The dress is a Tar-jay, two years old, white with eyelet trim and a bit of a daring neckline, but very simple and sweet, too. I think I got it for twelve bucks on clearance, but it doesnât matter. Itâs his favorite. My hair is in my favorite messy bun, and my makeup is almost nil.
The locale is the musty-smelling county courthouse in downtown Boulder, right down the way from the DMV and the bail bonds office, where our officiant has just gotten done fining a guy for public drunkenness.
The details have cost us about thirty-four dollars, for the marriage license and an hourâs worth of parking at the lot behind the building.
Except for the judge, weâre alone.
Itâs my fantasy wedding come true.
Because now, everythingâs right.
He slips the ring on my finger, his hands trembling just as they had before, when I realized how much he loved me.
This time, I canât wait for forever. This time, thereâs no doubt. We will love, honor, and cherish each other, âtil death do us part.
When Iâm asked if I take this man, I answer in a clear, loud voice. âI do.â He says the same, his eyes never leaving mine.
And then we are pronounced man and wife.
Weâre fucking married!
He kisses me, and I hook my arm through his. He leads me outside, his chin up high, as proud a man as Iâve ever seen.
On this hot summer day, there isnât a snowflake in sight, but there is a cart outside, selling pretzels. He buys me one, and we sit on the steps outside the courthouse, sharing it. Of course, he lets me have the bigger piece.
âSo what shall we do now, Mrs. Foster?â he asks me when I finish, and Iâm licking the salt off my fingers.
We didnât make plans for a honeymoon. In fact, the plans to do this were hatched just a couple days ago. Together, we help each other embrace our spontaneous sides, and we have a lot of fun doing it. Heâs not that bitter old grouch who skulks around, hating everyone in the world, anymore.
I grin at him. âI like that name a lot, but thatâs not my real name, is it? Are you ever going to tell me who you really are, or do you prefer to remain an international man of mystery?â
âSome mystery.â His eyes gleam as he leans over and whispers in my ear, âMichael Abenante.â
Itâs a secret only he and I know. I love that he holds other people at armâs length, but lets me in, all the way. He lets meâand only meâtouch him any way I please, and I think Iâm going to use that to my full advantage tonight. And let him go as deep as he wants, into me.
I wrap my arms around him. âI think we should go home.â
His eyes gleam with mischief. âYeah?â
âMmm-hmm. As good as I feel now, I think I might actually be able to beat you at chess.â
âOh, is that whatâs on your mind?â
âThat andâ¦other things. Maybe. If youâre lucky.â
âI am very, very lucky,â he agrees. He pulls me close, nuzzles my neck, and whispers, âMaybe Iâll let you win.â
I giggle at the feeling of his breath on my ear, and people on the street smile at us, because weâre laughing like schoolkids and grinning from ear to ear.
Not that anything else really matters.
I love being Mrs. Foster. Dahlia Abenante. Milesâ wife. Whatever Iâm called, it means Iâm his and heâs mine. Thatâs all there is to it. I love this man with every part of my heart, in a way that Iâll probably never be able to express, in a thousand lifetimes.
And I know. I definitely just know.