Page 220 of Nine-Tenths

I hold out my hand and make gimmie fingers. Dav takes pity on me and hands me my coffee. He pulls us as far away from the rest of the group as possible, right into the bay window. He helps me shrug into my jacket and loosens Paulette's choke-hold knot.

"Oh my god, thank you," I tell him. He leans back against the sill and opens his arms for me to hide. "This was possibly not a good idea."

"Overwhelming?"

"Loud," I agree. "All thesepeople. What the fuck are they even all doing here, anyway?"

"Celebrating us, more's the pity," Dav says with mock seriousness. "I'm afraid manners dictate that we're not allowed to kick them out until we've at least given them dinner, cake, and a few dances."

"Boo hiss," I sulk, sipping my latte.

God, this shit is good. Nothing will ever be better than dragon-roasted coffee. Except, maybe, the dragon-smoked chocolate he's started to experiment with. Which I can actuallyeat.

"If it's any consolation, it's worth it to see you all trussed up like this for me. What's this?" Dav asks, running his thumb along the edge of my new lapel pin.

It's the Tudor Rose, but instead of floating in a white field, the rose is now on a flag held aloft by the curled foreleg of a lamb—the traditional standard-bearer, I learned, of the Levesque coat of arms. It's still banded by laurels, and joined at the bottom with a lick of flame.

It signifies the joining of the Tudor and Levesque houses—equal and balanced.

I say as much.

"Your father would have been pleased," Dav says, and that little stab is back.

That one where you don’t remember, for a second, that someone you love is not here to share this moment with you. Until you do.

But it's okay.

I mean.

Obviously notokay.

But Dad is here, in a way. Here on my lapel.

Here in my heart.

Here, with his name on my husband-to-be's lips.

Nice.

"Yeah." I lean against Dav's chest, craning to meet his sunflower eyes. "But this will still be good."

"And what's 'this'?" Dav repeats, only now we're not talking about my pin. He links our pinkies. "What part of the story are we in now?"

I lean up to press my lips to that saucy corner of Dav's mouth, right at that not-quite-a-dimple. Hoarding his Peter Pan Kiss for myself, for the rest of forever.

"I thought it was obvious," I say, palming his ass.

I can feel my wedding band in his pocket. I can't wait for him to slip it on, warm from the heat of his fire and strength, the tenderness burning at the bright center of the man I love.

"Tell me anyway, Mine Own," he says softly, linking our pinkie fingers together behind him.

"This?" I bite his lower lip just once, teasing. "This is the bit of the story with the Happily Ever After."

I don't really have to tell you what happened next.

But I will, anyway.

Hey, reader?

I fucking married him.

The End