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I draw her into my arms, kissing her forehead and then hugging her tight as Blaire exhales a sigh of relief, “Okay, well, that was less scary than I thought. Having two kids in diapers at the same time isn’t my idea of a blessing, but you guys are making one look easy, so maybe two won’t drive you totally out of your minds. And you can always afford to hire a nanny aside from Laura if things get really hairy. Speaking of Laura, she’s in the kitchen with Kitty eating fish. Apparently, Edmond stopped by your place and convinced her to come to the party with him. And that’s fine and great, but if she breaks another one of my kitchen chairs, she’s going on the ‘outside only’ list, and I need you to support me on that, Baron. You’re the only one she really listens to. And, yes, I know that we can afford more chairs now that money isn’t tight, but those chairs have been in the family for centuries and I hate to see an antique destroyed just because it wasn’t built for a bear butt.”
Aurora squawks at her auntie and waves a tiny fist in the air, seeming to agree, which makes Blaire smile and coo, “Yes, that’s right. Glad we’re on the same page, Squirt. Now, let’s go change that diaper of yours. I smell something foul in your pants, my sweet. Or should I call you my stinky?”
Aurora smiles again, charming her aunt with a gummy grin that has Blaire making more uncharacteristically high-pitched girly sounds as she carries our daughter into the house and the changing table set up in the corner of the living room.
When she’s gone, I turn to Annie, gathering her more fully into my embrace. “Don’t be scared,” I whisper. “I know Kitty’s concerned, but if we’re pregnant again, we’ll see the midwife right away and do whatever it takes to keep you and Beatrice safe and healthy.”
She beams up at me, linking her arms behind my neck. “Beatrice is perfect. Or…Beatrice and Charlotte if they’re twins.”
My eyes widen and Annie laughs. “Sorry, love, but twins do run in the family, you know. I happen to be one myself.”
“I’ll modify the plans for the addition tomorrow. Sounds like at least three extra rooms and a larger dining room may be in order.”
My wife beams, so happy I swear I can feel the warmth of it on my face. “How did I get so lucky?”
“I ask myself the same thing every day,” I say, bending to claim her lips in a soft, lingering kiss that soon becomes a little too racy for a family gathering.
But I can’t bring myself to care.
Let my brothers and the other guests look the other way if they’re bothered by the fact that I can’t seem to keep my hands off my wife. After two hundred years of self-imposed pain, the joy flooding through me is too precious to hold at a distance or tamp down to a “respectable” level. What I feel for this woman isn’t respectable—it’s wild and shameless and free and I hope it stays that way.
“Should we go spring Blaire from poopy diaper-ville?” she asks, her lips brushing mine.
“No, we should dance,” I say. “I want to dance with you under the moonlight like we did at our wedding.”
She sighs. “Yes, please.”
So, we do, we dance, swaying to the plaintive sound of Kitty singing along with Alanis Morrissette as she croons about being “head over feet” for the person she loves.
And I, too, am head over feet, heart in hand, all-in-and-then-some with my beautiful wife, my savior, and my best friend, for as long as I’m lucky enough to call her mine.
Casey
The only thing worse than being celibate for what feels like eons and lonely as hell, while also being fake engaged to the most gorgeous man on the planet?
Easy—the gorgeous man having no memory of the night you spent together four years earlier.
No memory of that epic kiss backstage at the concert or jumping through an outdoor trampoline park exchanging secrets, while you laughed like two kids playing hooky, and certainly no memory of being your first.
Not your very first, but the first man to make you feel all those things you knew you were supposed to feel during sex. The first to make you see stars and hearts and wrack up not just one Big O, but multiples of the sort you had no idea would become a thing of the past once you got tangled up with a demon more concerned with working you like a slave than working your body into a frenzy.
For years, memories of that night kept me sane.
I’d lie alone in bed, wondering if Manny was going to roll in before dawn, beating myself up for all my bad decisions. When things got really bad, fantasies of what my life might have been like if I’d stayed in Chicago instead of boarding the groupie bus with my friends the next morning, were the only thing that gave me comfort.
In my daydreams, my gorgeous man and I lived in a loft in the city and Amy was his instead of Manny’s. We spent our days goofing off with our daughter and our nights making love and music, starting our own band like I’d always wanted to as a kid. And every step of the way we made each other laugh and feel and think the way we did that one, wonderful night.
Secretly, I thought he might have been my soulmate, and that if we were ever lucky enough to run into each other again, sparks would fly the way they did the first time.
Instead, he introduced himself like we were strangers and didn’t lay so much as a hand on mine until we were forced into a performance for my asshole ex and his demon captain friends. Then, Edmond the Great and Beautiful skipped town on business, leaving me with nothing but a vague assurance that we would “figure it all out,” when he returned.
And now…he’s back.
He’s back, standing on my front porch, looking good enough to eat in a dark gray suit with a pale blue tie the same color as his eyes. I can’t decide if I want to kiss him or grab him by the shoulders and shake the jerk until he remembers who I am and admits that night was one of his best nights, too.
But clearly, it wasn’t. If it had been, he wouldn’t have forgotten me so completely.
So instead of all the tortured things I want to say, I lean against the doorframe and whisper, “Welcome home.”
