She turns to Mateo. “And I’ve known Mateo long enough to know he didn’t believe he deserved this kind of happiness. But here he is. Shining like someone who finally realized he was worthy of everything. And you are, Mateo.”
Mateo swallows hard, and I reach for his hand again. We say our vows. His are unrehearsed, rough edged, and beautiful. Mine are scribbled on a notecard I rewrote six times, but when I say them, they come out clear and unwavering.
We talk about choosing each other. About being safe places. About laughter in the hard times and dancing in the kitchen at midnight. About Maya. Always about Maya.
When Hilda finally says, “You may now kiss your wife,” Mateo doesn’t hesitate.
His hands are on my waist in an instant, and his lips find mine in a kiss that feels like everything—past, present, and future all wrapped into one.
The crowd cheers. Someone whoops loudly (probably Andres), and Maya throws more petals in the air while shouting, “They’re married now!”
We turn to face everyone, hands raised in triumph, and Mateo leans down to whisper, “You’re stuck with me now.”
“Good,” I whisper back, “because I’ve never felt more sure of anything.”
The house is quiet now. The music from the reception has faded, the last of the guests have gone, and Maya is tucked in at Seb and Mari’s for the night.
I stand barefoot in the middle of our bedroom, heart still fluttering from the high of the day, from the way Mateo looked at me like I hung the moon and then some. I run my hand over the soft lace of my dress one last time before I slip the zipper down and let it fall to the floor.
Ten weeks ago, I could barely walk without pain. And now, I’m standing tall, on my own two feet, about to have sex with my husband. God, I can’t believe we got married—my husband, my husband, my husband, I’ll never get tired of saying that.
My entire body hums. Mateo appears in the doorway to the bathroom, one hand braced on the frame, that crooked grin already tugging at his mouth. “I have a surprise for you,” he says, voice low and full of something wicked.
I raise a brow. “Oh yeah? What is it?”
He laughs, dark and warm. “You’ll see.”
I bite my lip, heartbeat kicking up a notch. “Bring it on, Mr. Rodriguez.”
The door creaks shut behind him. When it opens again, I turn, and nearly lose my breath. Mateo steps out shirtless, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs…and a Ghostface mask.
“Are you serious?” I ask, already breathless.
He leans against the doorframe, voice low and full of mischief. “You said it was a fantasy. And I did promise you a wedding night gift.”
I laugh, nervous and turned the hell on. “You’re ridiculous.”
He tilts his head, the mask making the motion both eerie and stupidly hot. “And you married me anyway.”
“Because you’re hot,” I tease, backing toward the bed.
“I think you want me to chase you,” he says, taking slow, deliberate steps forward.
I swallow, my thighs pressing together. “I want you to ruin me.”
That’s all it takes.
He’s on me in seconds, dragging me to the bed, pinning me beneath him with a growl that goes straight to my pussy. The cool plastic of the mask presses against my cheek as his mouth finds the curve of my neck.
“You’ve been teasing me in that dress all night,” he mutters. “Looking like a fucking angel. And now you’re mine, Mrs. Rodriguez.”
“Say it again,” I breathe, my nails digging into his shoulders.
“Mrs. Rodriguez. My wife. My filthy, perfect wife.”
He pulls back just enough to rip the mask off and toss it aside. His mouth crashes onto mine, and the heat between us explodes like it’s been waiting all this time. Because it has. Since the fire. Since the pain. Since the fear. But now? Now, there’s only this.
He kisses me until I can’t think, then trails his mouth down my body, over the valley between my breasts, my stomach, the dip of my hips, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses and soft bites that make my legs shake.
