“Go on girl, get yours!” George shouted, just as Judith yelled, “Now that’s how you kiss a woman!” breaking the spell and the whole group in front of us broke into roaring applause.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the judge shouted above the mayhem. “It is my pleasure to introduce Bennett and Chloe Ryan!”

Chloe Ryan?

I turned and had just aimed my harshest glare at Bennett and his widening grin when chaos erupted all around us. Sara’s arms swallowed me, and then Julia’s and George’s and Mina’s. I felt my father’s hands on my face and his giant smooch to my cheek. I was hugged by Elliott and Susan in tandem, lifted by Henry and Max in turn, kissed on the cheek by Will, and then I felt Bennett’s smooth, warm hand wrapping around my arm and pulling me with him down the aisle, away from the tight press of the wedding party.

We ran, tripping through the mud, leaving wet footprints all along the patio. Inside, Bennett pulled me into the kitchen, where the caterers stopped what they were doing; the clattering of pots and dishes, the roaring of commands and replies went completely silent as Bennett turned and slammed me into the wall, his mouth on my neck, my jaw, my ears, my lips. He ran a hand up my side, gripping my breast through my wedding dress and I felt him begin to harden against my stomach.

“Tonight,” he growled, returning to my neck. “Tonight I’m going to consummate this marriage so fucking hard you’re going to walk with a limp on that beach in Fiji.”

I burst out laughing, wrapping my arms around him as his mouth slowed and eventually simply kissed a path from my shoulder to my cheek. “Promise?” I asked.

He sighed, kissing my lips once. “Promise. Now, how many hours do I have to play nice with our crazy family before we can leave and I can put my hands all over your naked skin?”

I looked over his shoulder, searching for a kitchen clock, but all I saw was at least twenty faces, all staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at us. One waiter was so stunned by Bennett’s display that a stack of plates slowly slid from his grasp and shattered on the floor.

Following the deafening crash of porcelain on tile, the kitchen finally returned to motion: people running for brooms and dustpans, the head chef barking out orders again. Bennett and I apologized quietly and ducked out of the kitchen and to the edge of the veranda, watching our guests begin to collect near the disaster of the lawn, taking appetizers from passing waitstaff.

I stretched to reach Bennett’s ear and said, “We just got married. That means you’re legally my manservant now.”