We walk together down the grass-covered aisle. As soon as we turn the corner, I see him, I see Marshal and as our eyes meet, I feel as if my heart will burst. He’s the entire package. He’s sexy and dirty when we’re alone. He’s caring and trusting. He’s honest and loving. He’s my protector and my cheerleader. He knows what I need before the thought crosses my mind.
He’s my best friend.
My lover.
My confidant.
My companion.
He’s my forever.
My always one.
Epilogue
Sami
A year later
“Ican’t believe we actually took Mitchell to my parents’ house for the weekend so we can have sex,” I say, lying back in the crook of Marshal’s arm on the outdoor sofa on our back porch. Before us is a hazy sky covering the countryside.
Before Mitch was born, Marshal and I both decided to move back to Johnson. Living here makes our commutes to work longer, but it is worth the drive to have our dream home, land for our son to roam, and both sets of our parents nearby.
In a nutshell, Johnson isn’t slumming it. Johnson is home and where we met.
Marshal and I want Mitch and any future children to have a childhood like we had.
Who knows, maybe when our son is five, he’ll meet his always one.
“Oh,” Marshal says, “he’s not at Jean and Paul’s just so we can have sex anywhere and everywhere without traumatizing Mitch for life.” His blue eyes twinkle. “This is our anniversary and I have plans for you, Mrs. Michaels. Be prepared for a weekend of pampering.”
I love everything about my husband, but if I had to choose one—one thing over his monster cock—I think it would be the way he sees me, really sees me. It’s as if he sees into my soul.
I push out my bottom lip. “So no sex?”
He teases rogue strands of my hair away from my face with his long finger. “Oh, honey, there will be an excessive amount of sex.”
“Okay, and now tell me more about this pampering.”
“I was thinking we’ll get all dressed up and head into Grand Rapids, dinner at The Rooftop and dancing at that club on the river.”
I keep my expression from changing, but the truth is that after a week of work and motherhood, the last thing I want to do is get dressed up and go out.
“What do you think?” he asks with a cocky grin.
I don’t want to disappoint him.
“It sounds nice,” I say as I start to stand. “I’ll go change.” I look at his casual attire—what he changed into after work—and add. “You should shave.”
“Oh.” He catches my attention. “I laid something out on the bed for you to wear.”
I spin around, my expression no longer hidden. “You did what?”
“I think you’ll be stunning.”
My lips come together as I open the glass door that leads into the kitchen. My mind is so consumed with the idea that Marshal would even consider this to be a good idea that I don’t notice the shining clean countertops or the dust-free floor as I practically stomp down the hallway to our bedroom. As I push open the doors, I stop, staring at the bed.
The covers are pulled back and on my pillow is an envelope.