The Everlasting Chapel (20 page)

“
I want you to come with me
again,” he says. “Come with me over the top.”

“
I will,” I say, the
ripples of ecstasy starting to rise inside of me again.

“
Let me know when you’re
there,” he says, continuing to ram into me over and over. His cock
sinks in and pulls out of me, and our clasped hands make it so he
can go so much deeper. Faster. Harder.

“
You love it hard, don’t
you?” he says.

“
I do. Very hard,” I
say.

He releases my left hand, and places his
fingers on my clit, rubbing across it, faster and faster.

Suddenly, it’s as if something inside my
body overrides all my thoughts and all my other senses. All the
muscles in my lower abdomen compress into a tightly wadded ball of
pleasure, and from there, a current of sheer and utter
gratification rips from the deepest part of me and up my entire
abdomen, up my chest, and straight to my head.

“
Oh, Michael,” I scream as
I rocket to a place so high, I know I’ve never been there.
“Now!”

My body starts trembling, and my eyes roll
to the back of my skull as he continues to catapult me to paradise.
At lightning speed, and with a vicious pace, he strums his fingers
across my clitoris. Relentless, but soft fingers. Faster. Faster.
My body convulses as I continue to stay at the peak, as it
intensifies and reaches a climax so high, I am taken to a place of
pure nirvana.

Over my own primal cries, I vaguely hear him
yell my name as the earth-shattering and glorious orgasm takes
possession of every inch of my body, mind and soul. He thrusts his
dick onto me one more time, and then he lets his head fall back as
he finds his release.

Slowly, he collapses on top of me, our
slick, sweaty bodies melting together in the afterglow or our
union. He breathes heavily down my neck, and I reach my arms around
him and just hold on for many beautiful moments.

Lifting his head, he gazes into my eyes. “I
don’t know what I would have done had you not said yes.”

I stroke his sweaty hair back, and kiss him
softly on the lips. “How could I not? I love you, and every day for
the rest of my life I will say yes.”

18

It has been six months since I agreed to
marry the man I love. It is also the day of our real wedding, and I
simply can’t wait to live the rest of my life with my best friend
and lover. After we became engaged, we spent the first few months
in counseling. But when I saw that he really has changed, and that
we have finally learned to trust each other without hesitation, we
agreed that proceeding with the sessions was unnecessary.

Michael and I have spent a lot of time
planning for this day, to make it perfect in every way. We’re
taking our vows in the place we met—well, officially at least—in
the Portland Episcopal Church. I’ve invited everyone, even Laila
and the gang from The Black Chapel. And you guessed it; Reverend
Summerlin will be the one to perform the ceremony.

My father is going to walk me down the
aisle. He’s almost done with his chemotherapy treatments, and the
doctors are all saying that he is well on his way to recovery.
Seeing my father improve has been one of the highlights of my life,
and it helps me manage the grief of losing my mother so much more.
My father and Vivian are still on and plan to marry around
Christmas time. I’m truly happy for them, and am excited about
having a stepmother.

And to make matters even better, it turns
out that Michael is not the father of Alexa’s child. She never told
us who it was, and it’s just as well. I don’t really want to
know.

“
Now, are you sure you want
to marry this guy?” Anne asks, in the bride’s room, weaving the
last of the diamond-studded pins into my French twist.

I flew her in on first class for my wedding.
She’s on summer break from college right now, and has been here the
entire week helping me prepare for the big day. She’s been going to
counseling twice a week since she went back home to Florida: once a
week to deal with the posttraumatic stress syndrome and panic
attacks she’s still suffering from, and once a week to sort things
out with her parents.

I was able to convince her to let me buy her
a car, but she refused a house. So what I did instead was to invest
in a small vacation condo right next to the University of Florida
and let her stay there for free. There’s no need to tell her that
her name is on the title.

She seems much happier than before she
moved, and we’ve had many long, heart-to-heart conversations over
the phone. She finally opened up to me about her past—told me
everything about the first guy who raped and impregnated her. He
went on to rape a few other girls, and was also caught molesting
his younger sister. Needless to say, the creep’s behind bars and
will forever be known as a sex offender.

Anne has lost some curves and gained some
muscle since she dances around six hours of ballet a day. I am
really glad she can function somewhat normally, and it gives me
hope she will one day completely recover and find someone she can
love and trust. From time to time I ask her if there are any
interesting guys around campus, but right now she says she’s just
focusing on earning her double major—ballet and accounting—and on
healing her heart. She also visits Charlotte, her four-year-old
daughter once a month, and says she love seeing her grow and
learn.

“
Scarlett…did you hear me?”
Anne asks.

“
Sorry,” I
reply.

“
Are you sure about
marrying this sex-crazed maniac? I mean, you can always pull out
now. I can take you with me to Florida, and—”

“
I’m sure,” I say. And I
feel it, too. One hundred percent.

“
How sure?” Her baby blue
eyes squint and she smiles.

God, I’ve missed her. “I’ve never been as
sure about anything in my life,” I say, and I haven’t. Michael is
the love of my life.

“
Good enough answer,” she
says and holds up my wedding gown.

I slip into the ivory Carolina Herrera, drop
waist, satin and lace floor-length dress. The arms are see-through
lace and the neckline a deep V-cut.

There is a subtle knock at the door.

“
I’ll get it,” Anne says
and hops on over to open up. There stands Kenneth, my soon-to-be
cousin-in-law, holding a painting in his hands. I can’t see what it
is since he’s holding it behind his back.

“
Don’t you know it is bad
luck to see the bride before the wedding?” Anne narrows her
eyes.

“
It’s okay, Anne. Let him
in,” I say.

Kenneth smiles. “Michael wanted me to bring
this up to you. It’s your wedding gift from him.”

“
Oh really? What is it?” I
ask.

He turns it around and I
see he’s holding
House of Parliament
Sun
by Monet.

I gasp. Back when the original deal was just
starting out, and right before our first practice kiss, we had
agreed that we’d tell everyone that that’s where we met. In front
of this painting at the Portland Museum of Art. “Is that…no…it
can’t be the real on?” I reach out and let my fingers gently trace
across the uneven surface.

“
What do you think? Of
course it’s real. Michael doesn’t own anything that’s not real,”
Kenneth says. He sets it down by the desk.

“
And you don’t have a
security guard stalking after you?” I say.

“
Nope.” He
smiles.

I have started art lessons again, and have
actually sold a few paintings at the Portland Museum of Art. I
don’t work there anymore in the bookstore, although the connections
I made while I was there are now proving to be priceless. I have
since come to find out that Ross, my old boss, is best friends with
one of the main benefactors of the museum. Ross showed the
benefactor one of my paintings, and he immediately put in a request
with the museum to schedule me for an exhibit. A year from now is
when I’ll have my work on display. Needless to say, I’m spending
every waking moment painting. Well, other than when I make love to
Michael, which is more often than not, several times a day.

“
Good luck today, Scarlett.
I’m so glad things worked out between you two. The whole family
loves you so much already.” He picks the painting up again. “I’m
just going to put this in your limo. Wouldn’t want you to forget
it.”

“
Bye. And thank you” I say.
Holy shit—a real Monet? I have never received such an amazing gift,
and although it is priceless because of who painted it, it is also
priceless because of what it signifies. Michael pays attention and
it makes me feel unbelievable loved.

Anne hands me my bridal bouquet—a heavy wad
of ruby red roses.

“
You look ravishing,” she
says, and I see tears in her eyes. “I am so happy for
you.”

We embrace, and I try not to cry because it
will screw up my make-up. Should have worn waterproof.

We walk down the U-shaped wooden stairwell
and I enter the quaint lobby. The French doors to the chapel are
shut, but I hear people talking inside. My heart flutters, and
suddenly my stomach is a swarm of butterflies. Does every bride
feel like this: completely overwhelmed, yet thoroughly intoxicated
with happiness? So much hope fills ever part of me, and if I think
too long about how very fortunate I am, my heart might explode.

My father comes in from the opposite door,
looking so handsome in his black tuxedo.

“
Other than your mother,
you are absolutely the most beautiful bride I have ever seen,” he
says, his eyes gleaming with pride and love as he approaches
me.

“
Thanks.” Now I am unable
to hold back my tears. There are so many things to be grateful for:
my father and his health, Vivian who has brought his smile back,
and Michael—a man who loves and adores me and who I can trust with
all my heart. But even though everything is wonderful, I still have
an aching, empty space in my chest. I wish my mother could have
been here to see me.

“
Oh, sweetie, don’t cry,”
my father says as he gives me a hug.

“
I just wish—” My vocal
cords clamp closed.

He whisks my tears away
with his thumb. “I know. But your mother
is
here. I feel her presence,” he
says, looking into my eyes. “Now, no tears on your wedding day.
It’s bad luck.”

I nod and kiss him on the cheek. “I love
you.”

“
I love you, too,” he says.
“I am so proud of you.”

A tinge of guilt surfaces. I still haven’t
told him I worked as a stripper for six months. I never will. Some
things are better left unsaid.

Anne rushes over and helps fix my make-up.
She looks me in the eyes. “Keep it together, Scarlett. It’s going
to be a long disaster-of-a-make-up-day if you don’t.”

I laugh.

My father takes my arm and then we’re ready.
Michael is waiting at the end of the long walkway behind these wide
double doors. Waiting for me. I hear the organ start to play
Pachelbel’s Canon in D, and suddenly my heart jolts into a wild
rhythm. The doors swing open, and all at once, the entire
congregation stands up, and everyone swivels around to look at
me.

When I don’t walk, my father nudges me. I
squeeze his arm, trying to find peace and as I lift my eyes to the
end of the walkway, Michael beams at me. Seeing him stand there in
front of the altar in his tux, looking so unbelievably handsome and
calm, it brings a smile to my lips.

As I walk down the aisle, I am awestruck by
how many people are here. Every spot in every pew is filled, and
there are even people standing in the back. Red rose bouquet
arrangements are attached to the sides of the pews, strings of
pearls and white satin sashes connecting them. Red and white rose
petals are scattered across the walkway, and strings of white
lights line the floor on either side.

I walk past Laila and Jim, who both wear
proud smiles. I did end up paying for the one evening Michael
rented The Sanctuary. She took the money, but then instead of
keeping it, she went ahead and turned it into a nice surprise bonus
for all her girls at The Black Chapel. She never ceases to amaze
me.

Then I see Spencer who has his arm around a
gorgeous redheaded nurse. They, too, are just friends with
benefits, he has told me, although when I catch him looking at her,
there is definitely a twinkle in his eyes.

Arriving at the altar, my father hands me
off to Michael. I swallow the lump in my throat, doing my best to
keep it together like Anne told me to.

Michael’s face is radiating love toward me.
We’ve had a lot of time to talk over the past few months, about how
things got started, about how they ended, about how we started
dating again. And although it was a very rough start for us, things
have been much less complicated since we became engaged. He’s even
opened up to me about his mother dying, and the sorrow and
loneliness he felt there, and I’ve been able to share with him how
devastated I was when my mother suddenly passed. These and other
conversations have knit our souls even closer together, and I know
he cherishes me just as much as I cherish him.

“
Thank you for the gift,” I
mouth quietly.

He smiles.

I too have a gift for him, and I’ll be
giving it to him tonight: It’s a painting of him and his mother
standing together in front of his family’s estate in Romania. It
took me five months to complete it. I hope he likes it.