Page 103 of Hopeless Romantic
“No,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m wearing matching socks, so that proves intent.”
He looked into her eyes, and the love he saw shining back was the kind people wrote stories about.
Epilogue
Six weeks later
Beckett still wasn’t sure if Cupid was to blame, but Rome’s most cynical romantic officially believed in everlasting love. She wouldn’t go as far as to say she chased rainbows, but she never missed a chance to wish on a shooting star.
Levi had given her that. And so much more.
A gentle spring breeze settled around Annie and Beckett as they stood at the end of the marina, watching the sun make its final descent into the horizon.
“Now?” Annie whispered.
“Almost,” Beckett said, giving Annie’s hand a squeeze. The sky was still too pink, and Beckett was going for a blush.
After weeks of planning, her best friend was about to walk down the aisle and marry the man of her dreams.
Candlelit paper lanterns lined the dock, with twinkle lights twirled through the rope railings. Then there was the arbor, constructed of white birch and covered with so many hydrangeas, it looked as if Martha Stewart herself had designed it. Strings of fairy lights cascaded down from the top, mimicking a million stars, brilliant enough to make a wish.
“My bouquet,” Annie gasped. “I forgot my bouquet.” She frantically searched the ground around her feet, then lifted her silk dress, as if the flowers could possibly be hidden beneath the mermaid-cut gown.
“It’s right there,” Beckett said, pointing to Annie’s hand, which was strangling the stems of the four-dozen coral-colored peonies.
“Oh.” Annie laughed. “I’m just a little nervous. I would have forgotten my dad if he . . . Oh my God. I forgot my dad.” She cupped her mouth. “I can’t walk down the aisle without my dad.”
“One father of the bride, delivered on time and as promised,” Paisley called out, nearly jumping the curb as she pulled up in Beckett’s Vespa. On the back, clinging to the seat like a koala, was the father of the bride. Looking quite pale himself.
“Dad, I forgot you,” Annie said, running to the bike and throwing her arms around him.
“I’m here now,” Marty said, climbing off the bike to give his daughter a kiss. “Had to show those yahoos how to tie a proper bow tie.”
“Emmitt couldn’t tie his tie?” Annie paced. “This is a bad sign.”
“Just nerves,” Beckett assured her.
“What if he doesn’t show? What if he saw the tie problem as a sign too?” Annie took the helmet from her dad and instead of placing it back on the bike, she stared at the scooter as if contemplating a hijacking.
“Looks like we got a runner,” Paisley said. “I’ve got my license now, so you just say the word, Mom Two, and we’re out of here.”
Shooting the teen a glare, Beckett stepped between Annie and escape. “Annie, if you want to Thelma and Louise this shindig, just say the word. But before you do, I need you to do one thing for me. Can you do that?”
Annie looked at the bike, then back to Beckett and nodded.
“Look down that dock and then tell me what you want.”
Annie slowly turned her head and looked down to the end of the marina to find Emmitt looking back. Strong, confident, his eyes promising love and ever after. A small smile tugged Annie’s lips, followed by a glow that could only be love.
“I want him. I want to spend every day of my life feeling the kind of love I feel now, with Emmitt.” Her eyes never wavered. “I want to get married. Today. In this dress. To that man.”
“Thank God. Do you know how many paper lanterns I assembled?”
“And they looked perfect. Everything looks perfect.” Annie paled. “Not too perfect though, right?”
“Just the right amount of perfect,” Beckett assured her.
“You’re the best friend ever.” Annie threw her hands around Beckett and squeezed. “And I’m ready. Now.”
