6. Epilogue 1 – Damian
Icheck the time again. Ten forty-three.
Our appointment at the county courthouse is at eleven. It takes fifteen minutes to get there, assuming we don’t end up behind a tractor, and Sabrina is still upstairs doing whatever the hell women do that takes this long.
I tug at the collar of my shirt. It’s too tight. The whole damn thing is too stiff. White shirt, dark pants, polished boots, jacket hanging over the kitchen chair because my mother made it clear I’d never hear the end of it if I wrinkled it before the ceremony.
Ten forty-four.
“Sabrina,” I call, heading up the stairs. “We need to leave.”
“I’m almost ready,” she calls back.
She said that ten minutes ago. I’m not showing up late to marry her. I already left the woman waiting at the train station once. She still brings it up whenever she needs to win an argument, and I’m not handing her fresh ammunition.
“What’s taking so damn long?” I ask as I reach the top of the stairs.
Our bedroom door opens. I stop.
Sabrina steps into the hallway, and every thought in my head gets knocked clean out. The dress she’s wearing is simple. White, fitted around her waist and curves, falling to her knees. Her hair is pinned up, and she’s wearing the little gold earrings my mother gave her.
She looks like Sabrina. Only somehow more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her.
Her smile fades a little when I don’t say anything. “What?”
I walk toward her. “Jesus Christ.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Is that good?”
“You know damn well it is.”
“I was hoping for something a little more romantic.”
I put my hands on her waist. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Her expression goes tender.
“You clean up pretty well yourself,” she says.
“Pretty well?”
She looks me over slowly, dragging it out because she knows what it does to me. “You look very handsome.”
“Very?” I press.
“Extremely.”
“Better.”
She laughs and kisses me. I pull her closer, forgetting the time until she presses both hands against my chest.
“We have to go,” she says.
“You started that.”
“It was one kiss.”
“Should know better by now.”
We make it into the truck with just enough time left that I don’t have to drive like an idiot.
I glance at her as we head into town. “How’re you feeling?”
“Happy.”
“That all?”
“Nervous.”
“About marrying me?”
She looks over. “About everyone staring at us.”
“My family’s seen you before.”
“Not while I’m getting married.”
“They’ll mostly be staring at me,” I assure her.
She snorts. “Of course they will.”
I grin and reach across the bench seat, resting my hand on her thigh. “You sure you want to do this?”
She covers my hand with hers. “Yep. Definitely. Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
My answer comes out without hesitation. I’ve been sure for a while. By the end of the thirty days, I wanted her name on everything I owned. The house. The ranch. Me.
Sabrina was the one who wanted to wait. She wasn’t leaving. She made that clear. But she wanted us to have more than thirty days before we made it legal. Wanted to make sure we weren’t confusing good sex, fear, and one near-death experience with a solid marriage.
I thought that was bullshit. Then I thought about it some more and realized she was probably right.
So we spent three more months learning how to live together. Really live together. Not counting down days. Not wondering whether she’d pack those heavy-ass suitcases and catch the next train.
I still say things I shouldn’t. Sometimes something comes out harsher than I meant it. Sometimes I know exactly how harsh it sounds and say it anyway.
But I’m always working on it. I apologize now. Usually without being forced.
I fixed the back door, too. The closet doesn’t stick anymore, and the shower knob turns without a fight.
Sabrina claims that’s proof people can change. I say it’s proof she complained long enough to wear me down.
When we reach the courthouse, my mother’s car is already parked out front. My sister and her family are there, and my brother’s truck pulls in behind us. He drove six hours for this and spent all of yesterday texting me threats about what’ll happen if I change my mind.
I climb out and walk around to Sabrina’s side. She smiles when I open her door.
“Look at you,” she says as she takes my hand.
“What?”
“Opening doors without being reminded.”
“I’m practically a gentleman.”
She steps down from the truck. “Let’s not get carried away.”
She takes my hand, and we start toward the courthouse. After a few steps, I stop.
Sabrina turns. “Did you forget something?”
“No.”
“You look strange.”
“I always look like this.”
She studies my face. “No, you don’t.”
“I need to say something.”
Her expression changes. “All right.”
I rub my thumb across her knuckles, trying to find the right words. I’m still not good at this part. Probably never will be.
“The agency didn’t know shit about you,” I say.
She blinks. “That’s romantic.”
“They got your age wrong. Got where you were from wrong. Didn’t tell me much besides the fact that you liked books and worked in an office.”
She waits for me to go on.
“I thought I wanted a wife because I was tired of that house being empty. Thought any woman who could stand me might do.” I shake my head.
“I was wrong. I’m glad it was you who stepped off that train.
I’m glad you argued with me. I’m glad you stayed when I acted like an asshole and gave you every reason not to. ”
“You gave me several,” she says gently.
I give her hands a squeeze. “I’m trying to tell you how much I love you.”
Her eyes grow damp. “Damian.”
“I love you so fucking much,” I say. “I’m so glad you’re the woman I get to marry.”
A tear slips down her cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb.
“Don’t ruin your makeup.”
She lets out a broken laugh and throws her arms around my neck. “I love you too,” she whispers.
I hold her tight against me. “Yeah? You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
I kiss her until a horn blares behind us. My mother leans out her window.
“You two have an appointment!”
Sabrina looks toward her, then back at me. “Now I know where you get it.”
The ceremony is quick. My mother cries before it even starts. My sister cries when Sabrina says her vows. My niece drops the flowers she’s supposed to hold, and my brother clears his throat so many times nobody believes his claim about allergies.
When the judge tells me to kiss my wife, I dip Sabrina backward and kiss her until she’s laughing against my mouth.
Afterward, we all crowd into the diner. Steak, potatoes, pie, too many photographs, and several stories from my brother that should’ve stayed buried.
Then I bring my wife home.
I carry her through the front door. She points out that she already lives here. I tell her to shut up. Then I carry her upstairs and keep her in bed for the next few hours.
Later, I’m stretched across the mattress on my stomach while Sabrina sits on top me, digging her fingers into my shoulders.
I groan into the pillow. “Harder.”
“You’re demanding,” she says, pressing her thumbs deeper.
“You knew that before you married me.”
Her thumbs press deep beside my spine.
“Christ.”
“Good?” she asks.
“Don’t stop.”
She works another knot loose, and I decide shoulder rubs might be the greatest thing marriage has to offer.
“You looked handsome today,” she says.
I open one eye. “Did I?”
“Very handsome.”
I turn my face toward her. “How handsome?”
She sighs as though this is a burden. “Your shoulders looked huge in that shirt.”
“Keep going.”
“And those pants made your ass look incredible.”
I turn my head toward her. “Better than the shoulder rub.”
“I thought you might enjoy that.”
“You got anything else?” I ask.
She lets her gaze move over me. “You’re strong. Sexy. Ridiculously good-looking.”
I roll over, catch her by her beautifully wide hips, and pull her beneath me. She laughs as I settle between her thighs.
“I wasn’t finished,” she protests.
“You can finish later.”