God, I love him. I love his body. I love the weight of his hands as they skim across my bare skin. I love the way he kisses a path along my navel and hip, the feel of his tongue as he parts my thighs and settles between them.
He stays there until I’m so worked up I’m tingling, until I’m crying out and covering my mouth. I tug at his hair and his fingers dig into my skin, keeping me splayed out for him as he sits up. Realization dawns on his face as he tells me he forgot to pack condoms.
There’s a moment of hesitation, a look shared between us.
I don’t care one bit. Not in the least.
When I tell him that, he crawls up and over me, drops his mouth to mine, and kisses me hard. When he breaks off the kiss, he starts to whisper reverently, and the words are hard to make out at first. Then I realize he’s saying vows, promising to have and to hold me, to cherish me, to keep me in sickness and in health. He repeats all the words he didn’t mean when we were in the courtroom as he settles his weight over me and presses inside me gently, sealing us together.
I look up at him, my vision cloudy with tears.
“As long as we both shall live,” I add with a deliriously happy smile.
“As long as we both shall live,” he confirms before leaning down and capturing my lips.
Epilogue
Walt
I snap a photo with my phone as Elizabeth walks up ahead of me with our two daughters. They’re being silly, holding hands and exaggeratingly swinging their arms back and forth. Elizabeth walks in the middle, Lana and Isabelle on either side of her. The twins look so much like Elizabeth, and they take after her too. Their personalities are similar—they’re all talkers, so I barely get a word in edgewise in our house.
We’re in Paris, on a vacation we’ve been looking forward to for almost a year. There’s a temporary Cézanne exhibit at the d’Orsay I knew Elizabeth would love. I surprised her with tickets for our anniversary last year.
The girls are probably too young to really appreciate the trip they’re on, but Elizabeth is in heaven being here in her favorite city with our daughters.
It’s a perfect spring day, and the city is flooded with people eager to appreciate it.
The museum is just up ahead with a line formed out front. Soon, we’ll join it.
Isabelle looks back, waving for me to catch up. “You’re walking too slow, Dad!”
I pull a silly face, and she laughs.
Lana turns and comes back to get me, grabbing my hand so she can tug me along. “Mommy says we can get a treat after the museum. Can we?”
“If Mom says so.”
“She did.”
Then it’s law.
At least, that’s how it works in our house.
Lana and I catch up to Elizabeth and Isabelle at the end of the line to enter the museum. Elizabeth turns and smiles, and the sun highlights the vibrant green color of her eyes. Before I can stop myself, I lean in to kiss her and, as expected, our children act as if they’ve never seen anything more disgusting in their young lives.
“Grown-ups should not kiss,” Isabelle says with a facts-are-facts tone.
“It’s so gross!” Lana chimes in.
Elizabeth winks at me. “Hear that? We’re gross.”
“Oh, how the times have changed,” I say, leading us forward as the line shifts.
I wrap my arm around her waist, and she leans into me.
“My feet are killing me,” she laments.
“We can get a cab back to the hotel.”
“Not until after we get a treat!” Lana reminds me.
“Crepes?” Elizabeth asks, tilting her head to look up at me.
“We haven’t been to Bontemps yet,” I point out. “It’s just over in the third arrondissement.”
“Is that where we went—”
“The day after your show,” I say with a nod.
She smiles at the memory. “They had the best patisserie.”
It feels like just yesterday that we were in Paris for the first time. We spent a week here together after I surprised her at her show. At first, we stayed holed up in our hotel room, barely leaving our bed. I would have been just fine staying there forever, but Elizabeth eventually coaxed me up and out into the city. We went to the museums, rode the train out to Versailles, and ate lazy dinners by the Seine. We walked and talked, meandering aimlessly through the city, getting lost in different arrondissements and asking for directions in poor French. One morning, Elizabeth left a note on my pillow with directions for where I should meet her for a late breakfast. The address didn’t ring any bells as I got dressed and headed out into the city. I walked slowly, inexplicably lonely after only being away from Elizabeth for a short while. It struck me then how vital she’d become to my life.