His dark brown hair gleamed in the sun, burnished with copper highlights. His smart dark suit and white collared shirt looked crisp against his deep tan. Shoulders back, feet spread, he held my gaze, pulling me inexorably toward him, adoration in his deep brown eyes.
I could fall into them and never crawl out.
My parents fell away, taking seats behind us, as Clay clasped my hands.
“Lucifer, I’m proud of you for making it this far. Marry me?” he whispered.
“All day, every day,” I said.
Gran cleared her throat, her smile wicked. The hint of menace gave me a moment of doubt over our officiant choice. But she’d volunteered, and I hadn’t wanted to ask one of our friends to pull double duty.
“We’re gathered here today to help these two young people start a life together. I had the pleasure of witnessing the early phases of their relationship, when Clay would ask Lucy to marry him, and she’d respond with a resounding ‘no.’” Gran winked at Clay. “Someday, you’re going to have to tell me what you did to get her to say ‘yes.’ But maybe not in front of all of these witnesses.”
A roll of laughter spread through our guests.
“One thing that’s impressed me about Clay and Lucy as a couple is the way they unconditionally support each other. Through good days and bad. ‘Cause, honey, in any real marriage, you’re going to have both. I think they’ve got what it takes to go the distance.”
She cleared her throat. “Now, Clay. Do you take Lucy Millen as your wife, agreeing to be her husband, to grow old with her, to keep your relationship strong, and to face challenges together as you build a life where you both thrive? Do you agree to laughwith her, love with her, and do the work to maintain a healthy marriage?”
“I do.” His deep voice boomed across the clearing, loud and sure. He squeezed my hands, sincerity in every line of his handsome face.
Gran turned to me, eyes twinkling. “Do you, Lucy Millen, take Clay Robertson as your husband, agreeing to be his partner, to grow old with him, to keep your relationship strong, and to face challenges together as you build a life where you both thrive? Do you agree to laugh with him, love him, and do the work to maintain a healthy marriage?”
“I do.”
“Then, by the power vested in me by someone who didn’t know any better, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” She paused. “You may now get it on.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd, but I only had eyes for Clay. His lip quirked up, his eyes dancing as he gathered me close.
“I’m so proud to be your husband, Lucy.” He said it softly, just for me.
“And I’m lucky to be your wife.”
I leaned into him, and Clay took my weight easily, kissing me like I was precious. The kiss was sweet and sure. Like we had forever and each other—everything we could possibly need.
