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“Now I asked you this once, but this time is different. I'm not asking because I think it's the right thing to do, or because you're the mother of my son. Know that this is purely selfish, because I don't want to live without you. And this time, I'm not just asking you to be my fiancée.”
Her brows furrow in confusion. “Then what are you asking me?”
I glance at the door and then back at her. “The pastor is still here. Right inside that room. Amelia asked him to stick around for a bit. I'm asking you to stay. With me. Here. I'm asking you to marry me, right now, in that room. Spend the rest of your life with me, Kennedy. I can't promise I won't fuck up sometimes, but I promise to always make it up to you. Marry me.”
Kennedy turns into a sobbing mess, crying so hard it's almost hard to make out the yes that leaves her mouth. As if she can read my mind, she nods and puts her hands on my cheeks. I stand up and finally cover her mouth with my own for the first time in way too long.
Breaking the kiss, I interlace our fingers and open the door. The pastor stands there, patiently waiting for us with a smile on his face. Kennedy follows me inside, and as we reach the altar, she turns to me.
“We're seriously doing this?” she asks in complete disbelief.
The smile that appears on my face stretches from ear to ear. “We're seriously doing this.”
I STAND IN THE doorway, watching as Kennedy lays our son down in his crib. Somehow, she has mastered the ability to move him from the car seat to his bed without waking him. I've asked her to teach me how, but the only way I can explain it is magic. She's fucking magical.
“He's still asleep?” I ask quietly.
She nods and gives me one of her teasing smiles. “He is.”
Slipping past me, I close the door behind us. She doesn't get far, however, before I grab her wrist and pull her back to me. She spins around and lands with her left hand on my chest. I look down at the wedding ring that I put on her finger just a few hours ago, and I don't think it's a sight I could ever get sick of.
“It's beautiful,” she says as she realizes what I'm looking at.
I smirk. “You're beautiful, but the ring means you're mine, and that's the part I'm having a hard time believing.”
She chuckles and arches up on her tip-toes to kiss me. “Well, believe it, baby. I'm Kennedy Donovan now.”
She's not. Not technically anyway. But she will be as soon as we go down to the courthouse tomorrow and get a marriage license. I tried to get one before the wedding, but they needed her there to do it. The pastor assured me to just bring it by after we get it and he will fill it out for us.
It's just crossing the Ts and dotting the Is.
As far as I'm concerned, she's my wife.
And as far as I'm concerned, I'm the luckiest mother fucker alive.
