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From Her

Quil and Claire, now twenty-seven, are getting married. The darkest days are past. Perhaps further danger looms, but all on their minds now is the wedding. In the series For Her.

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8. Chapter 8

Rating 5/5   Word Count 606   Review this Chapter

The rest of the evening went fairly quickly. I kissed her frequently, as I recall, and won ample smiles.

We had decided to go out of the country on our honeymoon, to an old castle in England that was costing me a year’s salary.

Again, not that I minded.

Claire had booked the room, but under strict orders not to ask the cost. I suspected she had anyway, but I tried not to.

The entire party gathered as we stepped into the car (thanks again, Jake).

All the women crowded up front, and Claire faced them. She looked at the bouquet, smiling, and then to the people. She closed her eyes, spun, and threw. The white flowers zoomed through the air, over the crystal blue sky, and into a pair of waiting arms.

Leah laughed so hard she cried, or perhaps cried so hard she laughed, and hugged Emily tightly. I swore I made out the words, “I’m sorry,” and “So am I,” passing between the two as Leah held the pure bundle of forgiveness and hope close.

Stupid superstition, the flower throwing, but then again I used to think werewolves were a stupid superstition.

If it can make a difference to Leah’s open wounds, you won’t catch me complaining.

Claire waved to the people, and they cheered. I held the door for her, and she got in the car. I was ready.

We drove to the airport, smiling the whole time. I thought there was a fair chance my jaw would drop off from the grinning.

We talked a little, not much. Both of us were fairly delighted by how nicely everything had gone.

However, she was not particularly looking forward to the eight hour flight and four hour drive before our arrival at a bed. And Claire was probably much less fond of that dress than I was at the moment.

Yes, she was flying to Europe in the wedding dress. I’d spoken to someone about it, and the young woman thought it was terribly romantic. She directed me to a special plane with gigantic seats that I could rent for just the two of us. It could also land directly at the hotel, a place called Thornbury Castle, cutting travel time in half. Claire didn’t know this, of course.

Surprises are wonderful, whether or not she hates them.

I grinned at that, and Claire asked, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” I taunted.

“Please tell me.”

I looked resolutely at the road. I couldn’t resist her, and she knew it. Grrr.

“Fine, don’t. I’ll get it out of you, though.”

“Of course you will.”

We rode in a perfect silence for a while, eventually getting out of the car at the airport. I escorted Claire through security, trying to help the inconvenience as much as possible. She tried to get me to leave her alone, but I refused.

Everyone seemed rather interested in our wedding finery.

“So, what gate is it?” she asked, and I finally couldn’t contain my mirth.

“Let me show you.”

I guided her to the little-used gate farthest down an obscure hallway, where the tiny plane waited.

She smacked me. “Quil!”

“It’s our honeymoon. I didn’t want you to muss your dress, and it’s such a tradition to show up in the clothes… please?”

“You stink.”

“I already paid.”

She eyed the plane critically. “All right.”

I took her hand and walked her to the very comfortable and sizeable interior.