“Of course,” he said like it was expected, and then I realized he was in the lead of a surprising parade of massive proportion.
Behind him were Aruna and Liam, Kohn and Kowalski, and the three boys—men—Ian and I watched over: Josue, Cabot, and Drake.
“How did you do this?” I asked as Kage shook Ian’s hand at the same time Aruna fluttered into my arms and her husband squeezed my shoulder.
“I called the judge’s clerk and asked him to make sure you two were called last, and then I had Kowalski and Kohn pick up your boys, and I sent Sharpe and White to get Aruna and Liam.”
“You weren’t actually going to get married without me, were you?” Aruna, one of my oldest, dearest friends, asked me.
“Course not,” I lied as she pulled her iPad Mini out of her bag. I was suddenly looking at the faces of three other women.
Besides Ian, I defined four other people in my life as family: Min Kwon, Catherine Benton, Aruna Duffy, and Janet Powell. Aruna was in Chicago with me, but Min was in her office in LA, Catherine was in scrubs at Mount Sinai Beth Israel, and Janet was in her office in Washington DC. They were all beaming at me and waving before Aruna turned it so they could see the others.
Kowalski glowered, but Eli gave them his patented flashing grin, and then on cue, I saw Sharpe and White coming toward us, followed by Ching and Becker with a guy in handcuffs between them. The man was bleeding, and Ching was wrapping the knuckles of his right hand with what looked like gauze. Everyone moved out of the way as Becker shoved their prisoner down beside Embrey. Two uniformed CPD officers came last, and they took up position, one on each side of the two men in handcuffs. Kage thanked them for being there, and they nodded, glancing over to us and, I was certain, wondering what the hell was going on. They didn’t dare question it, however. That was the chief deputy US marshal standing there.
I hugged everyone, and when we were called in, I made the walk with one hand in Ian’s and the other in Aruna’s.
We didn’t need witnesses, I knew that, but it made my heart swell and my eyes fill with everyone being there, even Dorsey and Ryan on FaceTime on Eli’s phone.
It was fast, all of ten minutes. The important part was not the words but that it was official, and when it was over, Ian belonged to me. Sliding the ring onto Ian’s finger settled my heart in my chest, grounded me, and fused him into my life forever. He was what I somehow thought he would never be: my husband. Even when he asked me to marry him, even when I said yes, I never thought we’d make it before the judge and have things legal and binding between us. But now I could see my whole life with him in it with such absolute certainty that I was, for a moment, overwhelmed. He was mine, and it was done, and as my vision blurred, he kissed me to a round of clapping and cheering. I put my face against his shoulder as I shuddered, and he held me tight enough to keep me from flying apart with happiness. It was, without a doubt, the greatest day of my life. I could not ever remember being happier.
Now, some months later, following Ian out of the club, seeing the resized ring back on his hand sent a tremor through me, and I had to clutch at him for balance.
“You all right?” he asked. I could hear the concern in his voice.
“Yeah, I’m great,” I assured him, lacing my fingers with his.
He took me out the back so we wouldn’t have to walk through the crowd, and on the street, bouncing along beside him, I asked how he’d known where I was.
“Kohn sent me pictures of you all night.”
I turned to walk backward to face him. “What?”
“Yeah, he’s an ass.”
“Are you kidding?” But I knew he wasn’t, and I understood Eli’s game. He’d been on my phone sending Ian pictures so he could see all the fun he was missing out on. The man was an evil genius, and I needed to thank him.
“No, I’m not kidding,” Ian snapped, puffed up and pissed off and utterly adorable.
“Did I look good?”
“Yes. Very.” He bit off each word, which was even cuter.
“Drunk?”
“What?”
“Did I look drunk?”
“Yeah. Your eyes get all glassy.”
“Oh yeah?”
“They get dark and wet.”
“Which you like.”
He grunted.
“Ian?” I fished, wanting to hear the words.
“Which I like. Yes.”
“So you were worried that I’d run off with some sailor out on leave or something?”
“Not a sailor,” he said, annoyed, petulant. “More like that guy—what’s his name?”
“Daley.”
“The fuck kind of name is that?”