Still, I indulge him by answering again. I understand he needs to be certain that I am sure I want to do this.

“The party’s important, too,” I say. “And they’ll have a great one.” I nod toward the beach. “Trust me. Jamie has it under control. If anyone knows how to make sure a crowd has a good time at a party, it’s my best friend.” I smile more broadly. “I asked Ryan to help her. They’ll party through the night, and anyone who has a mind to can watch us get married in the morning. And Evelyn promised to spin the crap out of it for the press.”

Damien’s smile is as wide as my own. “I love you, Ms. Fairchild,” he says.

“You won’t be able to say that much longer. Soon it’ll be Mrs. Stark.”

He takes my hand and tugs me toward the stairs. “Then let’s go,” he says. “The sooner, the better.”

We hurry hand in hand down the stairs, then sprint for the helicopter, heads down, laughing. Damien helps me aboard, and once we’re strapped in, he signals the pilot and the bird takes off.

So, with the guests waving goodbye from the beach and the paparazzi snapping wildly, we elope into the sunset, leaving our wedding guests to eat our food, drink our champagne, and dance into the night.

Damien and I stand on a beach beside a foaming sea that is shifting away from the gray of night into a cacophony of colors with the rising sun. That was something else I’d realized: I couldn’t get married at sunset. I had to have a sunrise wedding.

I am wearing my wedding dress and the necklace that Damien gave me, and when I saw the look in Damien’s eyes as I walked the short distance down the aisle to him, I knew that whatever trouble it took to rescue the dress was worth it. I feel like a princess. Hell, I feel like a bride. And in Damien’s eyes, I feel beautiful.

I am not wearing shoes, and I curl my toes into the sand, feeling wild and decadent and free. There is no stress, there are no worries. There is simply this wedding and the man beside me, and that is all that I need.

In front of us, a Mexican official is performing the ceremony in broken, heavily accented English. I am pretty sure I have never heard anything more beautiful.

“Do you take this man?” he asks, and I say the words that have been in my heart from the moment I first met Damien. “I do.”

“I do,” says Damien in turn. He is facing me as he speaks, and I can see the depth of emotion in his dual-colored eyes. Mine, he mouths, and I nod. It is true. I am his, and always will be.

And Damien Stark is mine.

A few feet away, a small boy who has been paid some pesos is holding Damien’s phone, streaming video of our wedding back to Malibu, where Jamie is projecting the ceremony onto one of the tent walls, just in case any of the guests are still sober and awake after a long night of partying.

Here on our beach, the official pronounces us man and wife. The words crash over me, heavy with meaning, filling my soul. “That day,” I whisper, my heart full to bursting. “That day when you asked me to pose for you—I never expected it to end like this.”

“But it hasn’t ended, Mrs. Stark. This is just the beginning.” His voice sounds full to bursting, and his words are absolutely perfect.

I nod, because he is right, and because I am so overwhelmed by the moment I can manage nothing else.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, then captures my mouth with his. The kiss is long and deep, and all around us the locals clap and cheer.

I cling to Damien, never wanting to let go, as the sun continues to rise around us, casting us in the glow of morning.

Perfect, I think. Because the sun will never set between Damien and me. Not today, not ever.