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“Yeah, I was thinking your dress could have been nicer and the venue is pure shite.” We both burst into a fit of the giggles.
I lift her hand up and brush my thumb over her black brushed titanium wedding ring. It matches her engagement ring perfectly. It too is black brushed titanium and set inside six prongs is a rare purple diamond, also known as an orchid diamond, and it couldn’t be more perfect. It’s truly a reflection of me and her—black and violet.
“Did you have a look at what I had engraved inside your wedding band yet?” I look into her eyes.
“No. We agreed we would do it together. Let’s do it now. You first.” She gets excited.
I pull off my matching black titanium band with one tiny purple diamond inset into the metal.
I tilt the band back and forth and move it between my fingers. “I am your missing piece.” I read the heartfelt words I said to her on our first night we spent together.
I reach up and cup her face. “You are. You are everything to me, Violet.”
“You are going to make me cry again, Linc. That’s all I have done all day. Especially when Yaya handed me her coveted moussaka recipe.”
“It could be a ruse; she may have left an ingredient out. Don’t get too emotional. She’s sneaky like that.”
Violet giggles. “My turn.”
She slides her engagement ring off first, then her wedding ring and tilts it to read my hidden message, meant just for her.
She reads it silently and her eyes turn glassy. “You complete me,” she repeats the engraved sentiment.
“You do.”
“We are a pair of oversentimental twits.”
“We are.”
But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Injecting humor, she asks, “Fancy a shag?” Violet bites her lip and scrunches her nose up.
“Sounds so romantic.”
“Just kiss me.” She grabs my cravat and smooshes her lips to mine.
This is how it’s always going to be.
Her bossing me about, joking, laughing, having fun, but most of all, she’s always going to make me feel like a million dollars because I hit the jackpot when I found Violet.
She’s my orchid diamond.
Rare, unique, and all mine.
* * *
Violet – two years later
I stand in the doorway, admiring my naked from the waist up husband with our tiny nine-month-old daughter scrunched into a pastel-pink ball on his chest.
Pom-pom is snoring away at the foot of the bed. At eight years old, his snoring is getting worse as he gets older.
Lincoln is rocking our daughter back and forth on the black wooden rocking chair his yaya gave us. It’s the one she used when Knox and Lincoln were babies; it’s a true family treasure. It’s now being used for our Melina. The little girl whose Greek name means honey. It’s perfect for her—sweet.
I take a mental picture as my ovaries explode.
The care and love Lincoln has for his daughter warms my heart more every day.
