“I love you, Pres. I love you with everything I am.”
He pulled back and surged forward again, cupping the back of her head tenderly, capturing her eyes with his. The swelling that had started in her heart had turned into a wave of trembling, quivering anticipation, and she whimpered loudly, holding on to his eyes for as long as she could. As he surged forward again, her eyes rolled back in her head and her entire body tightened to the point of rigidity. With a cry of delight, she exploded around him in a million points of pleasure, from the tips of her toes to the on her head, and everywhere in between…and all of it, every last bit of who she was, belonged to him. To Preston. To her husband.
“I love you!” he bellowed, sliding forward one last time and pulsing, hot and vital, into the deepest depths of her body, joining them together in every possible way, from now until the end of their days.
***
Hours later, when they’d made love twice more and showered together, Preston toweled off his wife, then wrapped her in a fluffy white towel, and carried her to their bed. Snuggling beside him, she shimmied out of the towel and pressed her naked back against his naked front. He pulled her against him, his arm over her hip, nestled under her breasts.
She sighed, a sound of pure happiness, and he held her tighter, profoundly aware of the second choice they’d found and taken, and committed to never taking a moment with her for granted.
It was dark in his room, and so quiet, he was sure she’d fallen asleep when he heard her voice, soft and low, say, “Pres?”
“I thought you were asleep.”
She shook her head against the pillow and her hair tickled his nose. “Not yet.”
“You okay?”
“I’m perfect,” she said, “except for one thing.”
“Whatever it is, I’ll fix it for you, I’ll get it for you, I’ll slay it for you, or buy it for you, or barter for it, or beg, borrow, or steal. Tell me what you need, sweetheart, and it’s yours.”
She turned in his arms and faced him, her breasts flush against his chest, her lips a breath away from his.
“I don’t want to be someone I’m not. I’m Elise Winslow. That’s who I am. That’s who I want to be to the whole world.”
“But we decided—”
“Marry me,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief and happiness as she reached for his cheek.
“Did you just propose to me?” he asked, grinning at her, his smile so wide it ached.
“Mm-hm,” she hummed, leaning forward to kiss his lips. “And your answer is…”
Tell me what you need, sweetheart, and it’s yours.
“Yes,” he said. “I’d marry you every day for the rest of my life if it would make you happy.”
“Tomorrow,” she said, invoking his proposal to her, then giggling at his expression. “No. No. Not tomorrow. I’m kidding. But…soon. I don’t care if it looks rushed. I don’t want to sneak around to be with my husband. I want for the whole world to know I’m your wife.”
“How about…two weeks?” he said, beaming at her, loving the idea of renewing their vows in front of both their families. “Do you think we can get them all together?”
“Will yours be willing to travel?” she asked.
“For my wedding? Nothing would keep them away.”
“Lowville?” she asked, her eyes hopeful.
“On the farm,” he agreed. “I love it.”
They were both silent for a moment, staring at each other with goofy, happy smiles, digesting this new turn of events.
“Do you really think it’s possible?” Preston asked. “In two weeks?”
“I’m here in your arms,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him again. Her tongue darted out to play with his, making him thicken and swell all over again. “Anything’s possible. We’ll…”
“…figure it out,” he finished for her. “I love you to the moon and back. Writing it in the stars alone could never be enough.”
“Then write it every day on the fabric of our lives…” she said, borrowing the words that had been spoken at their wedding, “to form a most beautiful tapestry.”
“I promise,” he vowed. “Every day.”
“Me too.”
She kissed him again, and he pressed himself against her, letting her know how much he wanted her again.
“You know what we never said?” she asked, a saucy smile on her lips as she rolled to her back and crooked a finger at him, inviting him to follow. “Happy anniversary, Mr. Winslow.”
“Happy anniversary, Mrs. Winslow,” he answered, covering her body with his and leaning down to kiss his wife. “Happy forever.”
EPILOGUE
Nine months later
“This is Juliana Rankovic reporting live from the red carpet where we’re about to go inside and find out who will be the next Best Actress winner!”
“Right you are, Juliana. And this has been one exciting race. Powerhouse Amy Adams is here with her sixth Academy Award nomination, Sigourney Weaver with her fourth nomination, and Miranda Richardson and Kiera Knightly each here with their third.”