Chapter 35
Chapter
Thirty-Five
XAVI
Four months later
Enfield’s hand rests at the side of my neck as our lips come together. My hands rest on his chest. I think we intend for this to be sweet and short, but as soon as our mouths come together, the rest of the world fades away, and it’s just us.
Our kiss deepens. His other hand wraps around my waist, and he pulls me tightly against him. My arms slide around his neck, and I kiss him with my whole heart.
I’ve just married this man. My dream man.
I don’t even hate the beginning of our story, which was rocky.
It means that when we had a chance to go our separate ways, we chose to come together instead.
We chose each other. This future that we’ve planned—it’s because we want it.
Every single detail that we worked out is everything we want and nothing we don’t.
I love everything about it. I love the way he holds me. The way he touches me. The way he kisses me and always thinks of me in every single thing we do. It’s everything.
His lips break from mine, and he rests his forehead against mine. “Husband,” he murmurs.
I grin, tears prickling my eyes. My god, I’m so damn happy. I didn’t know I could feel this happiness. I didn’t know that it would ever exist in my life. This is far more than I ever hoped for. Far beyond the happy ending I wished for.
The cheers and clapping surrounding us finally penetrate our little bubble. From the way Enfield backs away a fraction, I think he hears them now, too.
“Oh, right. Audience,” he says, amused. “Guess I shouldn’t take you right here in front of everyone.”
“No,” I agree. “Not a chance.”
He grins. His lips press against mine for a moment, and then we turn to face the gathering in front of us, hands locked together.
Our wedding is at the vineyard on his aunt and uncle’s castle estate. Honestly, it’s dreamy. I feel like I’m living in medieval times. Everything looks like it’s out of a history book, but with modern touches.
The audience is small and intimate. About forty members of his family and sixty of mine.
Yes, that’s small and intimate. We watched the covert videos that his cousins grabbed of the wedding that his mother set up, and…
neither of us knew half the faces in those videos.
Not that they were the focus of the videos. It was epic. My mother took the show.
I scan the audience as we walk back down the aisle toward the castle backdrop for pictures. I’m looking for his parents. I half expect them to have crashed the event. They’re butthurt that we maintained their absence in our lives.
Christmas was… strained. Wild. Magical. The one place where his family was allowed to be in the same vicinity as Enfield, and it nearly came to the police being called because his mother wouldn’t back off.
It took Enfield’s aunt and uncle threatening them that they’d be asked to leave if they didn’t stop harassing him.
It was a tense Christmas, but even with the charged atmosphere, I’ve never seen a Christmas like that one in my entire life. It was weird being away from my family, but that’s okay.
As much as Enfield wanted his kids to be included, we agreed that this wasn’t the right year to introduce them to the bigger family with his parents.
It’s a sore subject because he hates that they’re missing this.
He’s afraid that when the time is right for them to join, they’re going to realize how many years they missed out on.
Which means they need to be old enough for Enfield to explain about his parents and their involvement as to why. It’s a double-edged sword.
But the holidays are over, and now we have three hundred and fifty-five days until we see them again.
They’re not here. I don’t see their faces in the crowd.
There’s not a part of me that expects his mother to maintain her distance.
She’s not a woman who’s used to being told no.
She’s not used to not getting her way eventually.
I believe that at some point, she’ll pop up uninvited in our lives when we least expect it.
As soon as we reach the stairs, Enfield’s boys are there and wrapped around his legs. Lissander looks up with bright eyes and a big smile.
“Where did you leave Shapi?” Enfield asks.
“With The Bird Man,” he answers, and Enfield laughs loudly.
Lissander, ever the reader, knew that a sparrow is a type of bird, so when we introduced Sparrow to them, Lissander immediately began calling him The Bird Man, which Enfield finds hilarious.
“Ready for some pictures?” Enfield asks. “Lots and lots of pictures. Then we’ll go inside the castle.”
Both boys’ faces light up. They haven’t been inside yet. Rafe and Ryanne, Enfield’s cousins who live here, have promised to show them all the secrets once we go inside.
Ronan takes a step back and holds his hand up to me. Just one. My heart patters a little loudly for a minute before I accept his hand. He smiles shyly. Always shyly.
I think of all his kids, I’ve bonded more with Ronan.
He’s quiet and happy to just sit silently and color while we do whatever.
I’ve even had him in my shop, and he stares like I’m performing magic.
Last week, he came in while I was sticking shipping labels on packages and asked if he could help.
To watch him so fucking carefully stick a label on was admittedly really adorable.
We go through an hour or longer of pictures before we head inside. Ronan’s hand is in mine again. Enfield has Thea in his arm and Lissander between us, though he’s only holding Enfield’s hand, but his other hand grips my pant leg sometimes. As if he’s keeping me close.
“Whoa,” Lissander says as we walk into the banquet room.
There’s an enormous table that somehow spans the length of the room.
Honestly, I’m dying to know how they got that thing in here.
At either end are giant fireplaces, and overhead, hanging from the peaked vaulted ceiling, are crystal chandeliers that throw long shadows off the exposed beams.
It’s transporting. I’m no longer in the year 2041.
We take a seat at the end of the table with the kids and their mothers on Enfield’s left. “This is unreal,” I murmur to Enfield.
He grins. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Just wait until you see the room where we’re going to be partying the night away.”
His aunt stops beside us and hands us flutes of champagne. I’m distracted when the kids get flutes, too, though I’m sure they’re just sparkling apple juice or something. Lissander is giddy that he gets the same thing we do.
“Mr. and Mr. Adair,” his Aunt Marjorie says, giving us a wink when we look at her. “You want to give speeches? I can’t remember what the plan is.”
“Sure you can’t, Auntie,” Enfield says. “The answer is still no. We’d rather just eat.”
She sighs dramatically, but the smile never leaves her face. She leans down and hugs Enfield with one arm, kissing the side of his head. She smiles at me, and it’s filled with warmth.
When she stands again, she raises her flute, and the rest of the table joins her. “To the new Misters Adair.”
The entire room calls, “Hear,” in response, and everyone takes a sip of their drinks.
I was surprised when Enfield said he wanted to change his name.
It won’t be legal right away because of the kids, but he wants to cut ties with the Undergroves as much as possible.
Although he secured a lot of funds for his heirs, Enfield has recently been saying that he doesn’t want any association with the Undergrove family at all.
For the most part, I haven’t said anything. I’ve supported whatever he wants. I know his anger is still driving his decisions right now, and since he isn’t truly moving forward with cutting ties, I haven’t voiced my hesitation on that yet.
It’s not that I don’t understand. Over the last five months, I’ve come to understand it’s not just anger but hurt that clings to him. His anger is fueled by his hurt. Not just hurt over his parents’ refusal to support him, but in rejecting his kids.
I look at the kids as dinner is served. They make me smile. I’m still not interested in having my own kids, but I’m growing fonder of Enfield’s. Not to the point where I’m claiming them as my own yet, though I’m not na?ve enough to think that day won’t come.
They’re sweet. They’re smart. They’re funny.
They make every room bright and chaotic, but not in a way that grates on me.
Maybe I feel differently because they’re mine in a sense.
I’ve never given much credence to ‘you’ll feel differently when they’re yours.
’ I maintain that if I’d been forced to have kids, I would absolutely resent everyone involved, and that’s no way to raise kids.
It’s also not a way to not raise kids, which is the kind of involvement I’d have had in their lives—none.
This is also different because they’re not with us full-time. Yes, they live in the backyard, and we see them daily. Sometimes all day. Sometimes they spend the night. But no one gets upset with me when I need a break and head into my shop for some quiet time alone.
Dinner is a long, loud affair. I didn’t expect anything different when there are a hundred people in a single room. When we’re finished, with kids in tow, we lead the crowd into the room where we’ll be celebrating for the rest of the night.
Not going to lie. I think I’m as enamored with this place as the kids are. My eyes are probably as wide as theirs are with each room we peek into on the way to our destination.
“Holy hell,” I mutter as we stand in the massive double doors leading into the giant room with soaring ceilings and giant stained-glass windows painting the floor in a rainbow of colors.
“WooOOooowww,” Lissander says.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Enfield asks.
“You’re related to royalty, aren’t you?”
“Meh. Once upon a time in a faraway land, I suppose.”