Epilogue
One yearon
A fat bumble bee buzzes drunkenly by, spoilt for choice thanks to a garden that’s a profusion of summer blooms. It lands on a blowsy cabbage rose, one of hundreds twining the arbor. Agapanthus, nigella, Dahlias, hydrangeas, aster, and Chrysanthemum.
I’ve come to know the names and natures almost by osmosis. It’s what happens when, one year on, you decide to surprise your bride with a day to commemorate a wonderful year of marriage. A year of laughter and love, of hand holding, and shared meals, of kitchen dancing, and long walks that lead nowhere but are filled with the contentment of just being together. A year of lazy Sundays in bed and pancakes that land in your face. Of snatched moments and sex in crazy places. Of disagreements faked just for the pleasure of making up.
The day was a surprise to Lavender, though we had decided we’d hold an anniversary party. Because I’m not a complete monster. Busy with a thriving gallery, she’d happily handed the planning over to Polly. Then, behind the scenes, Primrose and the rest of the Whittington crew conspired to make the day what it has been.
A celebration of our love.
We didn’t make vows a year ago—neither of us thought to take it seriously. Yet, for the whole year we’ve lived by the code of promises never spoken.
I guess I wanted to voice my commitment, to have our family and friends bear witness to the strength of my pledge.
Lavender, my love, I vow to love you passionately. Fiercely. With everything I am and everything I have, for now and forever. This once in a lifetime love will be the focus of my exsitence and I promise to choose you every day, over and over, and forever.
She’d cried. And then she punched me in the shoulder. But the highlight was when she threw herself into my arms.
“You’re sneaky,” she’d whispered, pressing her lips into my neck. “But I’m glad you chose to do this here. In our home.”
Our home.
A place that used to stand empty much of the year, but now teems with life and family. Those of us who live there and those who just drop by. Polly calling in for Daisy’s weekly knitting lesson or Primrose “I was just in the neighborhood” when in reality it’s about snacks and the use the basement pool.
Whit and Mimi, Archer and Heather and their broods are often here, sometimes picking up when Daisy is invited to cinema trips and playdates. And sometimes, they’re just dropping off. Those are the days when the house is noisiest. The days when a full larder, fridge, and wine cellar are useful to feed the Whittington army dinner.
Sam is always more than up for the challenge, though Lavender likes to cook too, often insisting on making me her sous chef.
She loves when I play the subordinate.
The house is rarely quiet and Lavender is rarely still, but when the door closes to our bedroom in the evening, I get her once more all to myself.
Not that I mind sharing. Lavender’s family love her, and she loves them in return. By extension, I do the same. Of course, there are some family members I prefer over others… naming no names.
I never realized I was lonely before Lavender. I only know now because I feel her loss every time she isn’t near.
And there go my pretty flowers, walking across the lawn, hand in hand. Daisy, the first girl to change my life. And Lavender, my sweet, pricky cactus, who ultimately changed it forever.
She is a picture. A work of art, her dress very different to the one she wore a year ago. She looks like a woodland fairy, all billowing gauzy lace and seed pearls, her thick, dark hair curling in soft waves down her back. I close my hand around the phantom sensation of it wrapped in my fist, my cock pulsing as though the recipient of its feathering caress.
I can’t wait to see what my love is wearing under her dress this time.
Can’t wait to peel her out of it, more like.
Her eye catches mine and she smiles a secret smile. I raise my glass to her across the garden and swallow a mouthful of elderflower spritz; Polly’s signature drink for the event.
Fuck.
Tastes like flowers and fizz. Medicinal, almost. Turning, I furtively tip my glass over a pot of Gypsophila.
“Uncle Raif. Are you peeing on the plants?”
I turn to the strident voice for one so small.
“No, Gus. I was not.”
“Daddy and me pee on the plants. We call it watering the garden.”
“That’s… a visual I didn’t think I’d be cursed with today.” Lifting my gaze, I scan the garden for Whit, Gus’s father. “Remind me to decline your dad’s next invitation when he fires up the grill.”
“We don’t pee on the barbeque,” he says in a tone that suggests I’m a deviant. “Anyway, I gots a question for you.”
“Sure, kid. Shoot.”
“Are you gunna to have a baby now that you’re prop’ly married.”
“Properly.”
“‘’Swat I said.” His face scrunches. “Aunty Lala has the dress and flowers, and you said the boring words. And Daisy got flowers, too. Weddings.” He shrugs. “They’re as boring as batships. No pass the parcel,” he says, throwing up his hands. “No bouncing castle or clowns or race cars. No party bags, neither. And you’re not even allowed to touch the cake.”
“Did you touch the cake?”
“Just this much,” he says, holding up his finger. “But don’t worry.” He licks his knuckle. “I don’t pick my nose anymore.”
“Good to know.” Looks like I’m sticking to savory today.
When Daisy appears and Gus looks perturbed.
“I haven’t asked him yet,” he whisper-shouts. Over his hand, not behind. I wonder where this kid got his lack of smarts sometimes.
“But you’ve been talking ages,” she whispers back, her eyes avoiding mine.
“I was gettin’ to it!”
“Okay, you guys. What’s the problem?”
“Daisy wants a little sister. But not mine. I already asked.”
“Well, honey…”
“I know if Lavender has a baby, it won’t really be my sister. But Lavender said that doesn’t really matter because the family you choose is just as important as any other.”
“Lavender’s right,” I say, taking her sweet face in my hand. “You are just as special as any son or daughter we might have.”
“You mean, you might have a baby?” Her expression scrunches. “I mean, Lavender might?”
“Well, you never know.” I’d better run this by my lovely wife before they pin me down to a timeline.
“It’s easy, you know,” Gus puts in.
“What is?”
“Making babies,” he says, holding out his hands reasonably.
“It just takes a mum and a dad and—”
“I’m really not sure we should be talking about this.”
“—and love,” he finishes, regardless.
“Love.” I smile, relieved. “Love does make a difference.”
“And a penis,” Gus adds. The words of a sage. “You need one of those.”
“Eww!” Daisy says, turning to her cousin in disgust. “Really?”
What the fuck. “I think this conversation has gone on long enough.”
“And something else, too. But I’m not ’posed to talk about it until I’m older.”
“Sounds good. You keep that to yourself.”
“But, you now,” he says regardless, “I think I saw my mummy sucking a baby out from daddy’s—”
“Annnnd, we’re done!” I say, slinging my arm around his waist. “Say bye to Daisy,” I mutter, turning him on his head.
“Bye!” he says with an upsidedown giggle .
I carry him across the lawn, depositing him in his father’s arms.
“If that kid doesn’t need therapy…” I give my head a quick shake. “I think I will.”
I leave the bemused parents to deal with it.
Life is… fucking awesome. Kids are… kind of awesome, too. Entertaining, at any rate. I look forward to the day we grow our own little branch of this family. A son, a daughter. I don’t care which. But I’ll have locks put on every door so we’re not faced with this shit.
“Lavender said to give you this.” Primrose appears by my side, her smile as pretty as her name as she passes a whisky tumbler my way. “She said to tell you that she agrees. Polly’s signature cocktail tastes like nats piss.”
“I wouldn’t go as far as that,” I say with a chuckle.
Primrose glances around the garden, the guests in their summer finery, kids haring around the lawn, others sitting under domed canvas tents, or idling on macrame fairy swings that hang from sturdy tree boughs.
“Having a good time?” I ask as I bring the glass to my lipss and savor the sweet burn.
She nods. “I’ve had too much champagne but, bloody hell, Raif. You brought out the good stuff.”
“Of course I did. Nothing’s too good for my people.”
“At five hundred quid a bottle—I googled it—the stuff better handle my hangover for me.”
I laugh, throwing back my head.
“She loves it, by the way.”
I bring my gaze level again.
“Lavender. She loves the surprise. It made her cry, but I didn’t tell you that.”
“Got it.” I swallow over a lump in my throat. She already hid her happy tears in my shirt.
“I can’t believe you invited that defecting scrotal component.” Primrose glowers as she spots Tod and his new employer, Tuti. The woman is older, sophisticated, and scary, apparently. Lavender is convinced they have a little D/s thing going on.
“Water under the bridge.” I give a shrug. He was never a threat to me. Just a little snot that pissed me off.
Primrose harrumphs. Then, “Shit, I nearly forgot. Your darling wife also asked me to give you this,” she says, handing me a small, hand wrapped parcel. Brown paper and pink string.
“A gift?”
She nods. “She says not to open it until you’re by yourself. Brin said it must be a cock ring.” She slaps her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide above it.
“Did he?” I imagine he also made some jibe about my age. But it’s all good. Brin and I, we tolerate each other. Just about. But I did smile when I heard he almost cried when he learned Lavender reversed her McLaren into a wall.
“Not that he’d know,” Prim says, all pink cheeked. “I meant to say, Lavender went upstairs to get changed.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, oh.” Prim’s oh has a different tone. “That’s pretty much what I said when she asked me to let you know.” She gives an exaggerated wink.
“You know you’re my favorite sister-in-law,” I say, pressing my hand to her shoulder with a squeeze. “Keep an eye on Daisy for me?”
I take the long way around the garden, avoiding small talk and smaller children. In through the service entrance, I dodge the caterers and use the back stairs.
The door to our bedroom opens almost silently.
“What took you?”
Sunlight frames my wife’s form where she’s draped over the velvet bench at the bottom of our bed.
“Well, looks at you,” I murmur, remembering I have a voice as I pick my tongue up from the floor
“No, look at you, all spiffy.”
“Spiffy.”
“That’s old fashioned for as sexy as fuck.”
“You’re spiffy, too.”
“I had this thought,” she purrs, swinging her feet around, her pink painted toes touching the floor.
“Uh-huh?” I close the space between us, not sure why we’re not kissing already.
“That you might like to re-enact our wedding day.”
“Which part?”
“Any… all of it. But maybe just a taster for now. Timing,” she adds with a shrug. Her eyes fall to the parcel in my hand. “You haven’t opened your gift.”
“I’d rather open this gift,” I growl as I fall to my knees and push her knees apart. I growl as she slides her hand into my hair and tugs.
“Fuck.”
“Not yet. Down boy.” Her hand slides away though briefly cups my cheek. “Open your gift. Please?”
I pull the string and tear off the paper in haste.
“You bought me a knife?” I let my gaze wander over her, bold and possessive.
“I see you’re getting the picture,” she purrs, pressing back against the bed. “Only, instead of that tiny, white bikini, you’ll have to cut off my Spanx.”
“What the fuck are Spanx?”
“Knickers made from the same stuff as trampolines. And it’s all your fault for having so much food in the house. You’re making me fat.”
I give a long-suffering shake of my head. “You’re fucking adorable. And if you were twice the size, there would just be more of you to love.” I take her hand and pull. “Now take off your fucking dress,” I say as she stands.
One shoulder, then two, it slips and hits the floor in a shimmering pool.
“Lavender.” My hand folds around her hips, my thumb hooking under the string of her tiny white bikini. Lush and ripe and so fucking beautiful. “When you commit to an idea, you really commit.”
“I do,” she whispers, tears brimming in her eyes. “I really do. Forever, Raif. I hope you know that.”
“Princess, I—”
“Not now, eh? With that lot in the garden, we won’t get long. I need you.”
One flick, and the blade opens. One schnick and I’m eye level with her tits. She moans as I press the flat of the blade to her hard nipple.
“Careful.”
“Always.” Wrapping my arm around her, I use my tongue. Heat following cold steel.
“God, yes.” Her fingers curl around my shoulder. “I should’ve brought champagne.”
“Later, princess. This is just a taster.”
Another swipe of the knife, and she’s bare before me. And I’m pushing her back to the bench, spreading my obsession wide, my tongue honed between her legs. Grunting against her as she fastens her hand in my hair.
“I hadn’t meant—oh, God, Rita,” she moans. “Do that again.”
So I do, sucking on her clit like it’s a hard candy, fucking her with my fingers until she’s crying out and shuddering against me.
“Oh, God,” she gasps, pushing at my head. “Stop, please. That was intense.”
“That was us,” I correct, pressing a kiss to her thigh. “Think we have time to…”
“Swap,” she says, clambering from the bench. “It’s my turn.”
I laugh as she pushes me down. Curse as she reaches for my zipper.
“The things you said.” Her eyes meet mine, her fingers curled around me. “They were truly beautiful.”
“Like you.” I touch her pink cheek. Slide back her hair, my cock hard and ruddy, a blunt pointer between us. “You’re my world.”
“Stop, you’ll make me cry again.” She inhales a shaky breath. “I love you, Raif.”
“I know, princess. I love you, too.”
“And I thought about showing you how.”
“Oh?” I say, quirking an inquisitive brow.
“Yeah. I was thinking through interpretive dance.”
I chuckle at her expression. No one would buy that as serious.
“But I decided to show you through a blow job instead.”
“Dance is good. But blowing is excellent,” I say, leaning back in preparation. Then jumping forward again, and throwing Lavender’s dress over her back as the door bursts open.
Shit. Didn’t I turn the lock?
Fucking Milo!
“In here, Daisy!” Milo yells over his shoulder, completely unperturbed. “I told you they sneaked off to make you a baby.”
“Milo!” Whit’s voice angrily calls. “What have I told you about closed doors?”
“That I’m not ’posed to come in. But then I wouldn’t know anything.”
Under her dress, Lavender giggles, her hands a modesty shield for my cock.
“Milo, you’re a menace!”
Thankfully, Whit doesn’t appear.
“But it’s true, Daddy. Auntie Lala was just about to suck a baby out of Uncle Raif’s—”
“Belly button,” his father says as, like a shepherd’s crook in vaudeville, an arm swipes out, whipping the kid from view.”
“That’s what I was gunna say!” the little shit complains. “That’s where babies come, stoopid!”
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