Page 156 of Savage Empire
“Rayna Todorova, do you take Apollo Moretti to be your lawfully wedded husband from this day forward—to have and to hold, in good times and bad, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health? Do you vow to honor, cherish, and trust him for as long as you both shall live?”
She swallows, nodding ever so slightly. “I do.”
A small round of applause sounds, and multiple small children bellow cheers. A startled giggle leaves my woman, and she smiles at the front row of kids. If she’s anything like me, she’s picturing one of our own joining the bunch.
“Apollo and Rayna, today you begin a new chapter in your unfolding story. By the power vested in me, by God, and by The Outfit, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Hands releasing hers, I surround her waist in a blink, pulling her flush against my front. Rayna gasps as I dip her down slightly, planting my lips on hers like a man starved.
Clapping and whistles burst from our guests, echoing all around us, but all I truly notice is her. How sweet she tastes, how warm she feels against my body, and how fucking right it is that I can now call her my wife.
Tugging her back up, my lips brush against her cheek while she pants, catching her breath. “How do you feel, Mrs. Moretti?”
“Happy,” she whispers, voice almost shaking. “You?”
“Fortunate.”
So fucking grateful to have her.
Chapter Forty-Two
Rayna
While the actual ceremony was swift, efficient, and sweet, the reception has been nothing short of organized mayhem. Kids are running around all over, and adults are mingling while trying to keep up with them. There’s music and food, and plenty of tables to settle down at.
I’ve gone from bouncing around with Apollo while accepting congratulations and well wishes, to savoring the first course of antipasti along with some bread and herby oil, to helping Leo play with bubbles while holding a very sweet and cuddly Cesar. My stomach has been too fluttery with nerves to indulge in any of the wine or champagne, needing water to keep myself hydrated and focused. But mostly, I’ve handled today well.
“I see that my wife has been stolen away by the usual suspects,” Apollo drawls, waltzing over to us with a short glass of something clear and bubbling. Looking down at his nephew with a falsely stern glance, he asks, “Do you plan to keep my Rayna from me all evening, Leo?”
Leo giggles, nodding happily in response to his uncle as he reaches out to pop another bubble. “Pollo, share.”
“Oh, I should share, should I?”
“Yes.” Leo clicks his tongue. “Pollo share my Rayna.”
“MyRayna,” Apollo corrects in a gentle warning.
“My bubble,” Cesar adds, sounding so sure of himself, like the one year old is adding to their conversation. Blowing his lips together in a raspberry, he attempts to create more of the globes of joy he finds thrilling to pop.
“Very good job, Cesar,” I praise, helping him in the process. He squeals when the air from my lips does the trick, dozens of bubbles flying wildly out of the wand. “Whoever thought about bubbles instead of doves deserves a very big hug, hmmm?”
“Zio E-yo?” Leo asks, correctly remembering who suggested the bubble wands. I haven’t let any of the kids forget it, he deserves all the credit. “Zio E-yo, hug?”
“I heard my name.” Elio swaggers over with a boyish grin.
“There’s the bubble man himself,” I greet with a smile. Lifting Cesar off of my hip, I hand him off and softly gesture for Leo to follow along. “Hug tackle.”
Cesar attempts to bite Elio instead of hugging him, but Leo politely wraps his arms around his uncle’s leg. I swear one day I might pass out from the cuteness of all of these little babies we have around.
“Watch them for a moment, will you?” Apollo asks, not waiting for an answer before he captures my hand and tugs me away swiftly.
“Where are we going?” I almost trip, trying to keep up. Stumbling into his side, I let out a yelp and a laugh. “You know, I’m in heels under this extensive skirt of mine.”
“How inconsiderate of me.”
Before I know it, Apollo is holding my waist, pulling me into him. My feet lift off the ground, hovering at least a foot above thestone patio floor. Beginning to carry me, he ignores my squeal of surprise.
“Is that better, love?” he asks, the question grazing the side of my neck.
