“Augustus,” she breathes, long after we’ve composed ourselves, now lying side-by-side atop the earth that will soon be ours. “Is this our happy ending?”
“No, Little Vice.” I twirl her hair around my finger, studying the stars as she lies on my chest. “It’s the start of our happy beginning.”
42
VICE
“BIRDS OF A FEATHER” - BILLIE EILISH
FOUR MONTHS LATER
“God, you two are fucking criminal,”Dahlia calls, watching me from where she sits on the massive beach blanket with a hand covering her eyes. “It’s actually annoying. I want you to leave.”
I finish slipping off my denim shorts, kicking them aside as I adjust the triangles of my black bikini top. August snorts from beside me, and when I glance at him, I absolutely understand her sentiment. He’s giving me the same kind of assessment, his eyes—barely visible behind darkened transparent lenses—track all of my exposed flesh. I’m stuck on his sun-kissed skin, the expanse of patchwork tattoos along his arms and torso, and the sculpted muscles of his toned stomach.
“We’re not making anyone leave, Wildflower,” my twin muses as he rubs sunscreen into his wife’s ever-growing stomach while she leans back on her elbows and tilts her head toward the sun. “You’re the most beautiful person on the planet, I promise. Total MILF.”
Everett lies on his stomach between her legs, resting his face on her belly. We’re just about six weeks out from Dahlia’sdue date with their set of twins, but Everett isn’t wrong. She’s glowing. Her sapphire ring and diamond-studded wedding band reflect the sunlight as she runs her fingers through his hair, smiling softly down at him. He proposed during their trip over the summer, and they got married in a courthouse not long after returning home. Now, they’re working through the process of having Everett officially adopt Lou.
“He’s right,” I chime, bending over to pull a towel out of my bag. “You are a MILF.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Leo shouts from behind me. “What the hell is on your ass?”
I snap straight, turning to glance down at my own backside. August lets out a small laugh, leaning back on his elbows from the towel beside me, studying my body with rapt appreciation.
“It’s a tattoo,” I say casually.
“Is that a fucking bite mark?” Everett asks, lowering his sunglasses and staring at me with narrowed eyes.
Leo’s frowning, face shaded by the umbrella he sits beneath on Dahlia and Everett’s other side, rocking Willow as she sleeps against his bare chest.
I shrug, turning back to my bag and pulling out my towel, August helping me spread it beside him. I sit on my knees in front of August, tossing my hair behind my shoulders.
“Did… Did Auggie tattoo his bite mark on your ass cheek in red ink?” Leo asks.
My eyes pop open, jaw ticking with annoyance. “Yes,” I hiss. “And I tattooed my lips on his pelvic bone in red ink too. Right above his?—”
“Dude,” Leo scoffs, directing his attention to August. “That is…”
“Super hot, honestly,” Darby pipes up from her husband’s other side, lowering her book into her lap.
“Honeysuckle.” He gasps. “I was going to say possessive and insane.”
“On brand.” August laughs under his breath as he scoops my hair off my back and begins splitting it into sections before twisting it into a braid. I taught him how a few months ago, and he’s loved playing with my hair ever since.
“It’s definitely insane, but I can’t say I’m surprised in the slightest,” Everett mutters.
Our commotion must’ve woken Willow, because a shrieking laugh rips through the space, and when I look back at them, Leo’s eyes are wide, sparkling with amusement. His daughter sits up on his chest, babbling incoherently as she places her tiny hands on her dad’s cheeks.
“Yeah, sugar. Tell me all about it.” He smiles contentedly as Darby leans over, pressing her lips to Willow’s head before kissing Leo too. They watch their daughter, donned in the most adorable powder-blue ruffled swimsuit with a matching bow on her head. Darby’s wearing a suit of the same color, and the expression on my brother’s face when he looks at them feels like a definitive representation of one’s dreams coming true.
“Jules finally caught the frisbee in her mouth,” Lou says, panting as she runs up the beach, placing her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “She needs practice.”
A fluff of brown fur barrels against August’s chest a moment later as she plants her front paws on his thighs and begins licking his face. I laugh, brushing my hand through her soft pelt and scratching behind her ears.
We went to the shelter about three months ago to search for a dog, and we came across some grungy mutt with the cutest fucking face I’d ever seen. She looked like she wanted to be a border collie but couldn’t figure out quite how.
They told us her name was July, and I knew then that it was kismet. If I spent my whole life with a July and an August, every day would feel like summer.
