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"Me, too."
He kissed me, his lips covering mine, his passion for me apparent in his quickening breath, and the hard length of him pressing into my belly. My body responded to his warmth, his strength so arousing. Under his expert touch, all the concern and worry I'd felt since coming to Nairobi, my insecurity about whether I was good enough for Drake, if I was right for him, if he was right for me, and whether we'd be able to work things out to make a future together, faded into nothingness.
Drake pulled away and met my eyes. "We have each other," he said and stroked my cheek. "We love each other. Madly. Deeply. In the end, that's all that matters to me."
"Madly," I said, echoing his words, tears springing to my eyes. "Deeply."
EPILOGUE
Seven Months Later
A year to the day I met Drake at my father's fundraiser, I was in my parent's bedroom at their apartment on Park Avenue.
The master bedroom was huge and decorated in a sparse Zen décor but today, it was crowded. My father sat in his wheelchair and presided over the final touches to my 'costume' for the day – a floor-length white wedding dress with a corset-style bodice, a sweetheart neckline, the sheath covered in French lace, the skirt A-line with a long pleated train that spread out behind me a full five feet. It was far more than I had wanted, especially for a small ceremony at my father's apartment in Manhattan, but he had his ways of convincing me. He helped me pick it out when Drake and I returned from Africa.
"What do you think, Daddy?" I asked, turning around in a circle in front of him. When he got tears in his eyes, and covered his mouth with a hand, I knew I made the right choice.
"Beautiful," he managed, blinking his eyes.
"Oh, Daddy…" I went to him and kissed his cheek, taking his good hand in mine and squeezing. He'd never recovered the full use of his left side, the paralysis lingering longer than we anticipated but he was getting therapy for it and had been making slow progress month by month. His name had been removed from the ballot, but he was determined to try once more in two years.
He wouldn’t walk me down the aisle, but he'd wheel me, and that made me very happy.
When we were alone, I sat on the bed beside him while he sat in his wheelchair, adjusting his cuffs.
"What did you and Drake talk about before he left Manhattan to return to Nairobi?" I had already heard Drake’s side of the conversation, but I wanted to hear it from my father.
He tilted his head, a faraway look in his eyes.
"He told me to get better. That I was too young to kick the bucket just yet and that he didn’t want to lose the only father he had left." He turned to me and smiled softly. "I said a bunch of really melodramatic stuff that men of our nature don't really like to admit to, stuff about love and family and loyalty, and all that crap. You know."
“No I don’t know. Tell me!” I smiled and shook my head. "You’re both old softies at heart."
"I'll deny that to my dying day," he said and laughed. “But I did tell him that in the end, all the money and power and influence, the career accolades and accomplishments are worth nothing without a woman you love who loves you back. Without love and family, a man’s life is nothing. In the end, it’s love that makes a man happy. I said that if he loved you, he’d put you first.”
“Oh, Daddy,” I said, tears in my eyes. “That’s so wonderful.”
“I meant it,” he said. “Obviously Drake realizes it’s the truth. Hold on tight to him, sweetheart. Love him more than anything.”
“I will. I do.”
Outside the bedroom, I heard the harpist start to play music, signaling that the few guests who were attending must be arriving.
"Guess it's almost time," my father said, his voice filled with emotion. "Better finish up your primping and preening and visit the powder room before we get started."
I smiled through my tears and stood up, deciding to take his advice.
As I waited to use the en suite bathroom, I thought about the wedding. I had insisted that we have less than a dozen guests, most of them friends of my father's and colleagues from Doctors Without Borders. Nigel and his partner were attending as was Dave Mills. Michael had flown in from Nairobi the night before, but strangely, Claire had been unable to come. I felt bad that Dawn wasn't attending, but we hadn't been able to reconcile, despite how happy I was with Drake. It was a hole in my life that would never be filled. Lara attended, demanding to have some role, since it was she who selected Drake for me based on my profile at FetLife.
I wanted to spend the previous night at my father's so Drake and I could follow protocol and not see each other for the 24-hour period prior to our wedding, but Drake wouldn't hear of it.
"I said I didn't want us to be separated again, and I want it to stay that way," Drake said when I suggested spending the night at my father's. "To hell with your silly superstition. I'm a scientist, and there's simply no convincing evidence that allowing the bride and groom to see each other before the ceremony leads to a failed marriage."
"But it’s a tradition!' I protested.
"It's a tradition based on a time when the bride and groom had never even seen each other. It was intended to prevent one or the other from running off in horror when they
did. We've both already seen every single naked inch of each other so there's no fear of that. Besides, look what happened to my first marriage. We followed all the rules."
