Page 45 of The Billionaire & the Virgin Chef
Epilogue - Emily
Three MonthsLater
I turn to see Rose as she catches my wedding bouquet. Dylan is off to the side of the cluster of unmarried women. He pats Caleb on the shoulder, probably to give him a hint about not losing his shot withRose.
Joy is with the single ladies. Her time will come one day too, and I’ll be there when it does. She sang as I walked up the aisle. Almost the entire wedding party was in tears. No one cried as much as I did, but tears of joy are allowed for thebride.
Tears ofjoy.
Tears forJoy.
Even Dylan’s face was a bit damp. Once his mother and Vanessa saw his eyes get misty, they broke downtoo.
It’s time to leave for our honeymoon, a trip to Paris. I can’t wait to leave, but turn to give one last parting glance at the larger than life size portraits of Grams and Momma that sit at the entrance of the reception hall. Dylan had them made for me. I don’t know how he did it or who he hired, but he found a way to blow up the pictures in my locket. Now I can say they were at my wedding, even if it’s inspirit.
Our eyes lock, and I give him a nod toward the Audi sports car he picked to drive us to the airport, decked out with streamers and tin cans, and a big handwrittenJust Marriedsign in the back window. He mirrors mynod.
I make my way to Joy and hug her one more time before I go. “We’ll be back in a week,” I tellher.
“Have a great time. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll be here when you return. Loveyou.”
“Love you too, littlesis.”
Dylan and I say our goodbyes to a few other guests then ride off to start our lives as a marriedcouple.
“Are you ready for our trip?” heasks.
“Definitely. I’m so excited to seeParis.”
“Great. Before we fly out, there’s just one stop I have tomake.”
“I don’t mind,” I say. “As long as we don’t miss theflight.”
“That’s not exactly possible with a private charter. The pilot can’t leave withoutus.”
“Oh, that’s right! Okayperfect.”
I notice him turn the car onto a familiar street, and I look over at him. “Why are we stopping at myrestaurant?”
He gives me a one-sided smile and parks on the street. “You’ll see in asecond.”
With a little help to step out of the car, I head to the front entrance. I’m still wearing my cream, flowing vintage wedding dress. I love it so much I bucked the trend and opted for no receptiongown.
As he unlocks the doors, my jaw drops. The entire foyer and dining room are filled with violets. “God, Dylan. These aregorgeous!”
“Glad you like them. I wanted to bring you here before we fly out. Want to knowwhy?”
“Yes. Tellme.”
“Let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll showyou.”
We walk in there. Every flat surface in the kitchen is covered in violets. Every surface but one. And near that spot is a stainless-steel bucket of ice with a bottle of my favorite champagne. He stands behind me, his arms around my waist, his mouth pressed against a spot on myneck.
“Ahhh, very nice! So, you plan to get me tipsy before ourflight?”
“Sure, but there’s a bit more to it,” he says against my neck, the hum causing heat to pool between mylegs.
“More as in whatexactly?”
His fingers find the top of the zipper of my wedding dress. Slowly, he slides it down, exposing my back to the air. “I’ll make you tipsy, then fuck you right there on the prep station counter, and after you come, I’ll do it again. And again. Until you’re sore and satisfied. Then we can fly out.Deal?”
I love the sounds of getting kinky in thekitchen.
“Fuck yes,” I answer, letting him lead me to a lifetime of passion in my all-time favorite place tobe.
