But before I spoke, he moved. Out of my arms and down onto one knee.
And he retrieved a small box.
I gasped when he opened it.
“Are you psychic too?” I whispered, looking at the white gold, antique, oval cut diamond ring.
It was the ring. The exact ring. My ring. It was simple and beautiful. It was bursting with personality. With a story.
And there was no way Heath could’ve known I’d say what I just said. So the only reasonable possibility was that he was psychic.
It would explain a lot of things.
He grinned. “No, Sunshine, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not psychic. I’ve been carrying this around for months. Waiting. For you.” He grabbed my hand. “’Cause I knew you’d decide you’d be ready. And you’d declare it at an unexpected moment, because you’re you. And I wanted to be prepared.”
A tear trailed down my cheek. “How long were you going to carry that around for?” I asked.
“Forever if need be.”
Another tear trickled out.
“But thanks for not making me wait forever,” he murmured. “My beautiful Polly, will you marry me?”
It was simple. No poetry. But he didn’t need it.
“Yes,” I choked out.
It was only then that he slipped the ring on my finger.
* * *
Rosie went in to have her baby as scheduled two weeks later.
And she was sure there wouldn’t be drama.
But she was Rosie.
So there was drama.
Drama that nearly broke Luke.
That nearly broke the entire club, who were sitting in the waiting room.
Luke had first emerged, in full scrubs, telling everyone about his son, grinning from ear to ear. There was a low roar from the men in leather who had taken over the entire waiting room. But then a doctor rushed to Luke, pulled him aside and murmured something.
Then Luke froze.
Then all color, all joy drained from Luke’s face.
I wasn’t the only one who saw it.
Cade, Rosie’s brother, had all but tackled the doctor.
And then the joy drained from his face.
We waited in that room for three more hours. There were no more smiles, no more roars. Nothing but ugly and painful silence.
Something had happened.
Complications.
Rosie had to be rushed into surgery.
“This can’t be happening,” I whispered, Heath’s arms tight around me. “She’s had enough. We’ve had enough. It’s time for peace. She deserves it.”
Heath kissed my head. “I know, baby.”
He didn’t placate me then either.
Because it was bad.
Really bad.
But she was Rosie.
And she pulled through.
And there was a fragile, chaotic peace once more.
* * *
Eight Months Later
We didn’t rush into the wedding like everyone thought we might.
I didn’t want to rush.
I wanted to enjoy it.
Plan it.
Just live for a little.
And we did.
We moved into our house.
Into our home.
I opened my yoga studio ‘The Problem With Peace’ where I helped people find peace, but I also encouraged them to find it in chaos.
I babysat when my sister was going out of her mind. Treasured and spoiled my niece and nephew.
I healed. Slowly. But surely.
And now I was getting married.
In a church.
Heath hadn’t even blinked when I told him I wanted to, despite the fact I knew he wasn’t religious. Not one word was said about it as we did weekly meetings with the priest, who was kind and easy to talk to.
He hadn’t had one single opinion on a dress, the flowers, the location.
“I’m marrying you for you,” he murmured when I’d asked him if it bothered him, all of the plans that he wasn’t in control of. “Don’t care about the wedding. As long as it involves you in a dress, promising forever and then me taking off that dress and fucking you all night.”
Then we hadn’t talked about the wedding. We were intent on recreating the wedding night.
I smoothed my dress.
Though it didn’t work since the dress wasn’t exactly smooth. It was white, hand-beaded silk.
Sheer organza covered my collarbone and turned into long flowing sleeves. Tiny lace flowers were scattered atop the organza, heavy at my shoulders and then fading down my arms. The organza was draped across a tight, strapless, beaded bodice, with more flowers stitched atop.
It flowed down from my waist, long and whimsical, with a long train behind me.
It was the dress.
My dress.
“Holy fuck.”
I turned around.
“Sunshine,” Heath ground out, eyes feasting on me. “Never in my life have I seen a more beautiful woman.”
I didn’t speak, didn’t spout crap about the bad luck of seeing me in my dress. He’d already seen me in one wedding dress. We’d had the bad luck.
So instead of all that, I ran to him, into his arms.
He caught me.
Of course.
I didn’t hesitate to press my lips to his.
He didn’t hesitate to kiss me back.
“I just wanted to see what it was like to kiss you,” I murmured against his mouth.
“And now you’ll never have to know what it feels like to stop,” he growled.
And then he kissed me again.
I was late for my own wedding.