Page 105 of Married in Michigan

“Tropical islands off the coast of Africa.” He grins. “You’re gonna freak out, so I’m not going to tell you.”

“Paxton deBraun, I swear, if you bought me an entire island or something, I’m going to…” I laugh, sigh, and shake my head. “Well, I’ll just tell you that I hope you plan on helping me fill it with kids.”

He smirks. “It’s not a whole island.”

I sigh in relief. “Oh, good.”

“Just most of one.”

“Paxton.”

He eyes me warily. “When you say fill it with kids, though…how many are you thinking, and how soon?”

I just grin. “I don’t know. Half a dozen at least. And…soon.”

“I feel like we should’ve discussed this before now.”

I laugh. “I’m teasing, mostly.” I pat his chest. “I do want kids someday, though.”

Mom takes my hand, squeezes. I give her my attention, and she’s glowing. “I could probably…hang on for…a few more…years…for a…a grandbaby.”

I kneel beside her and hug her as tightly as I dare. “You better.”

“Happy?” she asks, smiling up at me.

“Beyond happy, Mom.” I kiss her cheek. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Making me give him a chance. I wouldn’t have, otherwise.”

“Love is…worth the risk.” She brings my hands to her lips, kisses my knuckles. “Besides…he’s cute.”

I grin up at Paxton. “Hear that, honey? Mom thinks you’re cute.”

He has produced, from somewhere, three champagne flutes, and a bottle of champagne—which, knowing him probably cost more than this entire building. He pops the cork, pours bubbly champagne into the three flutes, and hands them to us. Mom holds hers carefully, in both hands, and we toast.

“To you, Mrs. Poe—for encouraging your daughter give a man like me a chance.”

Mom smiles, shakes her head, and summons her strength. “To you two, and to love—may it last forever.” She sips, a tiny, token sip, and then rests the flute on her lap.

She’s tired, I can tell.

We spend a few more minutes with her, and then she’s falling asleep, and I hold her, hug her, kiss her cheek, and promise to come see her soon.

Two hours later, we’re back in Manhattan, celebrating with a bunch of people we don’t know. Or, I don’t. Paxton seems to, but he’s never far from my side, introducing me to people as his wife, beaming with pride.

The celebration goes late into the night, but at some point well past midnight, Paxton spirits me away from the reception and into the helicopter once more—it takes us to the airport again, and this time to a much larger jet—his father’s executive whatever monstrosity. I’m half asleep by this point, and take little notice of what it looks like. I’m content to let Paxton sweep me off my feet, literally, and carry me into a bedroom, lay me on the bed, help me out of my dress and into a big soft T-shirt of his, and he cradles me in his arms as the jet takes off and whisks us away somewhere remote.

I don’t care where we go—I’m where I want to be.

Epilogue

Eight years later

I’m standingin the cold, bundled up in a thick, warm, but fashionable jacket. It’s January 20, and I’m watching my husband swear an oath.

“…And will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.” He’s nervous, I can tell—who wouldn’t be? He’s proud, though, and eager, and excited, and fearful.