lifetime trying to show her.

I gaze around the crowd of people that have shown up to celebrate our special day and think it’s funny how, now that I know what it means to love and be loved, I see it everywhere. In the way that Adam tends to the baby and tags along behind Mirabelle as she flits from one person to another. In the way my father held my mother’s hand during the ceremony. In the tender look that Brian had for his younger sister when he gave her to me to wed. Has there always been all this love in the world? How have I never seen it before Alayna Withers showed up in my life?

Alayna Pierce now. Doesn’t that have a nice ring?

She’s coming to me now, and my grin widens. I haven’t stopped smiling since she walked down that aisle. I’m sure I look ridiculous.

“Hey, handsome,” she says in that lusty voice of hers that makes my c**k twitch. “It’s time for the first dance.”

I let her lead me to the center of the Esplanade. It’s impressive how fast the crew we hired transposed the ceremony arrangement to a reception area. We could have moved to the Atrium or another venue all together as our wedding planner suggested, but Alayna wanted the whole event to be outdoors among the blossoms. It was a good decision. The Brooklyn Botanic Society doesn’t usually rent out the whole garden for weddings. It’s amazing what they’ll do for a large donation.

The emcee announces our first dance as I pull my bride into my arms. “What will our first dance be to, Mrs. Pierce?”

I know nothing she has planned for the reception. Alayna took care of all the wedding details. I offered to help, but she preferred to surprise me. The tables will be turned when I get her on the plane to our honeymoon destination. She has no idea that we’ll be staying in a private cabana in the Maldives Islands for three weeks. I’d considered Italy or Greece—both locations that she’s mentioned wanting to visit—but out of my own selfishness, I chose a tropical setting. It will be easier to keep her na**d on a private beach than at the site of an ancient ruin or in an art museum.

“Patience, Mr. Pierce.” She’s always so good at throwing my own lines back to me.

The music starts and I smile. All of Me. Of course.

She snuggles into my arms and I bury my head in her neck, breathing in the scent of her. Her cherry body wash mingles with the blossoms in the air, but none of it can completely cover up the delicious aroma of Alayna’s skin—a combination of salt and sweet that I can’t describe but would recognize anywhere.

Though I want to hold her and enjoy her in this tender first dance as a married couple, I feel that I’ve had so little chance to talk to her today, and I can’t stop myself from doing so now. “It’s a beautiful wedding, Alayna. You did an excellent job.”

I feel her cheek tug into a smile at my shoulder. “Thank you. I had a lot of help, thanks to your money.”

“Our money,” I correct. As I’d promised the first time I asked her to marry me, I demanded no prenup. What’s mine is hers, openly and without question. I wonder if she’ll ever get used to it.

“Our money,” she concedes. “And it’s going well, I think.”

“Very well.” Very well, indeed.

“Did you notice Chandler’s been following Gwen around like a lost puppy?”

I had noticed. Though there’s too much lust in his eye for me to understand the puppy comparison. “She doesn’t seem to mind.” Gwen’s gaze also holds a degree of desire. Can Alayna see it?

“No, she doesn’t.” Alayna giggles. She does see it, then. “And everyone seems happy.”

“Everyone does at that.” And I’m the happiest.

She places a kiss on my neck that sends a jolt to my cock. “Even your mother has managed to remain polite.”

The mention of my mother has me limp. “She does seem slightly more in control of herself now that she’s sober.” Sophia’s only been home from upstate since January. She missed Mirabelle’s baby’s birth, something that I believe she regrets deeply, but she’s better now than she was, and I believe even Sophia thinks the sacrifice is worth it. “She still is a nasty old bitch, though, isn’t she?”

Alayna laughs, her hair tickling my neck with the movement, the sound tickling my heart with its purity. “You said it, not me.”

I hold her tighter and kiss her temple. This is everything I ever needed and never knew I wanted, wrapped up in the most beautiful of packages. Well, not quite everything. There’s still one thing left on the list.

I broach the subject I’ve been avoiding in a passive way. Perhaps it’s manipulative, but it’s who I am. “I saw you with Arin Marise, earlier. You’re so good with her.”

Arin Marise Sitkin is Adam and Mirabelle’s baby. My sister insists that she gave her daughter a name that couldn’t be shortened so that I’ll call her what everyone else calls her. But I’ve taken to calling her Arin Marise just to rile her up. She’s five and a half months old now, all cheeks and grins. Arin’s petite like her mother but feisty. You only notice her small stature in comparison to Braden, Alayna’s nephew who’s only four months old, but almost twice as big as Arin.