“I get it. But please, no more secrets, sweetheart. Tell us everything that’s going on up there,” Marco taps her forehead. “And we’ll take care of everything else.”
“Okay. What would you guys think about making it official right here, right now?”
I cock my head and quirk my brow. “Um, babe, I don’t think South Korea is cool with public fornication.”
“No, you pervert,” she laughs and pushes me. “I mean, since the three of us can’t legally get married, why don’t we just havethisbe our ceremony? You guys just said the most beautiful vows… let me do the same. What do you think?”
Marco looks at me affectionately. “If I can make you my husband even a second sooner, I’ll do it.”
Look at him—the man before me who didn’t know his best friend was in love with him for four years. The man who didn’t know he harbored the same feelings for a long time too. Here he is, his heart open, his eyes pleading. Only a fool would wait. I nod, “Okay, I’m in.” I settle my head against his as we watch Cora beam.
“Marco Antonio Borrelli, you are my north star. When I’m lost and scared, I know I can always find my way home with you. You bring peace and serenity to my life. The way you care for me makes me feel special and worthy, and I promise to care for you in the same way. I promise to love you with all my heart, with every broken piece both of you have fused back together. I will fight for you and Jay, and I will fight for us. Forever.”
Marco tenderly holds her face in his palm. “Forever, baby.”
“Jamison Nicholas Bishop, I love you for everything that you are. You’re the brightest ray of sunshine I’ve ever seen. You make me put my bare feet in the grass and stop to smell the roses. You make me take life less seriously. And that’s exactly what I need,” she chokes on her words but lets her tears fall. “I need someone to dance with.”
I touch her face too, thumbing the wetness from under her eye. “I’ll lead the way, baby.”
“I promise to let go with you both. I promise to trust you and hold you and love you every day of my life.” She smiles, then adds, “You may kiss your bride.”
I go in for her lips first, and she presses her hand into my lower back as I cradle her head. Her pink lips sink into mine, opening slightly, and letting me slip a little tongue.
When we pull away, Marco immediately joins their lips, too. I admire them, etching this moment into my memory. His dark beard against her plush pink skin; their kiss turning into a smile neither one of them can shake.
Our guitarist switches over to a lovely rendition of Natasha Bedingfield’sUnwritten, and Marco releases Cora’s lips. He tilts his head to me with that crooked smile I love. “Did you hire that guitarist?”
“Kiss me and I’ll tell you.” He chuckles and plants his lips on mine. “Yes, I did, husband.”
“Mmm, the sweetest words you’ve ever said. Come here, wife,” Marco says, pulling Cora up into a final, binding kiss between us.
Epilogue
Marco
Nine Months Later
“Deeper.Ohyeahhhh,that’sit,” Cora groans, and I dig my thumbs into her shoulder blade as she lays on my home massage table. The table has a cutout not only for her swollen breasts, but also for her beautiful, enormous belly. Her due date is tomorrow and we’re trying to throw her into labor. The doctor wants to induce her, but she desperately wants her body to do it on its own.
Ever since the seven-month mark, I’ve increased the frequency of her prenatal massages to every other day to help ease her back pain and help blood flow. She’s had a smooth pregnancy this whole time, growing exactly the way she should, both her and the baby with strong heartbeats.
Her appetite has been a whirlwind, though. For a while in the beginning, foods she previously loved were not only not allowed in the house, but we couldn’t even speak the name of the food without her gagging.
I’m still afraid to saypeanut butter.
“Can you rub my hips again, baby? That’s the worst part.”
“Of course. Right here?” I ask, running the edge of my hand down her side and back up several times.
“Yeah,” she huffs. “And maybe take your pants off.”
I chuckle because she’s already had me take my shirt off. “You’re my favorite client, Mrs. Bishop.”
We decided on our trip that we all wanted the same last name, but we couldn’t decide on which one. So, like the mature and rational problem solver she is, Cora wrote down all three of our last names, put the pieces of paper in a cup, and drew one out.
We’re now a proud matching set: Mrs. and Mr. and Mr. Bishop.
“I thought I was your favorite client?” Jay says by way of greeting as he walks in the room with a glass of water.
