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“I take it that was your ‘I do,’ Mr. Richardson?” the officiant asks in a dry tone.
I’m still too shaken to hear his words, much less comprehend what the officiant is saying. But Drake’s breathing has slowed, and he looks deep into my eyes as our foreheads lean against each other.
“That was my ‘I do,’” he confirms. “I do take you, Amy Celestine Ryan, as my lawfully wedded wife. From now on, you’ll be known as Amy Richardson.”
I smile at the handsome brute with tears in my eyes, even as his slippery seed trails from my folds. After all, life is unexpected, and my life particularly so. I never thought I’d stumble upon an island filled with handsome, double-dicked men, much less get married to one of those fine specimens. But Drake Richardson married me, and now our future is written in the stars.
EPILOGUE
Amy
“So how often do you use the special potion?” I ask my husband, admiring the four-carat ring on my finger. Drake insisted on buying me an engagement ring, although I was somewhat meh about the issue. I’ve never been particularly hung up on material things, and I don’t need a piece of jewelry to solidify my commitment to a man. But my husband is very traditional in some ways. He insisted on picking out a big sparkler from Tiffany’s, and not only that, but we have matching wedding bands too.
It’s funny. I never thought that I’d need to see a silver band on my husband’s hand, but knowing that it’s Drake’s hand, and that he belongs to me, fills me with satisfaction. I love proclaiming to the world that this huge beast is taken, and that he’s mine. I love people glancing at our matching rings and knowing immediately that we’re a couple.
After all, we were never meant to be. Arranged marriage or not, Drake and I were two people shooting through space, with no intention of making this a real marriage in any way, shape, or form. But somehow, we met, collided, and sparks flew. Now, I live in Drake’s mansion right outside St. George. It’s a gorgeous house, with easy access to Lake Erie, and even better, just a short drive from the secret island of Deux.
“So tell me more about the mysterious potion that the men of Deux use,” I ask my husband. “Where does it come from again?”
“It’s made from plants local to the isle,” he growls, taking my hand in his. “You drank some of the spice, which is why you can’t remember anything after the sacrificial ceremony. I gave you just a few sips, and it blanked out some, but not all, of your memory.”
“And you give this spice potion to all the girls who come to Deux?”
He nods, his expression somber.
“I know it’s not exactly kosher to drug the women who visit our island, but there’s no other way. We don’t want the ladies to retain any memory of who we are, or what we are. So we brew the spice, and it selectively erases any memories they have of Deux. Literally, I’ve bumped into girls who worked on our island for months, and they didn’t recognize me at all. They definitely didn’t remember that I have two dicks.”
“Because you keep women on the island as your sex slaves,” I say in a slow tone. “To service you and your brothers.”
My husband shrugs, looking a tiny bit uncomfortable.
“Yes. I know it sounds bad, but we can’t go around having girlfriends the normal way. Word would get out about our anatomy, and we’d be screwed.”
“Why, what do you think would happen?” I query. “Newspapers coming to your house? Journalists banging on your door?”
Drake’s expression becomes somber then.
“No. Worse than that. I think we’d be hunted. I think we’d be captured and medically examined to within an inch of our lives. The United States government is ruthless, Straw. They’d likely herd us into an underground bunker or throw us into lock-up at the Pentagon. Then we’d be poked and prodded, forced to give samples, forced to breed, forced to do a lot of things against our will. Our secret would be the death of my people, and it’s better kept just that: as a secret.”
I look at him askance.
“You think the government is that bad? That they’d really do those things?”
Drake nods.
“Maybe I’ve watched too many episodes of theX-Files, but yeah, I think it’s possible. Look at Native Americans, honey. They’re just barely clinging to survival, and you know who’s at fault? The American government. Look at the Tuskegee syphilis experiment, and how many men died despite the fact that penicillin was widely available. The government can be ruthless, Straw. It has a lot of power, and I can’t say that I feel “safe” on a day-to-day basis. I’m not saying that my people will be the target of the next eugenics experiment, but you never know.”
I pause for a moment.
“Yeah, I feel terrible about Native Americans,” I say in a low voice. “I think everyone does. And I agree. The Tuskegee experiment wasn’t that long ago. It only ended in the 1970’s actually.”
Drake nods.
“Medical ethics have advanced a great deal, and there are a lot more safeguards in place now. But my brothers and I have a secret, and we’ve decided that it’s better to keep our anatomy hidden, rather than parading it about. Thus, we take special precautions. We bring women to the island for sexual purposes, and we give them a special potion at the end of their term so that they don’t remember us. But they’re not slaves, Straw. They’re women who’ve signed on to be courtesans, and they live a life of leisure while at Deux. Well, they’re serving wenches as well as courtesans,” he amends. “Some of them can cook really well.”
I giggle.
“Look at you! The way to a man’s heart is truly through his stomach,” I say with a wry smile.
