Page 130 of Say You're Mine

Paradise. That's the only word for it. For this life, this love, this fucking miracle I never thought I'd have.

The sun-warmed sand between my toes, the salty breeze whispering over my skin, the crash and hiss of blue-green waves - it still feels like a dream sometimes. A dream I'd happily never wake from.

I close my eyes, let the cacophony of seagulls and distant laughter and my own pounding heart wash over me. Five years. Five goddamn years since my world shattered and rebuilt itself in the span of a courthouse verdict.

Cara's walking towards me now, all golden skin and soft curves, our babbling daughter balanced on one hip. Our son trails behind, scampering through the surf, shrieking with glee every time the foam licks at his heels. The sight of them, of my whole fucking universe contained in three perfect beings, shortens my breath, makes my chest go tight and achy.

"Hey, handsome," Cara murmurs as she reaches me, pressing a salt-tinged kiss to my jaw. "You coming to join us, or just going to brood out here alone all evening?"

I huff out a laugh, wrap an arm around her waist to tug her close. "Not brooding, just...grateful."

She hums, rests her head on my shoulder. "It's a good life, isn't it? Better than I could've imagined, even in my wildest dreams."

A good life. Fuck, even that feels like an understatement. Waking up to Cara's smile every morning, the kids' giggles echoing through the villa. Spending my days lost in a canvas, surrounded by the scent of paint and sea air, exorcising old demons through shape and color. Watching Cara chase her passions, that vibrant spark I fell for all those lifetimes ago in a tiny coffee shop.

It's everything. Every cliched happy ending come to life. And sometimes, in the space between breaths, the enormity of it rocks me to my fucking core.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Cara asks softly, her fingers tangling with mine.

I look down at her, at the question in those storm-grey eyes, and the words spill out like a dam's burst. "I just...I love you. I love this. Love the fucking miracle we've made here. And sometimes, I'm terrified I'll wake up and it'll all be gone. That this beautiful fucking dream will vanish like smoke through my fingers."

She reaches up, cups my face in her palms. Her touch scorches me, scalds me right down to the marrow. It always has. "Hey. Look at me."

I do. I couldn't look away if I tried. Her gaze pins me, steadies me, roots me to the earth like a tether line.

"This is real. You, me, our babies - we fought for this. We bled and we burned and we clawed it from the fucking ashes. And nothing, no one, will ever take it from us again."

My throat goes tight with emotion too big to swallow. "Promise?"

A whisper, a plea, a benediction.

"With everything I have," she vows. Her lips find mine, seal the covenant like a brand against my mouth. I groan, deepen it, pour every desperate scrap of gratitude and wonder and raw fucking love into the slick slide of our tongues.

We're both breathless, trembling, by the time we break apart. My cock's half-hard, straining against my shorts, but I tamp down the pulse of need. Later. Once the kids are asleep, I'll worship her the way she deserves, map every gorgeous fucking inch of her with lips and teeth and reverent hands.

But for now - I let the moment envelop me like honey, thick and golden and sweeter than sin. Our son's war-whooping as he chases the seagulls, kicking up arcs of sea-foam like miniature fireworks.

Our daughter's soft weight in my arms as I scoop her up, pepper her round cheeks with raspberries until she's squealing with delight. The orange-blazing sky and the lullaby of the tides as we meander home, sand in our crevices and salt on our skin, weary and sated from another perfect day in paradise.

The Bahamas sun kisses my skin, hot and sweet as Cara's lips on our wedding night. Can you fucking believe it? Me, June Deveaux, standing on a pristine beach in a monkey suit, watching my girl float down the aisle like something out of a goddamn fairytale.

She's a vision in white, curls whipping in the salty breeze, eyes brighter than the aquamarine sea at our backs. It hits me like a slug to the chest. This is real. This is happening.

Cara Deveaux. My ride-or-die. My warrior queen. The baddest bitch to ever bring a motherfucker to his knees - namely, me, every single time she turns the full force of that gray-eyed gaze my way.

In an hour, she'll be my wife. My whole fucking world, signed, sealed, delivered on a stretch of white Caribbean sand. The road here's been paved in blood and bullets, a twisted tango that nearly broke us more times than I can count. But we made it. We fought, we bled, we burned the powers-that-be to ash - and now?

Now, we're free. Free to be June and Cara. Free to love, laugh, fuck, and fight our way into our very own happily ever after.

Cara reaches me, the train of her gown hissing seductively over the sand. The air leaves my lungs in a rush as my hands engulf hers, palms moist and trembling against my calloused grip. The ugly scars from my captivity, from every hit I've taken so she wouldn't have to, are stark against her porcelain skin. But she doesn't flinch. She never does. Not my girl.

Her fingers anchor me as the officiant starts speaking, the droning consonants bleeding into the roar in my ears. How can I concentrate on the words when Cara's looking at me like that? Like I stole the moon and stars from the sky just for her, like she's picturing all the filthy-perfect things we'll do to each other once that hotel door slams shut.

Baby, if you only knew the half of it.

I'm going to worship every inch of her, map her body like an explorer charting undiscovered country. That sweet pussy's going to be wetter than this damn ocean before I'm through. By the time I finally slide into her tight heat, it'll be like coming home, coming back to life, the final piece of myself clicking into place after a lifetime of drifting.

But first - "I do."

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