until I became whole.
Isabelle and I wed in a simple ceremony in the City Clerk’s Office on August 3 at one thirty in the afternoon. Katarina and Roger witnessed the event I knew would occur the instant my eyes lowered to the nameless brunette sprawled at my feet in an airport lobby a little over fourteen months ago.
Callie wasn’t just our flower girl, she participated in the commitment ceremony that unified us as a family. Isabelle cried happy tears when Callie recited the poem we wrote at the park earlier this morning. It mentioned how she hoped Isabelle would become her mother, and that although we didn’t create her, we did give her the gift of life.
Even in a suit I wear every day and Isabelle wearing a dress you’d find in countless closets in America, it was a truly beautiful ceremony, one I’ll remember for years after I’m gone. We weren’t surrounded by key members of our inner circle, but nothing could take away from the level of commitment and passion exuded during the ceremony.
We’ll wed again for our family and friends. We will do the big fancy dress, the tuxedos, the cake, and the big cheesy grins I doubt anyone has seen me wear because I’d do it all again a hundred times if it would give me one-tenth of the peace I’m feeling now.
The fee for our ceremony was twenty-five dollars, we toasted our nuptials with a bottle of wine purchased in the lobby of the Clerk’s Office, and feasted on a one-tier cake a ma-and-pa bakery around the corner delivered halfway through the ceremony, yet I feel like the richest man on the planet. I have our signed marriage certificate in one hand, the hand of my wife in the other, and the sleepy, loved-up eyes of my daughter watching me.
Life can’t get better than this.
When Roger pulls onto the curb at the front of a run of old brownstones, Katarina cranks her neck back to face us. “Thank you once again for inviting me and congratulations. The ceremony was a masterpiece no amount of money could replicate.”
Her eyes glisten with pride when she leans over the privacy partition so she can farewell us with a kiss on the cheek. She whispers more than a quick ‘goodbye’ in Isabelle’s ear, but since her words are too quiet, and she appears to be speaking a foreign language, I miss what she says.
Whatever it is, it increases the smile Isabelle hasn’t stopped grinning the past hour and a half. “I will, I promise. Make sure you come and visit us as well. We’d love to have you before we do it all againin March.”
I fatten up Isabelle’s offer with a smile. My extended family is as important as those with my blood, and I’m loving that Isabelle is open to including them in our lives.
“You won’t be able to keep me away.” Katarina turns her focus to Callie before tickling her tummy. Callie laughs, but it isn’t her full-hearted laugh. She’s slumped of energy. It’s been a big weekend all round. Even I’m exhausted. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take Callie overnight? Henry’s room is a shrine to his childhood, so I have the space. Roger could stay, too, if you’re worried about her safety.”
I wasn’t worried, but I am now. Katarina has never married because Henry, Sr. never let a man get close enough to her to have a sleepover, much less a relationship. Not even my guarantee that Roger was only staying over for Callie would have Henry being lenient on his rules. Marrying another woman didn’t stop his neurosis jealousy when it comes to Katarina, so I don’t see it ever ending.
“Thank you for the offer, but we’re flying out this afternoon.”
Isabelle peers at me with wide, shocked eyes. “I organized for Scout to come tomorrow morning.”
“I called Scout and altered our plans.” I lean in close to Isabelle, ensuring my next set of words are only for her ears. “I claimed you as mine the first time in a jet, so it’s only fitting I do it again, but this time as your husband.”
When I lick the shell of her ear, she shivers, equally scared and excited. Isabelle isn’t a fan of flying, but not even morbid fear can relinquish the excitement that blisters through her when she thinks about us getting intimate.
She’s a strong and independent woman, but the instant we step into a bedroom, she surrenders all her power to me. Up until an hour ago, I would have said nothing has made me feel more influential, but the sheet of paper I’m clasping makes a quick liar out of me. Isabelle having the same last name as me trumps any achievement I’ve ever had.
Katarina smiles like she’s truly happy for us before exiting the car. I’m not surprised to notice her dart to her door has her veering past a blacked-out SUV. Henry is forever watching her. He is who I learned my stalking neurosis from.
“Home?”
I locked my eyes with Roger’s in the rearview mirror. Even with the afternoon sun bouncing off them, they’re more at peace as well. “Please.”
* * *
When we board the jet thirty minutes later, Catherine must see something in my eyes as she gathers Callie into her arms before making herself scarce. They can’t go far, but I appreciate her endeavor to give Isabelle and me some privacy.
I’ve always had a primal, hungry urge to make Isabelle mine, but today, it’s greater than anything I’ve experienced. I’m not a communicator like Hugo. I prefer using actions instead of words.
As much as I love Callie, I’m desperate to get Isabelle alone. I need her to know how much today meant to me, and that she couldn’t have picked a more suitable day for us to wed.
I’ve never celebrated my birthday, preferring instead to acknowledge the day I was given a second chance at life. Since that also happens to be the day Nick was born, my celebrations always took a back seat.
Ophelia and I were together for a little over three months on my birthday, yet it came and went without any acknowledgment from her, so I’m not only shocked Isabelle remembered the day I was born, I’m pleased she made it a day worth celebrating again.
Still, I can’t express myself adequately with others near. When we have an audience, I showcase how much I care for Isabelle by how fiercely I protect her. When we’re alone, I use touch.
Can you now understand how dire my wish is for us to be alone?
“Thirty-year-old Teeling, Mr. Holt?” A male flight attendant asks when I guide Isabelle to the seats at the very back of the jet.
