Page 127 of Floodgates

But it wasn’t my father who was next: it was me. Cord came home a week before Christmas and got down on one knee. I almost tripped over him. I was making spaghetti for me, him, and Dimah a month after he moved in, and I needed mushrooms from the refrigerator. When I turned, Cord was there, on the floor, and I walked right into him.

“Cord, what are you—”

He held up the small black velvet box, and I went mute. “I want everything with you. A house, babies—all of it. So marry me, okay?”

All I could do was stare at him.

“Please, love.”

And I loved him, there was no doubt, but did I trust him? The man had been the biggest manwhore in the history of ever. Could I trust him to be true?

“You know I’m good for the happily ever after, yeah? I’m your guy.”

It was the little things that told me I could place my faith in him. The way he always had to stand close to me, in my space. How he tracked me with his eyes whenever we were out, and when I glanced up and met his stare, it was always heated and possessive. Mostly his hand in mine, all the time, walking, sitting, driving, whatever it was—he had to touch me, and that spoke of his need for me, to have me with him, close by, never beyond his reach.

He deserved my trust, and I would give it to him, along with my vow to love him and marry him and stand at his side. Forever.

“Trace?” he asked, his voice pitched low, worried, I was certain, over my silence.

“Yes,” I said and put out my hand. He slid the heavy platinum band with a channel-set two-carat diamond onto my ring finger.

“And we’re partners, fifty-fifty. I don’t expect you to do more with the kids than me or more with the house. That’s not what this is, and that’s not who we are. We’re the same, and I love that about us.”

I did too. “I love you,” I said as I tilted his head back for my kiss.

His deep, contented sigh was very sweet. “I love you back.”

More words were unnecessary.

THE SPRING wedding, in March, was small and intimate. We tied the knot in my dad’s backyard in Sausalito, overlooking the bay. Cord wore a brown tuxedo that made my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth, and I wore my black one.

“You’re gorgeous,” he husked when I was standing beside him in front of the minister.

All I could do was smile. No words were happening besides vows and “I do.” Everything had happened so fast, and while I was happy to ride the whirlwind, it caught up with me while I stood there looking into the eyes of the man I loved.

“Just hold my hand,” he whispered, leaning forward, his breath warm on the side of my face. “Don’t let go.”

I didn’t ever plan to.

The reception followed immediately, and I was touched at how beautiful the house looked with all of Matt’s thoughtful touches. There were branches in clear glass vases with floating candles on top, small white lights strung in every tree as well as decorative lanterns as centerpieces on each picnic table. There was a canopy of lights over the outdoor dance floor, and between the breeze outside, the flowing white-wine sangria, the small acoustic band, and my father’s amazing food, it was wonderful. Everyone loved it, and I was so happy, Evan said I was glowing.

I’d been watching my brother the DEA agent meet Dimah, and it had been fun. They’d circled each other like sharks, but at the same time, having me in common drove them closer. Later I teased Alex about it as he and I sat quietly together out by the pool.

“Maybe Dimah does have a brother,” he conceded.

“You’re being recorded,” I informed him.

“Shut up.”

I chuckled, and he turned to meet my gaze.

“I’m sorry Cord’s folks didn’t show up.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“They love him, they just don’t do the gay part,” Alex said, explaining what I already knew. “He’s their only child, so I’m sure they’ll come around eventually.”

“I hope so.”