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“I don’t want time. Tomorrow works for me. Let’s do it.”
I’m laughing as he stands up, pulling me up with him. “Let’s go inside,” he says. “I’ve got dinner in a picnic basket.”
I can’t help another insane giggle. “This is so surreal. I almost can’t believe it.”
His fingers lace through mine, and he gives me a tight, sweet smile. Then he scoops me up and wraps his arms around me, as I wrap my legs around his waist and cackle at the sheer insanity of being carried when I’m whale-sized. Luca sets me on the cottage’s back porch, and I look at the sunset, and then him.
I end up in his arms again. We’re hugging, and I can’t let go.
“I think my feet are swelling, but I don’t want to move from this spot. I just want to know you’re here and this is real.” My voice breaks. I don’t mean for it to. I feel bad when I see my pain reflected on his face. He breathes deeply, banishing that look, and there’s another one in its place.
His hand cups my belly. “I’m here—and it’s very real.” He looks so sure, so steady. “What can I do to convince you?”
“I don’t know.” My body gives a little shudder, like it’s burning off excess adrenaline.
“I love you.” He kisses me gently. “Forever. From the moment I saw you at the school, I knew you were someone I couldn’t forget. If you’ll have me—if you want me—I’ll always be yours.”
Tears are dripping down my cheeks. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Will you stay with me? Can you—will you live here, too?”
“Of course.”
He opens the door. Then he grins and lifts me over the threshold. “Isn’t there something to that? The groom carries the bride…”
I start to cry again—because he’s the groom; I’m going to be a bride.
“Oh, no,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
In the kitchen, he pulls a chair out for me. I can’t help laughing when we realize that I can’t fit. To accommodate my Santa belly, he needs to pull it out a bit more. He does, and I collapse into the chair, laughing at my lack of grace. Then he gets down on one knee again and wraps his arms around my legs.
We stay there for the longest time, his head against my hip and my hands playing in his hair. Finally, he stands up and serves us dinner.
“Pizza and lemon cake.” There’s another round of crying, but I try to stop the waterworks so we can have fun. We chat while we eat, and it’s so perfect that I find myself struggling to believe it’s real.
When we’re finished, we get in the shower. There’s more laughter as we get out and find no towels big enough to wrap around my belly.
“Here…I’ve got a robe for you.” He holds up a burgundy one that looks fluffy.
“For me?”
He smiles, almost bashful, and I hug him. We’re both grinning as we move into the master bedroom and he pulls the covers back.
“You first.” He holds his hand out. I scoot in, laughing as I do, and we lie in the bed together. Moonlight fills the little room, which has no curtains. The salty ocean breeze blows wisps of hair around my face. And Luca kisses me.
“I love you, Elise O’Hara. Forever.”
I run my hands through his damp, dark hair. “I love you for longer.”
“Have you ever thought your name would sound better as Elise Galante?”
I laugh, propping my check in my palm. “Have you?”
He grins. “Yeah, I always have.”
“From day one?” I tease.
“From day one.”
“What will I do with you?” I murmur as we cuddle close and my eyelids feel heavy.
“Marry me, I hope.”
The next day, I do just that. Dani and Ree insist on flying over as soon as baby comes and throwing the biggest party that our little strip of beach has ever seen. Jace calls Luca to congratulate him, man-to-man, and I’m pretty sure I hear Luca laughing in the living room as I make his mom’s special spaghetti sauce. A few days later, I get a call from an unknown number, and it’s Isa, of all people—doing basically the very same thing.
“I know we don’t really know each other well,” she says. “But I wanted to say I’m happy for you, for both of you. I want us to get to know each other. Be friends. If you want to.”
“I do,” I say—and I find I really mean it.
“This baby is going to have the biggest family ever,” I tell Luca at the dinner table that night.
“Good.” He smiles. “I want us to have it all.”
Four weeks later, on a breezy night when the sunset is flaming orange and Luca’s finishing the baby’s crib and I’m testing the rocking chair, and we’re both starry-eyed and feeling so young and so nervous, I get up to twirl in his arms, dancing to a song on our small radio—and my water breaks. There’s a laughing, sobbing, thrilling ride to the hospital—followed by hugs, kisses, and a healthy bit of screaming.
