“What was that?” I ask, glancing around.
Sylus grins as the machine spits out a glossy photo. He snatches it up and hands it to me with a flourish. It’s us, pinkies intertwined, kissing like the world around us doesn’t exist. Smiling against each other’s lips. We look… happy. Genuinely, stupidly happy. And the sight of it does something to my chest, like my heart’s trying to burst through my ribs.
Congratulations to the happy couple!
The machine hums again, spitting out a second piece of paper. Its tiny printer whirs, and Sylus grabs the paper eagerly.
Certificate of Marriage for Novalee Sparkle Evans and Sylus Walker.
He looks at it like he’s won the lottery, his grin so wide it’s almost boyish. “You can keep the picture.” He holds the certificate up triumphantly. “I’m keeping the piece of paper that tells me you’re mine.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet, you said yes.” His eyes mischievously glint as he folds the paper with deliberate care and slides it into his wallet like it’s a priceless treasure.
He grabs my hand again and pulls me across the street to the van. Opening the door with a casual swing, he gestures for me to climb in. “Come on,wifey. Let’s get you home. I need to consummate this union.”
I snort. “Ridiculous indeed.”
“And yet, here we are,” he quips, putting his hands on my hips to help me hop in.
With a laugh, I slide into the seat, still clutching the photo. I keep glancing down at it the entire ride, tracing the outlines of our smiles, the joy captured by that silly machine. My anxiety is surprisingly quiet. It’s like my mind is too busy replaying the last few minutes, the absurdity, the sweetness, to let fear take the wheel.
When we pull up to the mansion, Sylus hops out first, grabbing my bag and purse without a word. I climb out after him with my box, holding it carefully in my hands as we head inside, making our way to the second floor. Instead of going to his bedroom, he continues down the hall to a door I’ve never seen open.
“Wait here,” he softly commands as he opens it and steps inside, setting my bag down on the floor and my purse on the bed.
I linger in the hallway, peeking in hesitantly. It’s a guest room, neutral colors, simple decor.
Sylus takes the box from my hands, placing it on the dresser next to the door. He turns to find me still standing at the threshold, an eyebrow raised.
“Where are we?”
“Your new room,” he says matter-of-factly. “At least for now. Ric figured you’d want your own space if you’re going to be around us all the time until shit goes down.”
I blink. Of course, Ace would think of that. He knows me too well—knows how much I value even a sliver of independence. It’s thoughtful, so typically him.
But the truth is, being with them, being in their rooms, surrounded by them, their teasing, their heat, doesn’t bother meat all. Not in the way I thought it might. Instead, it’s a balm to the raw edges of loneliness I’ve carried for so long.
This sense of belonging, of being part of something bigger than myself, is what I’ve missed most in the last eight years. For the first time in forever, I don’t feel like I’m simply existing.
I’m… home.
Fuck.
Sylus sweeps me up into a bridal carry, making me squeal in surprise.
“What the hell are you doing?” I laugh, swatting at his shoulder.
“Carrying my bride over the threshold,” he replies with mock seriousness, kicking the door closed behind him. “You know, tradition and all that.” He sets me back down on the floor before flopping on the bed, legs splayed out. “Wanna consummate this union now, or do I have to wait for our honeymoon?”
I snort, grabbing my purse from next to him and digging through it for lip balm. “Patience,hubby.You’re already getting all the benefits of a marriage without the divorce papers.”
“Have some mints in here?” He reaches over and snatches my purse out of my hand, rummaging through it like a raccoon in a trash can. I let him dig, rolling my eyes as he mutters commentary to himself.
“A wallet, some glitter, a half-eaten granola bar… Jesus, Sparkle, is this from the Ice Age?” He pulls out a small tin, rattling it next to his ear. “Jackpot.”
“You don’t want one of those.”
