“And I’m not crazy.”

He shrugs. “Jury’s still out on that one.”

I splash water toward him and he laughs and dodges it.

“You have the most amazing smile,” he says. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“That’s a shame. You should have been told every day.” He gives me a penetrating look and I swallow nervously. No one’s ever looked at me the way he is currently looking at me, and I feel out of my depth in more ways than one.

“Everyone will be wondering where we are,” I say, heading toward the sandy bank that, unlike where we entered the river, slopes gently back up to the paddock.

“Yes. You’re probably right.”

He sounds disappointed, which is how I feel.

“My dress is somewhere that way.” I point.

“So it is.”

“Be a gentleman and go and get it?”

“No. I’m not leaving you here alone. But I will promise not to look on the walk back.”

“I guess it’s nothing a bikini wouldn’t show, anyway.” I stand up and hear him give a sharp intake of breath. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and hope desperately that it’s not because of my scars and the fact I am too thin. Then I realize I have bigger things to worry about. The swim has depleted my energy, and once back on land my legs start to wobble, my muscles weak from everything I have been through. He is beside me in an instant, his arms steadying.

“Are you OK?” he asks, concerned.

I nod. “Just tired. I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have let you swim.”

“You couldn’t have stopped me,” I say defiantly. “And I don’t regret it at all. It was wonderful.”

“Do you always get your own way?”

“Usually.”

“Well, so do I.” And before I realize what he is doing he has scooped up my legs with his right arm, and I am in his arms. My arms involuntarily curl around his neck, my hands entwining.

“Hey,” I protest.

“What?”

“Aren’t you taking this bridal shoot thing a bit far?”

“Just be quiet and relax, will you?” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

So I do as he says, and rest my head against his shoulder, closing my eyes wearily as he strides across the field in search of our clothes. I have never been held in a man’s arms like this before.

This is a memory that will never fade. I am sure of it.

Chapter Twenty

Three days later I get an email from James with a few of the photos attached.

Thought you’d like a preview. The photos came up great, but with you as a subject that’s hardly surprising. Enjoy x

I click on the first attachment and when it opens I slouch back into my chair, speechless. Is that really me?

The photos are just like the ones I’d always admired in the bridal magazines, except instead of some wafer-thin model pouting sultrily into the lens, it’s me. In one, I’m under the shade of the big willow tree, my back slightly to the camera, my face looking over my shoulder and off into the distance. The dress is lightly blowing in the breeze, my hair doing the same.