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“Ah, there you are. I’ve been looking.” A familiar voice. I whip around and see Stephanie Kelley standing there. She looks healthier than ever. Her eyes are just eccentric, not crazy.
A shot of panic shoots through my veins. “Shit, Sadie isn’t around, is she? It’s bad luck to see her before our vows.”
“No worries, my superstitious beast. She’s safely down the hall with Peter, who can’t wait to walk her down the aisle.”
Sweet relief. “You need help finding your seat?”
“It’s right where I left it, I’m sure.” She smiles, moving closer, a drink in her hand. Looks like she’s started the reception early. “There’s one more thing I added to the décor today. Truly hope you appreciate it, son.” Of course she stresses the last word. It wouldn’t be her otherwise.
It’s so fucking weird, hearing those words from her mouth, knowing my own mother has been dead for the better part of a decade. But I’d better get used to them. “It’s stunning, Mrs. Kelley. I love the white ribbons everywhere. Birch, too. Think Mark Twain in his Sunday finest would approve.”
“Well, our centerpiece is slightly darker, but I trust you’ll take it as a compliment. I managed to save it before my time at the funny farm. The finishing touches are recent. Come.” She grabs my hand and tugs me down the hall.
At the back end of the ship, there’s a huge sheet tossed over what has to be a painting. Her eyes nudge me onward, imploring. Go. Look. Wonder.
This better be good.
Taking a deep breath, I step forward, and rip the cover off. “Fuck me,” I whisper.
It’s…not the kind of immortality I ever hoped for. But it’s very good.
I recognize my likeness perched on the same chair where I used to sit with her, a French bulldog in one arm, and honeybee in the other. My daughter anchors the light. I can practically hear the giggle through her crooked smile.
There’s a familiar shadow across my face. Same angst-ridden darkness that used to stare out at me in the mirror every damn day.
Except it isn’t so bad anymore. Not with the light in my eyes. Or with the other focal point in the painting, the most ravishing image of a smiling Red ever put to canvass, her little hand on my shoulder.
“Amazing job, Mrs. Kelley. Let me flag down somebody to get this upstairs.”
Happy relief swells in her eyes. “Good. I wanted to do you justice.”
I look back over my shoulder one more time. The painting is a study in contrasts if there ever was one. Slowly, I nod, giving her another smile. “With all due respect, fuck justice, Mrs. Kelley. This is perfection. I’m finally seeing myself through the eyes of someone who gets it.”
“…kiss the bride.”
The pastor’s words ring through my skull like the opening shot at a horse track.
Finally. I’m free to ravish my new wife, and it’s hard not to do it in front of the several dozen people in our audience.
They’re clapping, laughing, cheering. I open my eyes for a second just to see Mia. She’s on Mrs. Folwell’s lap. Her eyes connect with mine and her grin doubles, broad and bright and beautiful.
She’s small, but she understands.
You’ve got yourself a family now, honeybee. We’re whole. And so am I.
Fuck, I don’t think I’ll ever get the taste of Red off my lips after today. That’s a mighty good problem to have.
My tongue plunges into her mouth over and over, taking control. The tears streaming down her cheeks melt in a soft moan. My hand cups her ass. A subtle squeeze promises every dirty, wild thing I’ve had running through my head for days, since we took a premarital break from sex.
That isn’t even why my balls are turning blue.
She’s always beautiful, but today? Right now?
My woman’s a goddamn knockout.
First time I saw her decked in that white lacy thing, cinnamon-red hair spilling out behind her veil, my heart swelled with pride and wonder. Then my dick took over, and the urge to rip it off her like a dog tearing open a butcher’s bag hasn’t faded since.
“I love you, Marshal,” she whispers, words totally silent over the applause exploding around us.
“Darling, it’s forever. If I had to condense the love I’ve got for you into now, Red, I’d fucking die.”
The steamship blows its horn. We’re in motion just as planned the instant our vows are over. I plant her feet firmly on the ground again and stroll the aisle, heading into the main cabin where dinner and drinks are waiting. It’s a four hour cruise, ample time to take in the evening sights and catch up with the people close to us.
So, this is what it’s like being a married man. A full grin splits my lips while we slip past the throng of people trying to stop us to shake hands or embrace. Everyone’s too happy, too impatient to wait for the reception.
