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The moment brings some much-needed levity, giving our guests a laugh and both of us the chance to compose ourselves before Sydney’s vows.
“Gideon Gabaldon,” she says, her voice wavering only the slightest bit. “You are so many things to me. My best friend, my protector, my champion, and always first in line to celebrate my successes. But more than all that, you always make me feel like I’m enough—more than enough—just the way I am. If there’s a better gift in all the world than that, I can’t name it. Thank you for loving me with all your big heart and letting me love you with all of mine. I can’t wait to spend my life with you and to see all the things we dream up next.” She smiles, her eyes shining again. “Starting with our baby. I couldn’t ask for a better father for our son or daughter. They’re going to be the luckiest person in the world, right after their mama.”
We exchange rings, Elaina finishes the rest of the ceremony, and we kiss in the warm sunset light, applauded by the people we love.
Afterward, as we’re finishing our feast at the picnic tables, Sydney leans over and whispers, “Ready for your wedding gift?”
I smile. “I am, but I have a confession to make.”
She arches a brow. “What’s that?”
“I already know what it is.”
Her jaw drops. “What? Maya told me she’d keep it a secret.”
“She did. But when she told me the lighthouse had already been sold a few weeks ago, I went snooping for records in town. It took about ten minutes to get the dirt from the listing agent.”
Sydney curses. “I knew I should have reminded her it was a surprise. Helen is a doll, but her memory isn’t the best these days.”
“I doubt mine will be at eighty-one, either,” I say, squeezing her thigh beneath the table. “But it didn’t ruin the surprise, I promise. It made it better in a way, knowing we’re still on the same page, as always.”
“Always,” she echoes, smiling as her lips drift closer to mine. “And now we can spend every summer in Maine with the baby, visit whenever we want, and bang in the same place we banged the first time for the rest of our lives.”
I hum against her lips as we kiss before pulling back to whisper, “Speaking of banging…”
“Oh yeah, we’re gonna,” she says. “I can’t wait until the party’s over. I’ll pretend I need to pee. Meet me in bed in five minutes for a quickie.” She starts to rise from her chair, but turns back to add, “Actually, make it eight minutes. I really do need to pee. The baby’s tapdancing on my bladder again.”
I grin. “Got it.”
Approximately seven and a half minutes later, I’m pushing Sydney up against the door in our bedroom as we kiss like we’re starved for each other, even though we just made love this morning, after celebratory wedding day lemon souffle pancakes. I’ve learned to make the pancakes we loved on our first real date, as well as all Sydney’s favorite dishes. I’m the cook in our family, heading home early from the office most days to prep dinner after my hike, while Sydney finishes up her work for the day.
She’s become an irreplaceable asset at G.P.G. Green, the way I knew she would, and I’ve protected her time among the butterflies, the way I promised. Every summer, we spend a month or two in Maine with the butterflies and seabirds. Sydney donates her time to the conservancy she worked for in college while I make several day trips to transport animals to no-kill shelters up and down the eastern seaboard.
It’s an incredible life, and it’s only getting better, a fact brought home by the fact that very few positions are currently available to us at the moment.
“You’re beautiful with this belly, but I’m excited for missionary position again someday soon,” I say, as I guide Sydney’s dress up around her hips and tug her panties down, preparing to take her from behind.
She giggles as she braces her hands against the door. “I bet that’s something you never expected to say.”
“I love missionary with you.” I kiss her cheek, nipping at her neck before I add, “I love every position with you, wife.”
“I love you, husband.” She sighs. “You’re my husband.”
“Not yet,” I say, positioning myself at her entrance. “Not until we consummate the union, Mrs. Gabaldon.”
“Then we’d better get to consummating, Mr. Gabaldon,” she says, moaning as I slide inside her slick, welcoming body, the one I know so well by now, but still cherish more with every passing day. “Yes, you feel so good. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, butterfly,” I say, taking her slow and as deep as the baby will allow. “Your vows were perfect.”
“Yours, too,” she says, pressing back against me as I glide forward. “They were so sweet and wonderful and made me wildly horny.”
I laugh as I kiss her cheek again. “Everything makes you wildly horny. I will miss that part of being pregnant.”
“I’ll still be horny for you, baby. Always.” She moans and presses back again, urging me to move faster. “I promise. Oh, yes, Gideon. There, just like that.”
We come a few minutes later, first Sydney and then myself not long after, spiraling out into bliss that still feels so precious.
And I know it always will. I waited too long for this woman to take a single second with her for granted.
That’s a promise I was made to keep, from this day until the last day I’m lucky enough to share my dream come true.
