Epilogue April Sixteenth #2
Dinner was served on the hotel’s back patio.
I had finally relaxed, even if I was a little concerned at the fact that my brothers were allowed access to an open bar—that felt like a recipe for disaster.
Thankfully, they behaved, and the most embarrassing thing that happened was the toast Mike proposed, which consisted mostly of him cracking stupid jokes at our expense.
Naya said a few words, too—as many as she could manage between sobs—and it was nice, despite everything.
Everybody knew everybody, we didn’t feel a need to make excuses, and the mood in general was generous and friendly.
The minutes passed, then the hours, and food and alcohol were swallowed in large quantities. People danced, drank, ate, laughed, and danced some more… I couldn’t have hoped for anything better.
I was waiting at the bar myself when the photographer came over.
She was a small girl with dark hair and expressive blue eyes.
Her camera was almost as big as her head.
She congratulated me and added, “I hope this isn’t a bad time, but I was thinking of trying to snap a few pictures just as the sun goes down.
It’s really nice, with that last bit of light off of the sea. ”
It was a good idea, especially because there were hardly any photos of Jack and me alone—every time we tried to take one, some guest or other crashed into the scene.
I told her yes and grabbed my new husband, pulling him down the path.
As we walked, I asked the photographer about her job.
I was surprised to find out this was her first wedding—she normally did real estate photos, baptisms, things like that.
I remarked that my sister had found her, thanks to a profile of a band on a music website.
“Oh, that,” she said. “Yeah, that’s my boyfriend’s group.”
“That hot guitarist with the tattoos is your boyfriend?” I asked. Shannon had shown me the website when we were shopping around for photographers and he was an impressive specimen, to say the least.
“Excuse me,” Jack said, clearing his throat. “Perhaps this is a good time for me to remind you that you’re married, and you can’t just go gawking at hot guitarists on the internet anymore.”
“It’s my sister’s fault,” I protested as the photographer, whose name was Brooke, told us where to stand. We posed for about twenty minutes, but soon the sun was so low that we had to call it quits. Brooke showed us the shots on her digital camera, and they were incredible. She really had an eye.
I was about to compliment her when I heard what sounded like a lion’s roar: my twin brothers, who were running over with mischief in their eyes.
They lifted me off the ground before I could react and took off toward the water.
I screamed for Jack’s help, but he was in the same situation as me: Naya, Sue, Will, and Mike had picked him up, too.
Before I knew it, my beautiful wedding dress was soaking wet and I was floating in the ocean. Furious, I shook my head and shouted, “Sonny, Steve! Get back here, you bastards! I swear to God, I’m going to drown both of you!”
Mike, who couldn’t let a second pass without making a smartass remark, said, “You’ll never get them to come back if you talk to them that way.”
I crossed my arms, fuming, as he grinned at me, his tuxedo shirt clinging to his chest. I guess his brother had been harder to handle than I was, so instead of throwing him in, he’d just plunged in with him.
Jack swam over, pulling off his jacket and tossing it to the shore.
“Hello, my dearly beloved,” he said. I ignored all the people standing on the beach, some laughing at us, others stripping down to get in the water themselves.
Jack grabbed my waist, pulled me into him, and gave me the kiss I wished I’d gotten at the altar—long, deep, intimate.
“I’ve got to tell you, Michelle,” he said, “when you told me you wanted a wedding by the water, I wasn’t so sure, but now I’m one-hundred-percent on board.”
“Two things,” I replied. “One, don’t call me Michelle or I’ll file for an immediate divorce. Number two, what changed your mind?”
“Take a look at yourself.”
I glanced down and saw my entire body was visible through my dress. I screeched, and Jack said, “Don’t worry, I’ll cover you. But just a pointer, in case we ever renew our vows: I don’t think you’re supposed to wear pink panties under a white dress.”
“I did it for you,” I told him.
“Good, because I’ve been thinking about what comes next all day. And don’t tell me you haven’t, too.”
I laughed, but he stopped me, kissing me again.
“I don’t know,” I said. “The whole sleeping together on your wedding night, that’s so cliché, right? I was thinking I’d throw on some jeans and go hang out at the bar for a few more hours.”
“Michelle!” he uttered in shock. “How dare you say you prefer anything on this earth to being in the buff with your new husband! And trust me, I paid for the champagne, it’s not that good.”
“Are you telling me you are that good?”
“I’m the best thing you’ve ever had,” he said complacently. I had to let him have that, it was true.
We kissed again, and I warned him, “I’m not kidding about the Michelle thing, though. I may love you, we may have a child together, but I will walk right out that door if you keep it up. Every time I hear it, it’s like nails on a chalkboard.”
“I like it, though!”
“I don’t care, Jack. A deal’s a deal. You can take it or leave it. And it goes without saying, you’d better not dare call me Mushu.”
He thought it over for what felt like an eternity. Then I saw a playful gleam in his eyes. “Fine,” he said at last. “From now on, I’ll call you one thing and one thing only: Mrs. Ross.”