Page 127 of Passed Ball

Heeding my warning, he presses his lips to my neck--the delicate curve right below her ear. Lingering, he sucks gently on the sensitive skin there until my breath hitches and a soft, shaky laugh escapes.

His deep sigh washes over me. It's the sound of a man who doesn't want to stop but knows he needs to. Reaching between us, Xavier adjusts himself.

"Can we skip out before dinner? We're not alone enough for how badly I need you."

"We cannot. Unless you want to be the worst wedding guest in your friend group, we need to stay through dinner and at least one dance."

He groans dramatically. "I don't like it."

I pat his lapel. "You'll survive. And if you stay for cake cutting, I'll do that thing you want where I hang my head off the bed."

That gets his attention. Pushing off the wall next to me, he takes my hand, practically dragging me out of the room. "Maybe I can bribe the wedding planner to start dinner early."

I giggle because he's serious about it.

"Then, after dinner, I want a dance where I don't have to pretend like you're not mine."

When the nanny Hendrix and Poppy hired for the night walks in with Jarret, Xavier gives her the rundown of Holland's schedule and points out the diaper bag, never letting go of my hand.

Following Xavier, we rejoin the rest of the guests. The music in the reception area is soft as people wander, making small talk and grabbing drinks before dinner starts.

We find the wedding party gathered by the cake, getting ready to pour champagne for a toast with the bride and groom, who've just come in after taking pictures.

Well, everyone but Mia, who's got the cutest little bump rounding out her belly.

"Good, you guys are here."

I take a glass from Indie and Xavier takes one from Dean, holding them up as Hendrix clears this throat.

"Before things get crazy, I want to tell you all how much it means to Poppy and I to have you here. Since the beginning, you all have rooted for us--you've become the family that chooses us over and over again. I know that fifty years from now, we'll be standing together, surrounded by our kids and grandchildren, toasting each other for more big moments, because you can't break a bond like we have."

Poppy sniffles, and he pulls her in, brushing his lips across her forehead.

"So, here's to you. Thank you for your love, your loyalty, and, most importantly, making me see sense when it escapes me. We wouldn't be here without you. Let's raise a glass to lifelong friendships and making even more memories tonight."

Cheers of agreement ring out as glasses clink together.

Later, with our bellies full from dinner and my head slightly fuzzy from the elated atmosphere that permeates every part of the night, Xavier leads me out onto the dance floor. Familiar chords float through the room, meaningful and bittersweet. My feet stop working halfway across the dance floor. It's the same song--the one that played at the gala all those months ago, when everything felt simpler. It was the start of a friendship I never saw coming. My eyes well with tears that I don't try to stop as a velvety voice sings about a couple letting the world burn around them as they dance.

And now, here we are, dancing to it again, and I know, without a doubt, that Xavier would dance with me while the world was on fire.

His hand rests firmly on my waist, holding me close as he guides me through the rhythm. The song feels like a confession.

"How much longer do we have to stay?" Xavier asks, his eyes flicking between mine.

"You're not getting out of this dance that easily." My grip on him tightens because I want to guard this memory and never let it slip away.

Xavier closes the space between us, molding our bodies together, his roaming hands caressing every inch of exposed skin, running up my arms, sliding under the strap of my dress, cupping the side of my neck, my face, brushing his lips over my forehead. Anyone watching can see that he wants me--that he cares for me.

"I love being yours, Vivienne," he whispers softly, his lips grazing my neck.

Before I can catch my breath from that admission, the tempo shifts to something more upbeat--a classic wedding song with choreographed dance moves--and Xavier drags me off the dance floor toward the nursery.

I have to jog to keep up as he dodges people, pulling me closer to Holland. "They haven't cut the cake yet."

"Don't care. We can do that another night. It's been six weeks since we've seen each other for more than an hour at a time."

"I've stayed over," I remind him.

---