Tyler
If you’d told me this time last year that I’d be waking up on Christmas morning in Malibu with my wife curled into my chest, I’d have laughed you out of the room. But here I was, and I’d never felt more complete in my life.
She was dead asleep against me, her breath warm on my skin.
I could’ve stayed like that for hours, just watching her, memorizing every inch of her.
Falling in love all over again with every steady rise and fall of her chest. Those perfect lips, that strong, beautiful body which somehow was mine now, my whole damn world right here in our bed.
And yeah, my thoughts went there. To the future.
To Christmas mornings full of chaos and our little ones piling onto our bed.
To building something here that I never had growing up.
My throat went dry with it, with everything I was feeling.
Love so fierce it scared the hell out of me, and the kind of want that made my body tighten, aching to make it real.
The sun was already up, spilling pale Malibu light across the room, the warmth seeping in through the glass. She stirred against me when I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“Merry Christmas, baby,” I murmured.
“Mmm… Merry Christmas, husband,” she croaked back in that groggy morning voice that made me melt for her.
“Stay there,” I whispered, tugging on a pair of lounge pants over my still bare body, the one she’d completely wrecked last night. “I’m bringing you coffee and gifts.”
“Tyler…” she groaned, rolling onto her back beneath the duvet. “I don’t need gifts.”
“And I told you, woman, you’re mine to spoil as I please.”
I padded down the stairs and flicked on the coffee machine.
The grinder hummed and filled the air with the rich smell of espresso while I gathered the stash I’d hidden away under the counter.
The red bag, the gift-wrapped package, the envelope.
I balanced it all carefully on a tray with two steaming mugs and carried it back upstairs.
The second I pushed open the bedroom door, her hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes widened at the sight of Cartier’s unmistakable red bag.
“Tyler!” she gasped. “Please tell me you didn’t…”
“Of course I fucking did.” I grinned, setting the tray down. “I’m obsessed with you.”
Suspicion lingered in her gaze as she reached for the gold and red box. She undid the clasp, and when the lid popped open, she let out a breathy laugh of exasperation. “Tyler. You didn’t.”
“I did,” I said, pride swelling in my chest.
It was the Cartier watch I’d seen her linger on in New York.
The day after we made up, she’d stopped for just a fraction too long in front of that window display, not saying a word, just looking.
I’d gone back the next morning and bought it, knowing I’d save it for our first Christmas together.
I remember that day vividly, it was the day after I’d told her I love her.
We’d snuck away early that morning to walk around Central Park whilst it was quiet, got breakfast like a normal couple and wandered back to the hotel before rejoining the madness of the tour.
She pulled me in for the most breathtaking kiss, her lips smiling against mine. “I love it. But you’re nuts.”
“Wait…there’s more.”
I handed her the bigger paper bag. She tore through the Christmas wrapping and revealed a framed photo, glossy and perfect. The two of us, all dressed up from that gala a month ago, me in a tux, her in that slinky black dress that had half the room staring. Her eyes began glazing with tears.
“We don’t have a real wedding photo…yet,” I said carefully. “But I thought we needed something for the house. Of us. So I had this printed and framed.”
“Tyler,” she whispered, her voice breaking. A single tear slid down her cheek as she clutched it to her chest.
I couldn’t stop grinning. Because I knew what was coming next. “One more,” I said, nodding toward the last envelope.
She shook her head, already smiling through tears, and tore it open. Confusion flickered across her face as she read slowly, then read it again.
“Tyler…this is…”
“Yeah,” I cut in. “An appointment at that fancy bridal boutique in London. I already told them not to show you price tags. You pick whatever you want, no limits.”
Her eyes went glossy again. I leaned forward, brushing my thumb across her damp cheek.
“But that’s not all. Kate and Gwen have already cleared their schedules to go with you. O… I know how hard it’s going to be without your mom. But I want you to have that day. You deserve it. And trust me, they didn’t need much convincing.”
That’s when she broke. She pressed herself into me hard, little sobs slipping out against my chest.
“Tyler, what the fuck did I do to deserve you?”
I tilted her chin up, kissed the corner of her wet cheek. “It’s me that doesn’t deserve you, Orla. You’ve changed everything for me. You’ve changed me. I owe you everything. All this—” I gestured at the gifts scattered across the duvet. “ It’s the least I could do to show you how much I love you.”
She wiped at her eyes with her wrists, smiling through the tears like she couldn’t quite believe any of this was real. But fuck, she deserved all of it and more.
“I might have got you something, too,” she teased, a sly edge cutting through her softness.
“O…” I groaned, already suspicious. “I told you not to go spending any of your money on me.”
“Shut up, Mr Over-the-Top,” she fired back with a grin. “It’s nothing compared to yours, but I think it’ll mean something.”
She reached for a small black box tucked in her bag by the bathroom and handed it over. I cracked it open and froze. Cufflinks. Clean, platinum and simple. But not plain. My throat went tight when I saw the engraving on the first one.
The date of our Vegas wedding.
“Is that…?” I croaked.
She nodded, her smile wobbling. “And the other one is the date of our Irish wedding in July. So now you’ll always have a reminder of both.
” She gave a little laugh then, shaky and embarrassed.
“I know it’s nothing compared to Cartier and bridal boutiques.
Honestly feels a bit pathetic next to all that but I remembered how I teased you the night of the player’s dinner about not having any.
The night you kissed me for the first time. ”
I stared down at them, vision blurring. Pathetic?
Christ, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
I’d dropped a fortune on shiny things, thinking I was showing her how much she meant to me.
But this—this tiny box with two pieces of engraved metal—meant more than all of it combined.
Proof that night had meant something to her, even back then, she remembered the details, thought ahead to the life we were building.
I shut the box carefully and set it aside before grabbing her face in both hands. “Orla Sheehan-Reed, this is the most thoughtful damn gift I’ve ever had in my life.”