Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Her teeth sink into her lower lip as the bespectacled man repeats the question to her.
“I do,” she says. “A thousand times, I do.”
We exchange the rest of the formalities, but neither of us are paying much attention to him anymore. We’re both sizing each other up, drinking in the beautiful outfits we donned for the ceremony, and picturing how much better they’d look discarded at the foot of our bed while we make sweet, passionate love.
“Shall we exchange the rings?” he asks, noticing how neither of us followed along.
A mischievous smile crosses my face. “I got you something,” I say in a similar fashion to the first night I handed the small heart pendant dangling from Penelope’s neck. “It isn’t much, I know, but I thought you might like it.”
“You got me something?” Penelope asks, crinkling her nose at the realization of my call back.
I slip my hand into my jacket and grab the box out of my pocket. It’s the same one from that night, with the 23 scratched off in favor of my terrible handwriting reading marriage. I hand it to her, and she cracks it open to find a golden ring with a small diamond atop it. She takes it out, and her eyes catch the engraving inside.
Forever and always, My Queen.
“It’s beautiful.” Her voice cracks as tears threaten to spill from her eyes.
“You sure are,” I repeat the same silly joke from when I first arrived.
The bespectacled man smiles, placing a hand on both mine and Penelope’s shoulders. “By virtue of the authority vested in me under the laws of God, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He gives me a warm smile and a nod of his head. “You may kiss the bride.”
Those are the words I’ve been waiting for.
I wrap a hand around the small of Penelope’s back and pull her to me. Our mouths lock, souls interconnect, and tongues meet somewhere in the middle of it all. She throws her arms wildly around my shoulders and pulls me tighter. Her hot tears tickle my cheeks.
“Thank you, Harker,” she whispers against my lips. “I fucking love you.”
“And I love you, Penelope Jameson. More than the sun and the stars.”
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
PENELOPE
Ten Years Later
It’s quiet. Too quiet.
Not the usual morning rush with our daughter singing and dancing through the house while Harker’s on his third business call before breakfast is served. But something’s going on if he lets me sleep in this late.
Shit, it’s 8 AM. Did I miss helping Melina get ready for school?
In a frantic panic, I jump out of bed and pull on my gown. I start rushing for the door, but before I reach it, I can hear their whispers from beyond.
“She’s up. Are you ready?” Harker asks.
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Melina snickers.
“Three, two…” Harker can’t get to one before the door bursts open and they enter singing Happy Birthday.
Melina walks in first with a tray resting on both her arms. A plate of waffles, a cup of coffee, and a glass of orange juice swish precariously as her arms rattle and shake from excitement. Harker is close behind, with our baby boy Zachary nestled in his arms.
Even though he’s wearing a pair of tracksuit pants, his top half is covered in an expensive blazer.
The singing comes to an end after the hip, hip hoorays, and Melina sets the tray down on the bed. A mix of coffee and orange juice layers the bottom of it.
“Happy birthday, momma.” She sprints into my arms and gives me a big bear hug. I wrap my arms around my daughter and kiss the crown of her head.
“Thank you, baby girl,” I say. An overwhelming feeling of love washes over me. Tears well in my eyes and my heart echoes pure happiness throughout my body.
It isn’t the first time I’ve thought about it since Harker and I disappeared from our old lives, and it won’t be the last, I’m sure. But seeing him and all these little things he does to make me feel special fills me with so much joy and love.
My mind rarely wanders to my own father and how difficult he made my youth. But seeing how Harker manages to keep his children happy, while simultaneously continuing with work, shows me that there was a chance for it. Unlike Harker, my father was rotten to the core. He only cared about himself, and now…
Well, he’s paying for it.
“Happy birthday, my love,” Harker says, holding Zachary up to me. “The little man got you something.”
That’s when I spot it. The little pink box resting atop the wrappings of Zachary’s blanket.
“It’s not much, but we thought you might like it,” Harker adds.
It’s become part of tradition now. Every birthday, he dons the same blazer he wore all those years ago, finds a box that matches the very same one he used that night, and presents my gift inside it.