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“No. I want our family and your friends there. I just want to marry you in a private, intimate ceremony on a beach where there’s only us and the people that matter.”
“How would we arrange that so quickly?”
The fact that Dee’s asking indicates she’s not immune to the idea. “We’ll all fly down on a chartered flight next Friday for the weekend. There aren’t any residency requirements. It’s a fast and simple process. No wait times.”
“Okay, but still, not everyone will be able to get away with such short notice.”
“I’ve got that covered, beauty. I asked for Mama T’s blessing and spoke to everyone prior. The resort is booked.”
“You planned it all without me knowing. How?”
“When I want something, I make it happen.”
“Was my answer that much of a foregone conclusion?” Her lips quirk up on one side.
“I take nothing about you for granted. But you do seem pretty sweet on me, so I figured my chances weren’t half bad.”
“Uh-huh.” She smiles drolly and slides her arms back around my neck. “Do I at least get to plan any of the wedding?”
“The details are all yours. I’ll put you in touch with the resort manager,” I say, confident in his discretion.
“So, you seriously want to get married next weekend?”
“Yes.” I lower my head to kiss her. “I’ve waited over fifteen years for you to be my wife. I don’t want to wait any longer.”
Dee
I marry Micah Anthony Petersthe following Saturday on a private beach, surrounded by the people we love. Lexie and Jordynare beside me as my co-maids of honor and Victor and Dwayde are next to Mick.
I couldn’t be happier. The sun shines high in a crystal blue sky, the flour-soft sand is warm beneath my feet. I’d been lucky to find a dress on such short notice that I feel amazing in. It has an ivory embroidered sheer lace bodice with capped sleeves, fitted from breast to waist. The tulle skirt floats down to my bare feet like ocean waves. My makeup is minimal and my hair is styled in a wind-swept low bun, accented with a floral vine of red roses and baby’s breath. The look is boho-chic and seaside romantic.
Our officiant has kind eyes and a comforting manner. He reminds me of Papa T. I wish my foster dad could be here to share the momentous occasion. But I carry him close in my heart.
Mick and I face each other as the ceremony gets underway. My handsome groom is wearing relaxed linen pants the color of wheat, rolled up at the ankles, and an untucked pale blue shirt opened to mid-chest. He’s barefoot too. His smile is bright like the Caribbean sun. I offload my bouquet to Jordyn and he takes my hands in his.
Tears well up in my eyes as Mick repeats his vows; his voice solid and sure. There’s no doubt as to how much he loves me.
I can scarcely keep it together when it’s my turn. We exchange rings. Mick slips a slim diamond band on my finger that matches my ruby and diamond engagement ring. I’d gotten him a wide platinum band. The strong simplicity suits him and complements the black diamond ring he still wears on his right hand.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” At the utterance of the official confirmation, Mick hauls me into his arms and kisses me senseless.
Cheers and applause fill the afternoon air. Our family and friends approach with hugs and congratulations. Justin and Dani, our ring bearer and flower girl, bounce excitedly and ask if it’s time to go swimming yet. Mason babbles and slobbers on my neck. I’m so glad we married here. The ceremony was everything I could have hoped for. Deeply intimate and personal.
“Mi hijo, mi hija.” Mama T holds out her hands to us. We take each one. She’s glowing in a soft pink tunic and capris set; her hair is one long braid, her cheeks rosy. “Felicidades! The wedding was beautiful. It does my heart good to see you married and so in love. Cayo would have been pleased and proud.”
Mick’s eyes water and he kisses her cheek. I give her a hug, forever grateful to Rita and Cayo Torres. They took in a lost and grievingfourteen-year-old and made me theirs. They nurtured the abused and broken-hearted little boy next door, giving Mick the support and affection he desperately needed. They contributed to him growing into the fine man he’s become. My husband.
I hold on to Mama T, and Mick circles his arms around us both. We stay that way, crying under the sun until the officiant calls us away to sign the register.
“You’re officially mine,” Mick says after scrawling his name.
“And you’re mine.”
Once the documents are secured in a safe located upstairs in our beach house, we all enjoy a buffet spread on the veranda below. The kids swim. We dance in the sand until late in the evening. We cut a red velvet wedding cake, feed it to each other, and toast our future with chilled, non-alcoholic bubbly.
It’s after ten when everyone finally settles into their respective bungalows. Our master suite is as impressive as the rest of the house. A king bed is framed by mosquito netting, and above it, blades of a fan swirl leisurely. The terrace doors open onto a hot tub and an infinity pool that overlooks the moonlit ocean.
Mick comes up behind me. We’re quiet, standing at the window, taking it all in. The view. The moment. Just us and the stars. When his hands touch my shoulders, a shiver of anticipation courses through me. I’d imposed the no-sex-until-we’re-married rule after our engagement. Mick had grumbled like a bear. Given our avid appetite for each other, we’d spent a week of longing, fraught with sexual tension. Heated looks and hot kisses cut short nearly drove us crazy.
