“Don’t mind if I do.” Grabbing Estelle by her nape, I yanked her close and kissed her.
I kissed her until my trousers were tight and lungs were empty.
I kissed her and wiped away everything that’d happened.
I kissed her with a promise that we might not have a priest or official document but this was as real to me as any ceremony.
We were married.
Until death did us part.
And even then, I’d put up a fight to keep her.
.............................
That night, once the kids were in bed, and we’d eaten an amazing dinner, Estelle and I headed to our bamboo sanctuary that’d become our date night and sexy time hang-out.
There, I made love to her.
I stripped her bare.
I kissed every inch.
I licked her all over.
And when I entered her, I did it as her husband.
I vowed that we were one now.
And no matter what happened, I would take care of her.
.............................
DECEMBER
The day of our fight and consequential marriage helped clear the air completely.
November trailed into December, and we respected each other’s feelings. We were careful to be open and honest about how things were. And somehow, we became closer rather than drifted apart.
Estelle still hated when I laid down the law, ordering her not to do something. And I did my best to hide my desire to lock her in a protective bubble, settling for treating her like filigreed china instead.
She didn’t like my bossiness but tolerated my demands for her to take it easy because she knew it came from a loving place. A completely infatuated place.
I forbid her from any heavy lifting.
I took over her job of collecting firewood.
I fished.
I cleaned.
I even helped her soak more flax until the softest strands were available for a baby blanket.
She barely tolerated me, but I never felt excluded if she needed some alone time. She went out of her way to make sure I felt valued and adored, and when she kissed me, she held my entire world in her palm.
We’d found balance.
We’d become a team rather than enemies.
By day, I worked on building an extension to our home, creating a lean-to that was accessible from our bedroom where the newly built crib would rest.
I just hope my skills design a better crib than a raft.
I still cringed, thinking how quickly and disastrously the bamboo platform had broken apart. Turned out, I should stick to land architecture, not boats.
By night, I massaged her back, combed her hair, and rubbed her aching feet.
I didn’t let her out of my sight, and even permitted Conner and Pippa to spend the night on the other side of the island as an adventure and non-traditional sleepover, just so I could make tender love to her in front of the fire without having to traipse to our grove.
She ate what I told her to, ensuring she had her ration and most of mine to feed both mother and growing child. As she grew bigger, I grew skinnier as I refused to fish too often so I wasn’t far from her.
Conner picked up a lot of my slack, taking on more duties, and restocking our pile of coconuts and water reservoirs without me asking him to.
Not once did he give me grief, and I never caught him gawking at Estelle in inappropriate ways.
Perhaps, he’d only been joking. Not that it mattered; I’d keep an eye on him just in case.
Once again, we chose not to celebrate Christmas.
The birthdays were enough to remind us of quickly passing time. However, we did plan a big meal and bonfire when the turtles returned.
We spent the night watching the massive beasts haul their bulk from the tide and repeat the same process from a year ago, laying countless eggs, doing their best for their offspring’s chance, before slinking back into the sea in silence.
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JANUARY
Pippa had another birthday.
It felt like only yesterday she’d turned eight. The little girl, resembling a washed-up princess, slowly turned into a young woman complete with long legs, beseeching eyes, and a wicked intelligence that thought outside the box and allowed us to experiment with different materials, find plants that provided pain relief for mosquito bites, and flowers that helped with swelling and sprains.
We weren’t often hurt but everyday scrapes and injuries were common. She somehow morphed into the pharmacist of our island-world, constantly murmuring with Estelle about what to try next and the risks versus reward of the red and yellow flowers decorating our beach.
Our larder slowly housed a small apothecary, too. Growing with herbs and supplies as analysis turned to verification.
I had no doubt if she were back in a city with schooling and teachers, she would’ve been top of her class and already on her way to deciding her career.
I’d asked her a week ago what she wanted to be when she grew up.
And despite the caustic reply that she doubted we’d get off the island, she wanted to be a doctor.
She certainly had an affinity for healing and health.
Unlike the murderer I killed.
I just hoped we wouldn’t need her adolescent skills when it came time for Estelle to give birth.
Chapter Fifty-One