We pause, and I look down at my guitar, then at her piano.
“Fuck, I didn’t pick a song.” I run a hand through my hair. What kind of idiot forgets this? Probably one who was too excited about his wedding to think about it.
“I have one in mind.” She plays around with the keyboard, learning where all of the buttons are for everything. Stevie finally settles on a volume and tone she likes before telling me the name of the song. “‘Die With A Smile.’” Her head tips to the side. “I’ve heard you play it around the apartment.”
I let out a deep exhale. “It’s perfect.”
My wife smiles widely. “You do know that you’re going to have to sing as much as I have to, right?”
“Yes, Bambi, I know,” I deadpan.
“What’s the holdup?” Gran asks from the seats.
“Mom, give them a second.” My mom mouthssorryto me and Stevie.
We laugh before I count us down. I start singing first and play. Stevie joins in with the piano, and I didn’t realize till the end of the first verse how much I’d be singing by myself. There’s a moment where I start to feel nervous; that is, until I meet a pair of green eyes that are already looking into mine. She nods once, silently telling me to keep going, and everything around us disappears.
The rest of the song continues that way, and when she joins in, I get lost in her. We’re back where we were on Valentine’s Day, but now it’s so much better. I should’ve known back then. I knew there was something, but I was stupid enough to think it was strictly physical attraction.
Damn, she’s amazing. She pushes me in ways I didn’t know I needed. She’s brave, talented, and the most caring person I’ve ever met.
Now she’s my wife. My forever. And I’m the luckiest motherfucker in the world for it.
Epilogue
STEVIE
Middle of July - One and a half months before Senior Year
The sun settles as five p.m. passes, and the heat is now tolerable. I keep my eyes closed as I fix my bikini top to cover my breasts properly.
The sun disappears completely in a second. Confused, I open my eyes to find a wet-haired Levi standing next to my towel where I’m laying out. His muscles flex as he pushes his hair back, and my gaze travels down his torso, where I find his still existing eight-pack.
“Your bikini doesn’t cover much up, does it now?” he huffs out, sounding as jealous and annoyed as ever. “Every man on this beach is looking at what’s mine, and as much as I approve of their taste, I’m not enjoying the fact that some of them are fixing themselves in their pants.” His lip curls in disgust.
Well, that’s disturbing, but hell, it’s a beach. I’m going to wear what I want, and he knows that.
Something catches the corner of my eye, and I hold in my laugh at what I find. I lift my hand and point to the group of twenty-something-year-old girls passing by. All of them practically break their necks trying to catch the attention of the dark-haired, blue-eyed Adonis standing in front of me.
Levi follows my finger, glances at the girls, and looks back down at me.
“I don’t like women looking like they’re ready to throw their panties at my husband, but there’s nothing I can do about it without getting arrested, now, is there?”
He narrows his eyes back before smirking devilishly. “Later.”
Shivering and smiling, I say, “I’ll hold you to that.”
Levi sits on the towel next to me, and his phone buzzes for the umpteenth time since we’ve gotten to the beach, which is not too far from my dad’s house in Barcelona. It’s the first stop of our two-and-a-half-week vacation, which everyone surprised us with. Our next stop is France, followed by Italy. The money we were given was just enough to visit a handful of cities in cheap rooms, but Levi and I agreed that this was our last chance to travel for a while, considering we’ll both be swamped for the rest of the summer. Then, senior year will get even busier, and we’ll hopefully have jobs after we graduate.
We’ve been married for about a month now, and it’s exactly like everyone has described the first month to be. Scratch that, it’s been better. For the first time in a long, long time, I’m no longer scared of what’s going to happen next. I’m just here for the ride with the man I love.
As my husband grabs his phone, I brush a finger over the tattoo he got at Ethan’s shop a week after our wedding. It’s a timeline of the things we’ve done since we met. A symbol for every item we checked on the list, including a small pair of handcuffs from when we got arrested. On the end, a guitar case sits on top of a piano with a bouquet of lavender next to it.
The piece takes up most of his right bicep, and my heart melts just like it did the first time I saw it. I told him he was crazy for doing it, and he was doomed if we ever got divorced, but even the mention of the word felt wrong.
Those dark blue eyes meet mine, and he leans over to give me a brief kiss. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
I smile against his lips. “Just thinking about how we’re never going to get a divorce.”
