Epilogue Promises Kept #2
I lifted my eyes to his, my pulse kicking hard beneath his palm.
“What’s that?”
He smiled—soft, deliberate, filled with something that felt a lot like promise. And before he spoke, he leaned in, lips hovering a breath from mine… ready to turn the night into something unforgettable.
His breath warmed my lips. The question—whatever it was—hung between us like the charged air before lightning.
I kissed him first. Hard, then slow. His mouth tasted of blackberry wine, sweet and heady. He slid one hand around my nape, angling me closer, while the other gripped my thigh just tightly enough to make a sound break loose from my throat.
He swallowed it with a kiss.
My fingers curled in the front of his shirt and pulled him closer.
I felt him melt under me, felt the tension from the drive, the week, hell—the last twelve years—unravel as our mouths moved. The kind of kiss that rewired my pulse.
He kissed down my jaw, soft, then open-mouthed against the side of my throat. My hips rocked instinctively; his breath stuttered against my skin.
I pressed closer, chest to chest. The chair creaked a warning under us, and he laughed against my mouth, breathy, already undone.
“We’re too heavy for this chair.”
“Then take me inside,” I whispered. I shifted in his lap, and his breath hitched, sharp and wanting.
He tugged my shirt over my head, tossed it onto the seat I’d vacated in favor of his lap, and ran his palms over my chest as though he had all the time in the world. I arched into his touch. A touch that said, I know what you need. I’ve needed it too.
“Eli,” he whispered.
I cupped his face and slid my tongue between his lips—slow at first, then deeper, more urgent. His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me tight against his erection, and I felt the familiar spark crack in my belly as he stood and carried me, my legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.
He brought me inside, laying me back on the edge of the bed with this careful intensity that made the room feel small and hot. He kissed down my chest, across my ribs, over my scars, and lower, worshipping every inch of me.
And I let myself feel it. All of it. Heat. Lust. The wine. Happiness. Trust.
The low lamplight turned the room warm. Shadows curved across his face, sharpening his hunger.
Clothes went fast. Touches went faster.
His hands were everywhere—my chest, my ass, my hips—loving and greedy all at once. I arched into him, gasping when he trailed his mouth down my sternum, when he dragged his teeth lightly over my skin, when he whispered my name like a prayer he’d spent a decade perfecting.
When he slid against me—skin to skin, heat to heat—I said something that probably wasn’t English.
Adrian groaned against my throat, rocking with me, breath hot and uneven. “I’m never getting enough of you.”
“Never,” I gasped.
The bed shifted under us, sheets rumpled, our breaths tangled and desperate. He kissed me again—slower, savoring the moment just before the fall—and I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him down fully.
He pushed into my body with an urgent shove, desperate to get inside me.
God, I felt so full, so needed. So claimed by him.
My husband. Everything blurred then—heat, rhythm, breathless murmurs, the way he said my name when he came, the way I clung to him as I followed a heartbeat later.
We held each other through it, shaking, laughing softly into each other’s mouths.
When we finally stilled, he stayed hovering over me, sweaty heads pressed together, chest rising and falling in sync with mine.
For a minute, all I heard was our breathing and the faint hum of crickets outside the window. Then Adrian swallowed hard—too hard for post-sex bliss.
“Adrian…”
He brushed his nose against mine. “Yeah?”
“What were you gonna ask me?” My voice came out embarrassingly breathless.
His smile tilted, wicked and soft. He stilled, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. The vineyard lights reflected in his warm and bright, framing him in a glow that made him look both impossibly familiar and excitingly new.
He swallowed again, breath unsteady. “I love you,” he said. No hesitation. No fear. Just truth, clear as the stars starting to prick the sky.
Warmth pooled in my stomach.
“I love you,” I said back, my hands sliding up to grab his shoulders. “More than anything.”
His eyes darkened, tracing my face as if memorizing it.
He slid his fingers down my throat, lingering there over my pulse.
“I’ve been waiting for the right moment,” he said softly.
My heart kicked. “For what?”
Adrian’s lips stretched into a barely-there smile that made him look as if he was holding onto a secret. A secret I was dying to discover.
“To tell you something. Something I should’ve said a long time ago.”
His voice wobbled faintly, but I felt it like a fault line shifting beneath us. I didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe.
He held my gaze, searching my eyes. I wondered what he was looking for and hoped he found it.
“The day I married you, I was terrified. Like, dizzy with nerves and fear and what ifs. I’m a planner,” he smirked, “and marrying you was an outcome I couldn’t control or predict.
” Adrian nipped my lips as I stared, confused and waiting for more.
“But I shouldn’t have bothered. I’d have married you in a thousand lifetimes.
Nothing has ever been more fulfilling and enjoyable. In fact, I’d marry you again tomorrow.”
He continued to stare, looking intense, waiting…
And I realized he meant…
“To-morrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Adrian confirmed. “Under the sun, surrounded by the grapes and the memories of our first time here. The memories we’ve held onto for years, through good times and bad.
I arranged it with the vineyard.” He smiled shakily.
“Just you and me. No audience. No pressure. I just… I want to stand in front of you again and say I’d choose you every time.
Even if it’s been messy. Especially because it’s been messy. ”
My throat closed around something hot and fierce that brought tears to my eyes.
He brushed a kiss to my cheek, my mouth, the corner of my jaw.
“I love our marriage,” he whispered. “I wanted us to mark how far we’ve come.”
I pulled him down and kissed him so hard he groaned into it.
“Adrian,” I said against his lips. “You idiot. That’s perfect.”
He exhaled as if I’d just freed him.
And I realized this night wasn’t even close to being over.
I didn’t sleep much.
Not from nerves—more from the anchoring warmth of Adrian curled around me like he was afraid I might disappear before morning. He kept sliding his fingers over my skin in that absent, unconscious way he always did when he was feeling something he didn’t know how to voice.
When pale light finally bled into the room, he stirred behind me.
“You awake?” he murmured into my shoulder.
“Yeah.”
His warm lips pressed softly to the side of my throat. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
We dressed quietly in casual clothes. I didn’t ask where we were going; something about the moment didn’t invite questions. It felt sacred in a way that made my chest tighten.
Outside, the air was cool enough to raise goosebumps. Mist hovered low among the rows of vines, catching the early sunlight in a faint pink haze. The world smelled earthy and of new beginnings.
We walked down a sloping path, hand in hand. Our fingers laced together, squeezing, staying connected. Halfway down the hill, Adrian stopped, tugged my hand gently, and said, “Shoes off.”
I blinked at him. “Are we children?”
“Today? A little.” He grinned. “Humor me.”
I kicked off my shoes. He did the same. The damp dirt was cold under my feet, grounding and quieting something inside me I didn’t realize was buzzing.
We reached an opening between the vines. A small wooden arch stood there, simply decorated with a few wildflowers tied to the posts with twine. No chairs. No officiant. Just the two of us, the sunrise, and the rows of grapes stretching out like a promise.
Adrian swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“This is it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “If you want it.”
I stepped closer until our chests brushed. “I want it.”
That was all it took.
He took both my hands in his, palms warm and a bit shaky. The sun crested the ridge behind him, spilling light around his shoulders. He reminded me of every version of him I’d ever loved—all of it right here, within reach.
He cleared his throat. “I, uh… didn’t really write anything down.”
“Good. Your speeches are terrifying when they come with notecards.”
He laughed, breathless, and that laugh broke the dam.
He squeezed my hands, looking deep into my eyes. My heart thundered in my ears.
“Eli… I married you twelve years ago thinking I knew exactly who I was. What I wanted. How life was supposed to work. And I loved you then, so much I didn’t have the maturity to understand the weight of it.”
His voice thickened, becoming uneven.
“But I love you more now. I love you with context. With failures and fights and fatigue. I love you with every scar we put on each other and every scar we helped heal.”
I felt my throat close, and tears stung my eyes.
“I love you in all the ways that matter,” he whispered. “Not the ways I thought mattered. I choose you, again, with clear eyes. With both hands. With the man I am, not the man I pretended to be.”
His thumb trembled where it stroked my worn band.
“And I promise… I will keep choosing you. In the messy years. In the quiet ones. When we’re steady. When we’re stumbling. When life shifts. When we shift.”
He leaned in, touching his head to mine, whispering his vows over my parted lips.
“You are my home. And I will spend the rest of my life making sure you stay safe inside it.”
My eyes stung so sharply I had to blink hard to see him.
He brushed a tear from my cheek. “Your turn.”
Of course, he said it like he wasn’t wrecking me. I took a calming breath of dew and sweetness and soil and held his hands tighter.
“Adrian… twelve years ago, I promised you everything I thought made a marriage strong—loyalty, trust, love.” My voice wobbled. “But we didn’t know then that strength isn’t about never breaking. It’s about rebuilding.”
His eyes watered.
“I thought I wanted a perfect life with you. A picture. A plan. A house on Decatur Street with white curtains and a long driveway. But the truth is… I just wanted us. I wanted you. And we weren’t perfect. Not at all.”
His eyes softened painfully.
“But we fixed our foundation. We tore down the parts that didn’t work and built new ones. We became partners in the truest sense. We grew up—together and apart—and found our way back, not because it was easy… but because it was inevitable.”
My breath lodged behind a dozen butterflies taking flight inside me.
“I choose you, Adrian. And I choose the years that didn’t go right. I choose the storms we barely survived. I choose the mornings we had to push to get to. Because every version of us brought us here.”
I tilted my head until our mouths met.
“And there’s nowhere else I’d rather stand than right here, by your side.”
His breath trembled against my lips.
Adrian didn’t wait for a cue. He pulled me in and kissed me with twelve years of everything—heat, gratitude, devotion, pride, relief.
His hands slid to my jaw; mine gripped his waist. The vines around us blurred; the world narrowed to his breath, his pulse, the way he whispered my name into my mouth like a vow of its own.
Sunlight warmed our bare feet. Dew soaked our ankles. His skin under my palms felt real and alive and familiar in a way that made my heart stretch too full.
When we finally pulled apart, he rested his head against my temple, breathing hard, smiling the softest smile I’d ever seen on him.
“Happy anniversary,” he murmured.
“Happy anniversary,” I repeated.
He laced our fingers together and looked out over the fields, his expression peaceful, settled, and whole.
For the first time in years, I felt that way too.
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