Page 82 of The Decoy

I don’t pull out a piece of paper. Instead, I take both of Ellis’s hands in mine and look straight into her eyes.

“Ellis,” I say, my voice deep and unwavering. “I didn’t fall in love with you in a quiet moment. I fell in love with you while our world was loud and complicated and throwing everything it had at us. You showed me what strength actually looks like. You gave me a home, you gave me your trust, and you gave me our son. I promise to stand in front of you when the storm gets bad, and to stand beside you every single day, making sure you and our boy never feel alone.”

Ellis lets out a soft, shaky breath, a tear slipping down her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it away. She just squeezes my hands tighter.

“Ellis,” the judge says softly.

Ellis takes a deliberate breath, her voice clear, confident, and ringing with pure authority. “Brody, I spent my whole life managing risk, controlling outcomes, and keeping people at a distance, and then you walked into my life with a hard-headed giant heart and an absolute refusal to let me handle things by myself. You taught me that being safe doesn’t mean building walls. It means finding a person who holds the door open. I love you. I love the father you already are. I love the man you are, and I’m so proud to be your wife.”

“Would either of you like to add anything else?”

We both shake our heads, eyes still locked on each other.

“Okay then. By the power invested in me,” the judge smiles warmly, closing her ledger. “I now pronounce you husband and wife! Brody, you make us your bride.”

I don’t wait. I pull Ellis into my arms, covering the back of her head with my hands as I bring her mouth to mine.

Our friends and family are wrapped around us.

Liam lets out a deafening whistle, and my sister yells finally over the noise. My mom openly weeps into her handkerchief, while Molly aggressively claps her hands, turning to Charles with an unmistakable I-told-you-so look.

When I pull back, Ellis laughs, her hands resting against my suit jacket, the sparkling oval diamond on her left hand catching the light alongside her brand-new platinum wedding band.

“How does it feel, Mrs. Vaughn?” I ask, pulling her against my chest, my hand resting over our baby, who’s kicking wildly against my palm.

Ellis leans up on her toes and presses a soft, lingering kiss against my jaw. “It feels like we just won the Super Bowl.”

By nine o’clock that evening, the noise of the world had completely faded away.

We had cut a small cake at the restaurant, toasted with sparkling cider, and said our goodbyes to our families and friends. Our drive back to Alpine has been quiet; the only noise in the car is the soft rustle of silk and the quiet hum of the air conditioner coming from the vents.

Now, inside our master suite, the only light comes from the warm glow of the lamp on the nightstand. The dogs are sound asleep downstairs, exhausted from the afternoon’s excitement.

I stand near the corner of the bed, having already stripped off my suit, jacket, and tie, wearing only my white undershirt and boxers. I watch my wife step out of the bathroom.

She’s unpinned her hair, letting her thick dark waves spill over her bare shoulders. She’s removed the silk dress and replaced it with a soft lace robe that ties loosely above the high, rounded swell of her belly. Her skin looks golden in the light, flushed and radiant. The platinum band on her left ring finger catches the light every time she moves her hand.

She doesn’t look tired, like she should. Instead, she looks focused and thoroughly dangerous.

“You’re staring, husband,” she murmurs, walking slowly across the room toward me, her bare feet making zero sound on the rug.

“I’m looking at my wife,” I say, my voice dropping an octave, the low baritone reverberating in the quiet room. “I’m allowed.”

Ellis stops right in front of me, reaching out to lay both of her hands flat against my chest. Her fingers spread over the tight cotton of my undershirt, feeling my heartbeat underneath.

“Mrs. Vaughan,” she tests the words on her lips, her eyes lacking onto mine with an intensity that makes my throat go dry. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“It fits you,” I whisper, reaching out to wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her gently into my space. I keep my touch soft, my palm anchored firmly against the small of her back. “Everything about you fits here. With me.”

She leans in, tilts her head up, and presses her mouth against mine.

It’s not a polite kiss, it's deep, possessive and thick with heat. Her tongue slides against mine, tasting like her mint toothpaste, then her hand moves up my chest to grip the fabric at my shoulders. I groan into her mouth, my grip tightening on her waist as I pull her closer.

When she pulls back, her breath is coming in shallow hitches, her cheeks flushed crimson. “Brody…”

“I’ve got you.” I rub my thumb along the swell of her lower lip. “Are you tired? We had a long day.”

“I’m not tired," she says, her voice dropping into a husky, demanding whisper that sends a bolt of electricity straight down my spine. “I spent four days dealing with my father, taking care of Dylan, managing public statements about our wedding, and twelve hours standing on my feet and still… I don’t want to sleep, Brody. I want my husband.”