Page 106 of Married in Michigan

Beside me, on my right, is our eldest son, Jackson, seven, with his father’s golden eyes and dark hair, and my dark skin and fiery attitude. To my left is our daughter, Cambria, five, fair-skinned like her father but with my curly black hair and my eyes, with her father’s confidence and self-assured arrogance.

Camilla watches from beside Cambria—that’s an oddity, Camilla and Cambria. Camilla fell in love with Jackson, being so much like Paxton as he is. But it was Cambria who truly changed Camilla, and not just because she was named in honor of her grandmother. Something about Cambria just…changed Camilla. Sweetened her, softened her. They’re holding hands, right now, actually, and while my relationship with Camilla is sometimes still awkward and tense, seeing the way she is with my daughter is enough.

They both have elements which remind me of Mom; Jackson has her smile, and Cambria has her laugh. My chest tightens whenever I think about Mom—she passed a couple years ago. She hung on so she could meet her grandchildren, kiss them, bless them, and it means the world to me that Mom got to meet my babies.

Paxton removes his hand from the Bible, shoots me a cocky grin and a wink that saysHey, baby—guess who just got sworn in as president.

I couldn’t be more proud of him. He campaigned on a promise of bringing together the divisive political scene, and even in the process of running for president began the work of uniting politicians from both sides as only Paxton could—the election was a landslide of record-breaking proportions, with voters from all walks of life coming out to put their faith in Paxton and his promises of unity, healing, and progress.

God knows he’s accomplished those things in his own life—repairing and improving his relationship with his mother, especially since the birth of Cambria, and making inroads into a relationship with his father, who is mostly retired now. Paxton did end up taking over his father’s company, but restructured it to run it to only need his input a few times a year, and with most of the profits going into a family trust for our kids and eventual grandkids.

The rest of the ceremony is a blur, and I have eyes only for my husband.

Eight years, two kids, and a stupid amount of money later, and my husband is still shooting me those cocky, cheesy winks, and I’m still falling for them.

When we finally get a moment alone, he curls an arm low around my hips and kisses the shell of my ear. “Well, Madam First Lady. How do you feel?”

“Proud of you,” I whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth. “And more in love than ever.”

Paxton laughs. “Not bad for an arranged fake marriage between people who knew each other barely four months, right?”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Not bad.” I lean up to whisper in his ear. “Now, let’s get the rest of this nonsense over with. I need to show my husband, the president of the United States, exactly how proud of him I really am.”

If we weren’t obligated to attend the rest of the festivities and celebrations, I think he would have swept me off to the nearest empty bedroom right then and there…

And I would have let him.

But he’ll be worth the wait, today and always.

THE END