Chapter 20
AMELIA
Iwake up on my wedding day with cramps, bloating, and the distinct feeling that my body is trying to break up with me. If this is my next feminine era that Marin mentioned yesterday, I’m absolutely not interested.
I’m immediately in a bad mood, before I even open my eyes fully. My period’s not due, but this is definitely period-style pain.
Surely not.
Not on my wedding day.
The universe wouldn’t be so cruel, would she?
I’m in the middle of that thought when my phone vibrates on the nightstand with a text message. And then another. And another.
It has to be Tim. No one else bugs me with rapid-fire texts like this.
“Ugh,” I groan and then mutter to myself, “I’m not accepting any brothers in my next life.”
Gage shifts behind me, tightening his arm around my waist. His chest is warm against my back and his thigh slots between mine as his hand curves over my stomach.
He’s hard.
Of course he is.
I breathe through a cramp. He breathes against my neck, pressing his lips to my skin while his hand slides lower.
I grab his wrist mid-drift. “I wouldn’t do that if you value your life.”
I imagine most husbands would pause if their wife said that with the tone I just used. Not mine. He takes it as a challenge.
He dips his mouth to my ear, voice all dark silk and terrible decisions. “Careful, Princess. I like it when you threaten me.”
My uterus cramps and practically screams Unless that hand’s holding a heat pad, tell him to back the fuck up.
I roll onto my back and drag his hand up to my waist as my gaze meets his. “Okay, but what if we didn’t? What if we just . . . stared at the ceiling and waited for me to die?”
Gage props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with amusement. “Is that code for something?”
“Yes. It’s code for my insides are staging a rebellion and your dick’s not invited.”
The corners of his mouth lifts. He thinks I’m being dramatic. Which, like, fair. I usually am.
I pull a face and kick off the covers dramatically, as if they’re responsible for my current state. “I’m hot. And cold. And everything hurts. I’m probably dying.”
“From what?”
“The catastrophic burden of owning a vagina.”
Gage’s amused silence is louder than anything he could say. He watches me like I’m his morning entertainment.
I shoot him a look. “Don’t smile at me. You don’t get to smile.”
He does anyway.
I roll my eyes. “Of course you’re amused. Your body’s not trying to sabotage you on your wedding day.”
He says nothing. Still smug, sexy, male.
“You wake up,” I carry on. “You stretch. You get to think about sex and fun things. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to decide if I want a heating pad and painkillers or if I just want to be cremated.”
Still nothing. I swear he’s holding back laughter, the bastard.
I sit up and scowl. “I’m cramping. I’m bloated. My boobs hurt. And I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet.” I stand and give him one last glare before muttering, “Don’t even look at me until your prostate starts cramping.”
He’s still smirking. “That’s a thing?”
I give him a flat stare that says I’m two seconds away from creating a Reddit thread titled Things Men Wouldn’t Survive. “Do you want me to Google it for you and ruin your week?”
His chuckle as I walk into the bathroom only annoys me more.
Men.
I yank the door closed while imagining ways I can harm him.
I’ll tell Ethan that he said, “country music isn’t real music” and let that bonfire light itself.
I’ll swap his shampoo for Sarah’s glitter detangler.
I’ll replace his white dress shirts with identical light pink ones and act concerned about his eyesight.
I’m really letting my brain run wild as I pull my underwear down and sit on the toilet. That’s when I see it. Blood.
No.
No no no no no.
I blink, trying to unsee it. I actually tilt my head and squint my eyes as if that’ll make it disappear. As if denial is how manifestation really works.
I sit there, underwear around my ankles, staring at betrayal.
“You absolute backstabbing bitch,” I whisper. “I hope you know this is a hate crime.”
My uterus offers no rebuttal. Just a dull ache and an imaginary middle finger.
I’m going to get married bloated and cramping and bleeding. I’m going to be irrational and emotional and every freaking stereotypical feminine archetype rolled into one unhinged creature today.
I brace my elbows on my knees, forehead in my palms, and spiral in silence.
There’s no way my dress is going to fit now. Not with this bloat.
I locate a tampon and deal with my period. Then, I flush and wash my hands while staring at my reflection in the mirror. And yes, my neck has absorbed my jawline.
I stand there, plummeting into an existential crisis, before my brain latches onto what might be the most outlandish thought I’ve ever had: maybe Marin’s moon jam could fix this. Or her rose-quartz mist she said was “coded with divine womb energy.”
Honestly, I’d probably snort sage and chant affirmations over my uterus if it meant I could zip my dress up.
“Oh my god,” I mutter with a shake of my head. “Seriously. You’ve officially entered your unhinged era.”
I stomp into the bedroom where Gage is now sitting up in bed, looking far too sexy for the mood I’m in. It’s truly unfair that men don’t have to deal with periods.
“You okay?” he asks slowly. His careful tone says he already knows that’s a triggering question.
“I need to try on my dress.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.” I’m already yanking open the closet. “Before I eat. I need to know if it fits or whether I need to quit eating, lie on the floor in Spanx, and pray.”
“You’re not quitting eating.” He moves off the bed and comes toward me. The teasing in his eyes is gone—his gaze is all concern now. “You could wear a sack as far as I’m concerned.”
I snap my eyes to him. “Only a man would think that’s an acceptable outfit for a bride.”
“I’m not marrying your dress, Amelia.”
When he tries to take the dress out of my hands, I swat him away. “This is all your fault.”
His brows rise. “My fault?”
“Yes.”
He hums, completely unbothered. “Naturally.”
“You let me ask Tim to be a bridesmaid. And now my entire day is cursed.”
“Right. That makes sense,” he deadpans.
I narrow my eyes. “If you’re not careful, I won’t walk down that aisle today.”
He steps in close, hooks an arm around my waist, and brushes his mouth over mine. “Say the word, Princess, and I’ll cancel the whole thing. We’ll spend the day in bed instead.”
My uterus might be rebelling, but the rest of me is apparently still hot for him. I scowl at the way my body betrays me. “I don’t think you’re catching on. I got my period. There’s no sex in sight for you.”
His arm tightens around me. His voice softens. “I got that.”
And just like that, he says the exact right thing, and I’m not cranky anymore. Until I realize what this means.
There’s no sex.
No wedding night sex.
No honeymoon sex.
No anywhere-sex unless I suddenly decide I’m cool with Gage fucking me while I’m bleeding. Spoiler: I’m not.
I groan and press my face into his chest. “This is a disaster.”
He laughs quietly. “A disaster?”
“Yes. Do you know what happens on a honeymoon?”
He drags his hand down my back. “A lot of things.”
“Yeah, well, none of them include me naked and orgasming now.”
“So we’ll do other things. I’ll feed you an exorbitant amount of carbs.”
He’s too calm. I hate that he’s this calm.
I lean back to glare at him. “You’re not allowed to be chill about this.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I’m looking at sixty years of sex with you. I can go without it for one week.”
My mouth drops open. “Sixty?”
“More, if you’re lucky.”
“You think we’ll still be having sex in our nineties?”
“You think I’ll ever stop wanting you?”
Okay, yes, right . . . he’s on a roll now, saying all the right things. Which only makes me hate my body more. Why did it choose today, today, to turn against me?
He kisses my temple, then murmurs near my ear, “You’re going to be the hottest old woman anyone’s ever seen. Probably still bossing me around with a color-coded binder and rules I’ll ignore.”
“If you think you’re getting head on our sixtieth anniversary, you’re dreaming. Like full-blown, hallucinating-your-own-fantasy level delusion.”
He chuckles as he brings his hand up to cup the back of my head. Then, his expression turns serious. “You can give me everything, or nothing at all. I’m not going anywhere.”
I almost forget about my bloat and betrayal blood. Because Gage is looking at me like I’m everything he’ll ever need or want.
I’m in the middle of that thought when his phone buzzes. His gaze doesn’t shift, but the look on his face is that of a man whose early warning system just cockblocked him. Not from sex. Just from me.
He brushes one last kiss over my lips, then says, “I’ll take the girls downstairs and start breakfast. You take your time.”
I hear our daughters’ excited voices getting closer, and then they’re bursting through our bedroom door, all messy hair and noise and heart. Luna’s practically vibrating, and Sarah’s eyes are shining with happiness.
They rush toward us, rattling off plans and questions and glittery details. And all I can do is watch Gage with them—watch him be the man who makes this feel like home.
It takes all of thirty seconds for me to burst into tears.
How is this my life?
How did I find a man my daughter adores?
How did I become the woman he wants to spend forever with?
Both girls go still, wide-eyed as the tears streak down my cheeks. I open my mouth to explain, but my voice catches.
Before I even need to say a word, Gage steps in. “Who wants pancakes? I brought that syrup you girls love.”
Normally, that’s enough to detour any emotional moment. Not today. Today, our daughters stay close. Eyes on me. Hearts wide open. And that only makes me cry harder.
“Mom—” Sarah starts, her voice filled with concern.
“I’m okay,” I manage, wiping at my face. “I’m just really, really happy. That’s all.”
Luna brightens instantly. “My mom does the same thing.” She looks at Sarah and nods, like she’s cracked some sacred code. “I think it’s a mom thing. We should put it in our book.”
“Your book?” Gage asks, shifting seamlessly into distraction mode.
Luna grins. “We’re writing a book!”
“What’s it about?”
Within seconds, the energy shifts. They start rattling off character names and plotlines about magical horses and unicorns and something called The Sparkle Kingdom.
Gage’s eyes meet mine over their heads. The look of pure love I see there takes my breath away. And surrounded by noise, wild joy, and unfiltered devotion, I know one thing for sure: I don’t care what the universe throws at me today. I already have everything that matters.