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POPPY: These are your secret rules, so the bad guys don’t know I exist.

SAL: Ah, but thank Mary and the saints you do.

POPPY: It won’t be forever, will it? We’ll be able to be out in the open?

SAL: We will, but it won’t matter, because I’ll love you just as much when the whole fucking world knows as I do staring at your gorgeous ass right now. Look in your purse. I’m done waiting. Ask the guy.

POPPY: What guy? What are you talking about?

I pull out a small silk pouch. Inside is an enormous, intricate diamond ring I can’t wear. But there’s a second smaller gold band.

SAL: Ask the friar over there what he’s doing in twenty minutes. It’s not like he’s doing jack shit tonight. He’s window dressing. I’ll make it worth his while. I know you can’t wear the big one. But you can wear the windy gold one that’s got vines and shit on it on the right hand and only you and I will know.

POPPY: NOW? You want to get married now?

SAL: I wanted to get married two years ago when I tasted your red sauce, but now works.

POPPY: Ok, I’ll get the minister, but when we can be in public, I’m going to need some asking in a better manner than this. And a wedding. A fucking huge one.

SAL: Anything. I don’t give a shit about the wedding, only the marriage. Just get your ass in gear with the padre and meet me at that pretty spot behind the parking lot.

POPPY: The one where we did that thing? OMG. That’s not romantic.

SAL: It’s fucking gorgeous back there in that patch of land. And we’re about to be married. And no one is looking at your phone. You can type, ‘where I fucked you against a tree.’ I’ll be there in twenty and you better be there. I won’t wait a minute longer to call you my wife. Almost three years is enough. It’s time to put my money where my mouth is and make you mine forever. Capiche?

POPPY: Skylark. I’ll only do it if it’s forever. The rest is a waste of time. Ok. Do not toy with me.

SAL: Oh, I plan to toy with my wife plenty in bed tonight and probably on our lucky tree. Just tell me your hard limit.

POPPY: SAL!

I glare at him across the courtyard. Everyone’s toasting and laughing. My heart is full of helium, light and airy. I can barely breathe. I’m more full of love for this impossible man than even the grooms are for each other right now. I’m sure of it.

POPPY: No anal on our wedding night.

SAL: Doesn’t seem fair since I’m going to claim every part of you.

POPPY: Fine. If it comes up organically.

SAL: How in the hell does anal come up organically?

POPPY: The minister said yes. I’m now with a man of the lord. Please stop talking about my backdoor while I talk to a man of the cloth.

SAL: As you wish, woman. Fuck, I love you.

POPPY: I love you too.

As much as I’d like my family here, I realize I have all the family I’ll ever need in my arms. And they’d just make a lot of fuss and noise.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” In moments, I’m his forever. According to the very nervous man who doesn’t understand why we’re doing this back here behind the back parking lot of Langerford Cellars. Sal produces folded papers from his jacket and waggles his dark eyebrows at me. The man signs it all. I glance at the paperwork and then he motions for me to sign it too. It’s a marriage license and an NDA for the minister and his wife.

“You got paperwork?”

“I always cover all my bases. I did this shit months ago.” He winks. “In case it came up organically.” I laugh.

The man nods to us and they leave us alone. Sal sweeps me into his arms. We’re behind a large tree and far enough away that we can hear music, but we can’t make out what it is. He dips me and kisses the hell out of me.

Then rasps against my lips, “Mine.”