Chapter Forty-Two Forever Starts Now
Chapter Forty-Two
Forever Starts Now
Dean
The reception’s in full swing when I finally get her alone.
I’ve pulled Poppy into the coat closet because apparently, I’m that guy now. The one who can’t keep his hands off his wife at his own wedding.
“Someone’s going to notice we’re gone,” she says, but she’s already yanking my tie loose, fingers working the knot.
“Don’t care.” I’m already pressed against her, breathing her in.
“Very professional, counselor.” Her voice is teasing, breathless.
“Screw professional.” I press her against the wall, feeling her heart racing under my palms. “You’re my wife.”
“Say it again.” Her hands are in my hair now, messing up what took the stylist an hour.
“Wife.” Kiss her neck. “Wife.” Her collarbone. “Wife.”
“Okay, caveman, I get it—oh.” The last word comes out strangled as I hit the spot behind her ear.
Yeah. Oh.
“Five minutes,” I negotiate against her skin. “Give me five minutes.”
“Dean—” She’s already melting into me.
“Come on.” I slide my hand up her thigh, find the garter I watched her put on this morning. “For luck.”
“You’re impossible.” But she’s not pushing me away.
“You love it.” I nip at her jaw.
“I love you,” she corrects, then gasps because I’ve found the spot that makes her forget arguments. “Damn it. Okay. Five minutes. But if someone—”
The door opens.
“OCCUPIED!” we yell together, jumping apart like teenagers.
“It’s me, you degenerates.” Ivy. Of course. “Your wedding planner’s looking for you. Something about speeches?”
“Tell her we’re dead,” I suggest, not letting go of Poppy’s waist.
“Tell her five minutes,” Poppy counters, trying to smooth her dress.
“I’m not telling her anything. She scares me.” Ivy’s footsteps retreat. “But I’m standing guard. You’ve got three minutes before I let her in.”
Poppy straightens my tie, fingers gentle now instead of urgent. “Come on. We have a lifetime for coat closet shenanigans.”
“Promise?” I catch her hand, threading our fingers together.
“Promise.” She kisses me. Quick. Perfect. “But first, speeches. And cake. And that dance you’ve been secretly practicing.”
“I haven’t been—” I start to protest, but she’s giving me that look.
“Mason sent me videos.” She’s smirking now, victorious.
“Traitor.” I shake my head, already planning my revenge.
“You’re going to be amazing.” Another kiss. “My husband, the secret dancer.”
My chest does that thing it’s been doing all day. “Say that again.”
“Which part?” She tilts her head, playing innocent.
“The husband part.”
She smiles. The one that still stops my heart, even after everything. “My husband.”
“Your husband,” I agree, pulling her close one more time. “Forever.”
“Forever.” She says it like a vow, like she means it down to her bones.
We sneak back to the reception, her hand in mine, both of us trying not to look like we just made out in a coat closet.
Take our seats. Listen to speeches that range from heartfelt (Mason) to hilarious (CeCe).
Cut the cake without incident, though George definitely tries.
Dance our first dance to a slow, romantic song because Poppy’s a romantic and I’m a sucker for her.
“Not bad, counselor,” she says as I spin her, her dress flaring out around us.
“I had a good teacher.” I pull her back in, closer than before.
“YouTube?” Her eyes are sparkling with mischief.
“Mason, actually.” I can’t help but smile at the memory of my brother trying to teach me to waltz in his living room.
She laughs, the sound bubbling up. “Of course.”
The song ends. Another begins. Our people join us on the dance floor. Nadine’s doing something that might be the Electric Slide with Father Murphy. Gloria’s teaching Nate to tango. George is… eating someone’s centerpiece.
“Should we stop him?” Poppy asks, watching the goat with fond exasperation.
“Nah.” I pull her closer, swaying with her. “Let him have his fun.”
“You’ve gone soft.” She’s looking up at me with that expression I never get tired of.
“Your fault.” I kiss her forehead.
“Guilty.” She rests her head on my shoulder, fitting against me perfectly. “Hey Dean?”
“Mm?” I’m half-lost in the moment, the music, the feel of her.
“We did it.”
“The wedding?” I pull back slightly to see her face.
“All of it. The whole thing. Built a life. Got married. Didn’t kill each other.”
“Yet.” I can’t resist.
She pinches me, right at my waist. “I’m being sentimental.”
“Sorry. Continue.” I rub the spot she pinched, grinning.
“I’m just…” She looks up at me, eyes shining in the fairy lights. “I’m really happy.”
Something cracks open in my chest. The last piece of armor I didn’t know I was still wearing.
“Me too,” I admit, voice rougher than I intend. “Terrifyingly happy.”
“Good scared or bad scared?” Her hand comes up to touch my face, gentle.
“Good. Definitely good.” I spin her again, just to see her smile, to watch her dress twirl. “Best thing that ever happened to me scared.”
She laughs. Bright and real and mine.
“I love you,” she says, squeezing my hand. “My disaster. My husband. My home.”
“I love you too,” I tell her, meaning every word. “My chaos. My wife. My everything.”
The music swells. Our people dance. George bleats somewhere in the distance, probably destroying something expensive.
And for the first time in my extremely controlled life, everything’s exactly as it should be.
Messy. Loud. Complicated. Real.
Perfect.
Absolutely freaking perfect.
Later, much later, when the guests have gone and we’re sitting on the porch of our venue, watching the sun set over the Hudson Valley, Poppy leans into me.
“No regrets?” she asks.
I think about the boy who had it all figured out. The plan. The trajectory. The carefully controlled life that made sense.
Then I look at what I have instead.
This woman who sees through my bullshit. This family we’ve built from scratch. This life that’s nothing like I imagined and everything I never knew I needed.
“No regrets,” I confirm. “You?”
“One.” Her eyes meet mine.
“What?”
She grins. “We should’ve gotten two goats.”
A deep chuckle falls from my lips. “Absolutely not.”
“Three?”
“Poppy.”
“Fine. But I want a peacock.”
I use my stern lawyer voice. “We are not—”
She kisses me quiet. And yeah, okay.
Maybe one peacock.
But that’s it.
Probably.
THE END
(Just kidding. With these two? It’s just the beginning.)