29

Brooke

December

We married in Stone Church, one week later on the second of December. Only Nan and Herman were there to witness our moment. Herman, in fact, married us. As mayor, he had obtained the proper credentials years ago and on occasion officiated the joining of two people together in matrimony.

After the nightmare events that played out at the ball, Caleb and I were both in agreement that our wedding should be exactly what we wanted . . . and what we needed it to be.

A private ceremony at dusk in the little stone chapel set along the bay with the blazing sunset hovering over everything was indeed what we needed.

I chose a blush silk batiste gown with long sleeves in French lace and no veil. Instead, I had four peonies woven into my hair, which I wore down because Caleb liked it best that way.

Caleb dressed in a black Brioni with a silver patterned tie and a vintage silk pocket handkerchief from his father. He looked so handsome it made my eyes hurt a little to look at him.

The old wooden floorboards inside were strewn with white rose petals perfuming the air to mix with the vanilla-scented candlelight, which was the only lighting.

After signing our names to the proper documents, Herman read us our vows, which we repeated to each other with nothing but love and promises forged into every word. We exchanged platinum wedding bands we had chosen together and would wear forever. Everything was just as it should be.

Caleb and Brooke pledging themselves to one another until death . . . becoming Mr. and Mrs. Blackstone.

AFTERthe vows we celebrated with cupcakes and champagne.

Just one sip of the champagne for me, but I sure enjoyed the sugary goodness of that cupcake. Nan took pictures for us using Caleb’s phone, and then it was time for us to say good-bye.

“I love you, my darling Brooke. I was given the greatest gift when you came to me. Nothing could make me happier than I am right now, seeing you and Caleb so in love and so happy together.” And about to make you a great-grandmother. Nan didn’t bother holding back her tears and neither did I. Nothing more needed to be said, because we both knew.

“I love you, Nan.”

“I know you do, my darling. Now off you go to start living your beautiful life together,” she said to both of us before the final hugs and kisses were exchanged.

Caleb drove us to the Blackstone Island Airport in the new Range Rover Autobiography he’d bought for island use as he referred to it. I’d never part with Woody, but I did love driving the new Rover, which delivered an exceptionally smooth ride over the bouncy lanes. It was a short trip to the airport.

A chartered Gulfstream was lit up, waiting to take us to Hawaii for our honeymoon, our bags and everything we needed already stowed.

The only thing left for us to do was board the plane.

“Please wait for me, Mrs. Blackstone,” he said. “Stay right where you are.”

“Yes, darling.” I mocked him a little, but only because I knew it wound him up when I teased him. In only the sexiest way, he’d once told me.

Caleb came around to my side of the Rover, and opened my door. Then he helped me to step down while bunching the skirt of my dress in one hand, so I didn’t ruin it.

Still in our wedding clothes, we both needed to change into something more comfortable for our eleven-hour flight to Hawaii. The Gulfstream had a private master bedroom, so I imagined we’d make good use of it. Eleven hours was an awfully long stint to be up in the air, and we should fill our time effectively. Fill being the operative word.

“This is what I wanted to do,” he said as he swept me up into his arms. “Carry my bride over the threshold—in this case it’s the threshold of a jet plane, but it’ll work.”

“My husband is very strong to lug me around so effortlessly,” I said, looking up at him as he carried me onto the plane.

“My wife is a feather when it comes to me having to lug her around,” he quipped before planting a decadent kiss on my lips.

At the top of the stairs, we were greeted by the flight staff and the pilots who offered their congratulations on our marriage. Caleb didn’t set me down until we’d made our way to the back of the plane and into the master suite. He shut us inside and locked the door, a wicked smirk lighting up his handsome face as he worked.

“You’re not even breathing heavily after carrying me all that distance.”

He pushed up against me and stared down. “You’ll be witness to my heavy breathing in a bit, Mrs. Blackstone, but first we need to take care of a few things.”

“What sorts of things?” I asked innocently.

“Well, we need to choose a wedding photo to share with the world, for one thing,” he answered.

“Yes, that’s true.” I nodded.

“We should probably send a text to our close family and friends first, though. They’ll have their feelings hurt if they find out our news from the paparazzi before we can tell them.”

“You are so smart, Caleb. You have thought of everything.” I sat down on the bed and pulled him down to sit beside me. We scrolled through the many photos Nan had taken, until we decided on the one we wanted to share. Caleb sent it off to Victoria with instructions to forward it to the head of PR at Blackstone Global for release to the press with the simple message:

Caleb Blackstone and Brooke Casterley were married this evening in a private ceremony at Stone Church chapel on south Blackstone Island.

The picture was of us in the doorway of the church, the interior backlit with the candle glow, and the scattered rose petals clearly visible upon the floor. Caleb’s lips were pressed to the back of my hand as I smiled up at him with love.

To our close friends and family, we sent a different message:

We took the advice of a very wise man, and decided to hold on to our happiness, and each other, starting tonight. With much love, Caleb & Brooke Blackstone xoxo

After the second text was sent, Caleb powered off his phone and pulled me into his arms.

He showed me how much he loved me, as he had done from the very beginning when we’d first met.

My gentleman lover with the dirty mouth and the romantic sensibilities, who couldn’t remember what a meatball was called, and who knew nothing about shopping at Target before he met me.

My filthy rich billionaire, who concerned himself with villages in Africa in need of fresh well water more than how to make the next dollar.

My husband who loved me and who would be the father our future children adored and respected.

My wonderful, amazing, perfect man.