Page 81 of The Princess, the Prick & the Priest (Confessions 4)

After Julien slid it into place, Priest handed Robbie the box with the other two. “All of these bands have a part of our original wedding bands melted into them. We not only wanted the stones to represent us—you the sapphire, Julien the emerald—”

“And you,” Robbie said, “the ruby.”

“Yes,” Priest said. “We also wanted them to represent our marriage merging with this marriage.”

Robbie touched one of the bands as though they had magical powers, and in a way, they did. They held all the love between the two men in front of him, plus all the love he had to give, which made these rings the most powerful symbols in the world to him.

As he picked one up, Robbie slipped it onto Priest’s ring finger and then turned to do the same to Julien, and once they were all in place, Robbie stared at the pair of them in a daydream and said, “My husbands.”

Julien’s lips curved into a pleased smile and Priest’s twitched in amusement, and then Felicity called out, “I’m pretty sure that makes you all husband, husband, and husband. You may kiss, um, each other?”

That was good enough for Robbie, and as Priest and Julien wound their arms around his waist, Robbie kissed the both of them and thought that while life as Robert Antonio Bianchi had been pretty damn good, life as Robert Antonio Thornton-Priestley would be twice as extraordinary.

Epilogue

Five Years Later

JULIEN EXECUTED THE perfect dive into the deep end of their pool, and as the cool water sluiced over him, he swam the length of it underwater until he popped up through the surface and heard the sound of a high-pitched giggle and clapping hands.

Julien pivoted toward the stairs at the shallow end, where Robbie sat with his back to the tiled wall. His hair was slicked back and he had a pair of sunglasses on, and standing between his legs, jumping up and down with glee was a grinning toddler dressed in a hot-pink, frilly swimsuit with matching pink floaties on her chubby little arms.

Her grey eyes were smiling as they focused on Julien, and as he swam closer, she said, “Catch, Papounet! Catch.”

Julien stood and held his arms out. She walked to the edge of the step and took a flying leap of faith toward him, and Julien swooped her up in his arms. Water droplets splashed up into her laughing face, and as they clung to the russet-colored curls that had escaped, she swiped them away and said, “Merde.”

Julien’s eyes widened, but before he could react, Robbie said, “Chloé Thornton-Priestley. You do not use that word, young lady. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Robbie had certainly perfected that little speech over the past few months, their daughter, Chloé, having become quite the mimic of her fathers’ less-than-perfect language choices at times. And it didn’t matter which language they used; the impressionable little three-year-old was developing a rather well-tuned ear for it.

Chloé adopted a pout that rivaled Robbie’s, and then she turned her big bright eyes on Julien. “Oh, non.” Julien chuckled. “Your daddy is right. Don’t even try that look on me, bichette. It won’t work.”

“What are you talking about? It always works,” Priest said as he walked through the door to the deck and headed toward the loungers.

It was Friday afternoon, and Priest was still in his suit, shirt, and tie, but had removed his jacket. He had a bottle of sunscreen in one hand, a little white hat with pink polka dots in the other, and three towels under one of his arms.

As he reached the sun chairs, Chloé beamed at him, and Julien waded over to the edge, already knowing the routine. Priest dropped two of the towels onto the chair, and when he turned toward the pool, he smiled at the little girl, who called out, “Papa. Come in the pool, Papa.”

Priest crooked a finger at her, and when Julien hoisted her up over the edge, Chloé’s little feet were moving before they landed. She raced over to where Priest stood with a towel, and when she got there, he wrapped her up in it and blew a raspberry kiss on her cheek.

Chloé giggled and tried to squirm away, but Priest bundled her up and lifted her into his arms, rubbing his beard along her smooth cheek. “How’s my favorite girl this afternoon?”

“Bien,” she said with a grin, and then Priest looked at Julien and Robbie.

“And my favorite men?”

“Bien,” Julien said as he pushed away from the edge of the pool, and watched Robbie walk to where Chloé now had her arms wrapped around Priest’s neck.

“We’re all good,” Robbie said. “But this one is picking up someone else’s bad habits. Isn’t she, Jules?”

Chloé’s bottom lip stuck out, and when Robbie raised an eyebrow, she said, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

---