Tattooed Sweetheart

Although I was fucking deliriously happy to finally get this wedding going and call Flora my wife, I also admitted, only to myself, that I was a little nervous. But not because of the whole marriage situation.

I was nervous I wouldn't be a good enough husband for her, that I’d lack somehow, someway. And that ate away at me, no matter how many times she told me she loved me, or that we were meant to be together.

Ryder came over and slapped my back in a brotherly way, his grin wide. “You forget,” he said with a hint of amusement in his face. “I can read your stubborn, grumpy ass. I know you’re nervous. But I’m sure your girl is too.”

“Come on. Let’s go, so I can finally call Flora my wife.”

We both headed out of the back room in the church and toward the altar. Although the guest list was pretty small, mainly friends we both made over the years in Sweetheart, Flora’s parents were present. Her sister, Tatum, was given—according to Tatum—the coveted Maid of Honor title.

I made my way toward the front, took my place, Ryder behind me as Best Man, and waited to watch the love of my life walk toward me.

I felt sweat start to line my spine, and I curled my hands into tight fists at my sides so they wouldn’t shake. My nerves were jumping frantically even more now, and the longer I waited, the worse it got.

I couldn’t breathe, and my bowtie felt so damn tight it was like I was suffocating. I reached up and tried to loosen it, my heart racing when I heard the telltale music start up. I straightened, exhaling slowly and telling myself to not pass out, that finally she’d be mine in all sense of the word.

The doors to the church opened, and Tatum walked down the aisle first. My heart was in my throat as I waited—impatiently—for my soon-to-be-bride to make her appearance.

And then my breath caught when I saw Flora, her arm through her father’s, the veil covering her face blocking me so I couldn't see how beautiful she looked. Although just seeing her in that white dress had the breath being sucked from my lungs.

They started walking toward me, my focus never leaving Flora. Even if I couldn’t see her face through the veil, I knew she’d be crying, just like I was on the verge of doing.

When they were a few feet from me, they stopped. I was glad her father and mother had come to their senses, realized that Flora and her sister could accomplish anything they wanted. That didn't mean I hadn’t harbored some seriously pissed-off vibes toward them when Flora had told me they'd been less than supportive, but over these last couple years things had been better with them.

And I was glad for that, because it meant the love of my life was happier.

Her father kissed her on a veiled cheek, and then he was handing her off to me. My heart was in my throat as I held her tiny hand in mine and helped her onto the podium, wanting to pull her in close and kiss her right then and there.

And then I reached out and gripped the delicate material of her veil, lifting it up and getting a glimpse of her face. I saw it every day for the last couple of years now, but even still, my breath caught, my heart raced, and I fell in love with her even more.

“Beautiful,” I whispered, and she smiled, a light blush tinting her cheeks.

And then we were going through the motions of the ceremony, and I couldn’t stop looking at her. I couldn’t stop memorizing every single inch of her face, or reeling at the fact that I was the luckiest bastard to ever live.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

I blinked, surprised we were already at this part. I’d been so transfixed by Flora that I had just gone through the motions, and here we were. The final thing. The kiss. The beginning of our life official now.

I cupped her cheeks, leaned in, and kissed the ever-loving hell out of her. “My wife,” I whispered against her lips, still holding her face gently in my big hands. “Finally.” I felt her grin against my lips, and I kissed her again and again. “You were always mine, but now it’s official, baby.”

She pulled back and stared up at me, her hands now over mine as I still cupped her face. “And you were always mine.”

We turned and faced the guests, the grin on my face big, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit my eyes were a bit misty.

I looked at my wife, my chest aching with pride as I thought that word.

She. Would. Always. Be. Mine.

Epilogue Two

Malkolm

Five years later