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“Don't be silly.” She laughs. “But I would like to get a hobby or learn a trade, anything. I don’t even know if I can ride a bike anymore.” She shakes her head with a weird laugh.
“We can get you a bike.” I grin. “I will help you. This track is perfect, as it’s long and wide,” I offer, “and anything you want to try, just let Callan or Stalin know, and they will get it for you, I’m sure.”
“They would go overboard with it, though. Can we just keep this between us, just for now?” she asks softly.
I nod. “Sure.”
The villa is quiet, and after waiting for over an hour for the men to appear again, we decided to head on down to the beach.
“I take it you got fed up of putting that wig on and off?” she asks me as I brush my hair.
“It was such a pain.” I laugh. I’ve put on white trousers and a loose cream silk camisole, and I grab my favourite jumper before we leave. Isabella is wearing wide-leg jeans and a button-up blouse.
“I really like that outfit,” I say as we trudge down the steps, towels in hand.
“Really? I don’t look too skinny?”
“You’ve put weight on since I last saw you. You look good, healthy.” I keep my tone light and skim over the fact that she is still suffering physically with all that has happened.
“I feel good,” she admits on a deep inhale, “I’m getting there.”
“Good. You deserve to be happy.” We share a smile and kick off our flip-flops as we make our way over to the boat. It’s not until we round the boat and come to the small jetty that I stop and gasp softly.
“Oh, wow.” Isabella breathes. “Oh god.”Shetears up, blinking between me to her brother standing at the end of the jetty where he and Stalin have somehow decorated the wooden dock. The sand-covered jetty is decoratively lined with shells, paving the way for an aisle. I choke out a sniff and look down at myself and then at her in a panic. She quickly drops her things and fluffs my hair around my shoulders. “You look stunning,” she assures me.
Both men are stood waiting at the end. I’m surprised with their bulking weight they haven’t caused the rotting jetty to sink into the ocean. I wouldn't care. I would still wade into the water to marry this man. Callan is wearing an open-neck white shirt and jeans. His feet are bare. He looks so handsome and nothing like a burly club owner. He looks calm, free. I don't even hesitate. I move, eager to close the gap between us, but stop, looking at Isabella and lifting my elbow with a blush.
“Walk me down?” I ask, tears turning my lashes to inky spikes. She nods and hooks her arm with mine.
We begin down the wooden path, crossing from sand to sea, and each step brings me closer to him. I’m shaking with excitement. Isabella passes me from her arm to Callan’s, and his chest expands, his jaw going taut. His eyes glaze, and I blink up at him happily.
“Is this even legal?” I whisper hopefully. Callan chews his lips and flicks a look to his friend, who looks less than pleased, as he throws Callan a miffed stare.
“I was ordained before we left London,” Stalin grates out, embarrassed. I press my lips together and flick an amused look at Callan. “Don’t,” Stalin warns, seeing how hard we are restraining our laughs. “If I didn't love you both, I’d feel a twat right now,” he mutters, and Callan clips him around the back of the head. “Sorry.” He looks at me apologetically.
“You still look a twat.” Callan grins. “Now marry me to my girl,” he insists, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips.
Stalin begins our ceremony; he keeps it simple and sweet, addressing us both in a calm and proud tone. We repeat our vows, pleading love and fidelity to one another. Promising a life of honesty and support. Swearing to protect one another with everything we have. The sea rolls and waves crash gently into the wooden pier. I couldn’t think of a more perfect way to become joined to this man.
After I have repeated my last vow and before Stalin can say more, Callan speaks.
“I thank you for bringing me back from merely existing. For loving me in my darkness,” he says, voice thick with emotion. He shifts ever so slightly, trying to disguise how overwhelmed he is. My beast of a man is all choked up, and I could weep with happiness.
A tear slips free from my eyes, and he quickly wipes it away with this thumb.
“And I thank you for helping me to escape the light.” I swallow loudly. Callan puts my hand over his heart and it bangs against my palm. I smile tearfully as he looks to Stalin eagerly, who is subduing his own emotions.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride,” he says gruffly, pulling a crying Isabella to his side.
Callan draws me in for a sweet and passionate kiss. His big hands envelop my face, reminding of the safety he brings. The protection. The love. I grip his shirt and hold tight, expressing that I will never let him go. Not now, not ever.
“I love you,” I say between kisses, blissful. I never thought for a minute I would ever be this happy, or be this close to another person, or share in their joy. But here he is. Big and beautiful, strong and passionate. Mine.
“From now until always. I’m yours, angel,”he whispers in my ear.
The End
Epilogue
