CHAPTER 87

The sun is a kiss on my shoulders from the moment I step outside. The breeze tugs at the pins in my hair, my dress. My friends and family are seated in three rows. Our officiant is serene up front. But my eyes are locked on the man next to the altar. Timothy. The boy I fell for is a man. One who fills out his tailored tuxedo to perfection, his tattooed hands flexing at his sides as he spots me. His expression transforms from anticipation to adoration and disbelief. Memories flood me. The first time I saw Timothy, the boy with the blue hair and enough talent to steal the world. Sharing jokes and bands over cheese fries. Messing around in the studio. Stumbling into the pool house only to have him pin me up against the wall, an angry, protective god. The way he went to the prom for me, but not with me. How he carried me to bed after, the way he kissed me as if I was the only thing he needed. Our first time in college after landing the showcase. The night he gave me the ring around my neck. The stage where he gave me the one that's heavy, solid on my finger. Dad and I make our way up the sand path that's strewn with purple rose petals. My heart is expanding so big I can't feel anything but the tingling and stretching. I'm a balloon, ready to lift off. Dad's arm is a support, my fingers digging in as the sand is loose beneath my feet. My love is tall and strong and handsome. Timothy's face is solemn, filled with love and awe and so much devotion I could die. I spent my life wanting to be on a stage. This is the only one that matters. Here, with him. His attention, his caring, his support. It sustains me in a way I never expected. Muffled sounds have me cutting a look toward our family and friends. Haley's watching, rapt, pushing Mason's stroller back and forth with one hand as Sophia bounces in her seat. Avery's grinning, as is Jacob. Rica's sitting straight in her chair, a reluctant smile on her face. Even Andie looks charmed for a woman who'd rather be at a funeral than a wedding. The Wicked artists are there too. Frank nods, one arm slung easily over the back of the chair next to him. Dad stops next to the altar, and I do too. I press a kiss to his cheek. He cuts a look at the man over my shoulder before opening his mouth to address Timothy. "I know," my fiancé says. Dad nods and moves back to join Haley. When I turn back to Timothy, his attention sweeps me from the hem of my purple dress, to my body, to my flowers, to the necklace, to my face, lingering on my lips before coming to my eyes. "Nice dress," he murmurs. His lips twitch in appreciation. "You said once that you wished you'd given me that night. Prom, I mean." I think of our conversation back in college, the longing and the heartache and the regrets we carried then. "I don't need prom. I've had every second since. All of our past, our present, our future." My eyes burn, the warmth matching the warmth in my soul as the officiant clears her throat. She takes us through the simple ceremony we chose. Each word echoes in my ears, my mind, but it's the man in front of me and the family around us-the ones we were born with and the ones we chose-who make this moment beautiful. Holy. Jacob passes us the rings. "Timothy," I murmur, "I give you this ring as a symbol of my love." I finish the words we were instructed to say before going off book. "But really, you see it every day. Every time I look at you, every moment we spend together, it's a testament to my love for you. We have many identities, some put onto us through blood or circumstance. I've struggled to figure out who I was, but one thing I've always been is yours." I slide the ring onto his finger, and it settles against his knuckle. Nothing has felt so good. His jaw tics, those dark chocolate eyes filled with love and anticipation. As if he's been waiting for this moment as long as I have. "Emily, I give you this ring." His voice is clear and strong, underwritten by so much emotion. "Because giving you rings is what I do." His mouth twitches, and the guests laugh too. "The first time I gave you a ring, I didn't want you to forget me. But that's not enough. You're on this adventure, and all I want is for you to take me with you." The swelling in my throat is so intense I can't breathe, but I don't need to. Especially when he slides the ring home, where it nests with the engagement ring. He takes my face in his hands, holding me not as if I'm precious, but as if I'm real and he wants to assure himself of that. "I love you," he murmurs. "Always." "Always."

I don't wait for permission to kiss her. Since the second she walked toward me in that dress, looking as if she'd stepped out of my own personal fantasy-not a sexual one, though I could make a million of those by fading out the crowd and taking her right here on the sand-but one that belongs to my heart. For a long time, I was too afraid to want those things because I knew I'd never get them. But I have. And I won't ever forget how lucky I am for her. For us. I'll never lose sight of what it means to not only have her in my life, but to share my life with her. The good and the bad, the triumphs and the failures, the choices and the uncertainties. We can't know what will happen. If we're lucky, we know who we want it to happen with. I span her waist with my hands, her ribs expanding under my touch as I bend my lips to hers. She's open and eager when I press my tongue against the seam of her mouth. I dully register the cheer and applause going up from our guests. "Get a room," someone shouts. I've been waiting a long fucking time for this. I'm not the kid I was when I stumbled into Wicked. I wanted to save that place for the future kids like me, but I also wanted to save it for us. As a testament to our past. I don't need to. Even if I'm not destined to have a place in its future, I have a place in hers. Her welcoming warmth, along with the feel of the ring heavy on my finger, is everything in this moment. Her hips are flush with mine, and I want her so fucking badly. Not because I can't control myself. Because she's my wife. I could grace a thousand stages, record a million songs, and none of it would compare to a smile, a breath, a night with her. Any man who thinks he loves a woman less once he's married needs his head checked. "When's dinner?" Jacob hollers, and I finally pull back. "This isn't over," I murmur against Emily's swollen lips. She arches a brow. "I hope not. It's only the start." I grin because it'