“What are you doing?” I asked as he inched closer, pressing into the skirt of my gown. “I’m going to kiss you.” My heart skipped. Yes. That was the champagne talking. I didn’t care. “What if I don’t want you to kiss me?” He leaned in close, the warmth of his breath caressing my cheek. “What if you do?” What if I did? I took his face in my hands, letting the scratch of his beard scrape against my palms, and I pulled his mouth down to mine. Then I kissed him.
