Epilogue
EPILOGUE
Jess
I stare at the band of oval diamonds stacked against my pear-shaped rock, the light bouncing off the stones and refracting against the dark-tinted windows of the limousine.
“Is this mess for me, wife?” Wife . I smile.
My dress is slid up, and he runs another finger against my naked sex, then groans.
“You know it is,” I say, then turn to kiss him as he massages my damp clit gently.
“Lay back.” I do, tossing my bouquet onto a nearby seat.
He kneels down and pools the white silk to my abdomen, and then he’s eating me, like I’m an oasis and he’s in the desert.
“You taste so fucking good, baby.”
“Damian,” I moan, then slide my hand into his perfectly coiffed hair, watching the disco ball effect my rings send around the small space. My hand in his hair, his rings on my hand, his tongue on my clit.
“Baby,” I moan again. “I want to make one of your fantasies come true.” He stops feasting to stare up at me.
“Fill me up? Watch me walk around my ex husband and ex fiancé with your cum dripping out of me? Please?”
He pulls away, and I watch as his mouth twists into a smile. “You’re my fucking dream girl, you know that?” he asks. I know. Because he’s my dream, too. This is our messy dream.
He unzips his Tom Ford tuxedo trousers and my man is all ready for me. I instruct him to sit down and then I’m on top of him and sliding down.
“Mine.” I say to him once he’s filling me completely.
“Only yours.” And then I start moving. He throws his head back in ecstasy before saying, “Fuck, baby…what are you doing?” Then his hand is on my hip, another in my hair pulling me down hard.
“I’m spelling my name.” I smile then make an “s” with my hips.
“That’s good because you fucking own me.”
“I know,” I say. Because I do. We fucking own each other.
“You’ve been ruining me since day one.”
“I know.”
“I fucking love you, wife.”
I smile. “I love you, husband. Now shut up and fuck me.”
“K,” and then he does. He shuts up and helps me fuck him. He slips a hand in between us to stroke at my clit, and my pussy contracts.
“Is this cunt mine, too?” he asks, after giving my mouth a tongue fucking .
“Of course it’s yours, D,” I pant out as I pull closer to the finish line.
“ Mine ,” he thrusts up into me and pulls my hip down on him hard, and with a swift shift of our hips I’m spasming. The high hits me, and I’m screaming my husband’s name because I mean it.
“Damian, fuck me!”
“Jess, baby…” He fucking loves when I find my voice, and it’s only for him. He’s the only one who’s ever sent me there. If it was a cliff, I'd fall off it. If it was a building, I’d jump. For him. Only for him.
“Only for you, Damian,” I say because it’s true. And then he’s filling me with a grunt and a loud shout as he falls, too.
The reception is small (though the wedding was smaller) and it’s only the best and closest and oldest. It’s our kids, our co-parents, and the remaining parents we have left. And it’s best friends. (So yes, I knew Alex would be here.)
I have to admit, I didn’t think he’d actually show, though.
But there he is with his cute wife on his arm. I give them both a polite smile as we walk past and into the private dining room at the Old Ebbitt Grill. Then I proceed to (mostly) forget about him for the rest of the evening. (Oh yes, we returned to the scene of the crime.)
Damian pulls my chair out for me, but I shake my head and whisper, “I’ll stain my dress if I sit down right now,” and his cheeks turn bright red.
“Then let’s get a drink.” He tucks my chair back into the table and with him at my side, we get a drink and circle the intimate room for cocktails.
We talk to the dads who are on Eden duty today, yet she still suckers Damian into carrying her around most of the time. We talk to Brit and the girls. We talk to May and Ellen, and then we find Damian’s dad, Allan.
“Jess,” he says, opening his arms wide and giving me a bear hug before turning to his son. “Damian, you never mentioned Jess’ middle name is June before?” (His dad was our witness on our marriage certificate.)
“It was my mom’s middle name also,” Damian says to me, gently placing a hand at the small of my back.
“Amy June,” Allan says with a sort of misty look in his eyes. “Pretty serendipitous you two should find each other, I’d say!” He booms and I smile at him. Serendipitous is right.
“Amy June is a beautiful name,” I tell him, placing a hand on his arm as he fights back the tears. We talk a little bit longer, telling him about our new house, and when it’s supposed to be done done . (Feels like forever, reality is five more weeks.)
And when the girls come to take their grandpa for a spin, Damian and I splinter off to head for the people I’ve been subconsciously avoiding like the plague.
“Hey, man.” Damian pats Alex on the back, surprising him. He turns and for the first time I really get to look at him, and he looks…not well.
His wife turns to us, and I immediately extend a hand. “Jess. Nice to finally meet you.” I give her a warm smile that she returns effortlessly.
She shakes my hand and beams right back, “Hi Jess! I’m Emma. Thank you for inviting us. You’re a beautiful bride.” Polite, gracious, kind. She’s perfect. I smile, then slip a hand around Damian’s upper arm.
“We’ve gotta catch up,” Damian says to Alex who just nods solemnly, silently. Well, okay.
“I think if we sit down, they’ll probably start serving the food. Are you hungry?” I ask my husband who’s picking up what Alex is putting out.
“Yup, let’s, uh, circle back in a little bit, yeah?” The question is directed at Alex who again just nods.
We sit down before Damian asks, “Weird for you?”
I shake my head with a smile. “Not in the slightest.” I run my hand up his neck and thread my fingers into his hair. “You’re my person,” I whisper, then lean in for a kiss that he meets me halfway for. And Damian is my person. It’s never a struggle. It’s never a game. His love doesn’t hurt. Our love isn’t based on pain.
“Good.” And then his hand finds my leg under the table, squeezing me for reassurance.
We eat dinner all together at one long table, but before the cake is served, there’s a clinking glass and my best friend is standing. Oh, lord.
“Friends, children.” Brit gets everyone’s attention. “I know this might be a bit unconventional to have an ex-spouse give a wedding toast, but I think that speaks volumes about these two people right here. They are my two very best friends, who deserve all the happiness, together .
If I go on for too long, I know I’ll start crying, so I’ll keep it really short. Congratulations, you two.” She raises her champagne flute. “ BUT! I’d be remiss to not also thank my brother, Alex. For introducing the two of you. So, to Alex, too!” And she raises her glass again .
The sound of a cracking champagne flute startles the table. We all turn towards the sound to see Alex with a bloodied hand cut by a broken glass.
“Sorry,” he clears his throat and scoots his chair back from the table to stand. Then, without ceremony, he gets up and leaves. I hate to admit how my stomach sinks for him. I try not to acknowledge the feelings that are still there, but sometimes, they rear their ugly heads. Like right now, when I have to fight the urge to go to him.
And I do.
“Well, cheers!” Brit says awkwardly, and everyone devolves into clinking glasses and drinking, just as quickly forgetting about the broken glass. (And broken man.)
I smile at my husband and he smiles at me, and we both cheers ourselves.
“Someone was feeling petty today, weren’t they?” I sidle up next to Brit once everyone disperses after the cake.
“Maybe I’m still salty about it…” Brit says, sipping at her tequila on the rocks slowly. “I mean, there’s a reason my son’s name is Constantine Alexander and not Alexander Constantine…”
“Have you checked on him?” I ask her.
“Nope, and I won’t. He’s being a baby. He’s been a baby.” I don’t disagree.
“Well, I think I’m ready for a potty break. Need to go?” I ask her, but she declines.
I let Damian know where I’m heading, and then I slip out of the private dining room and head for the restrooms. My silky white gown flows behind me and I smile because today was perfect. It was the perfect amount of everything. Nothing overdone, nothin g underwhelming. It was just right. Just like Damian.
When I exit the bathroom, my stomach plummets because he’s waiting there for me. The hair on the back of my neck raises and my heart starts beating faster.
Danger danger. Every instinct in my body is chiming with red flags, and blowing horns, and storm sirens. Abort . The mission is clear: abort .
“Excuse me,” I say to walk around him, but he doesn’t move.
“It was supposed to be us, Jess,” he says solemnly.
And I laugh, almost viciously. “No, thank you to whatever this is. You have a beautiful wife waiting for you. Go home, Alex.”
“Okay,” he says, then he moves in and kisses me. For the briefest of moments, I let him in. Like a muscle memory, my body overpowers my mind and I start to return whatever this is that’s happening. No. No. Hate this.
I push him off as someone pulls him off.
“What the fuck?!” Damian is there, yelling at him. Or is he yelling at me? No. I don’t know and I hate that most.
“Damian, I told him to go home.” I tell him, willing him to believe me. He doesn’t acknowledge me, he just unbuttons and pushes his sleeves up, then takes a swing at Alex. And Alex lets Damian make the hit. The fist connects with eye socket and the crack and pop are loud in the small hallway.
“Damian?” I ask when he’s just standing there, frozen and fuming.
“Did you kiss him back?” he asks with an edge to his voice that still never touches unkindness. I’m shaking my head, though, immediately .
“No! God no! I was pushing him away!”
“Okay.” Okay?
“Just okay?” I ask, hopeful. Feeling desperate for him to believe me.
“Are you my person?” Damian looks me in the eyes, asking me wholeheartedly.
“Unequivocally.” I say, meaning it.
“Then okay. Come back to your wedding reception.” And then he simply holds out his hand for me to take.
Level-ten perfection. This man.
We leave Alex in the hallway, neither of us acknowledging him, but before we get back to the dining room, Damian pulls me into a quiet hall.
Before he can say anything, I’m kissing him as hard as I can.
“I love you so much, Damian.” I’m crying. “I told him to go home and he kissed me. I didn’t want it.”
“Shhh,” he soothes me. “I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I do.”
And if I thought I couldn’t be happier or more in love with this man, I would be dead-ass wrong at this exact moment. Because this was my end-all be-all. He was my pièce de résistance. He was my sun and my moon, my beginning and end. He was my serendipity. And he was all mine.
“Only yours,” I whisper across his lips.
“Only mine,” he whispers back.
The End…for now.