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  “So,” the minister interrupts my thoughts, “when should we be expecting the lovely bride?”

  I look down at my watch to check the time. “She should be here any minute. Although, knowing her she’ll be late, making everything look perfect.” She should only know that she doesn’t need all the make-up and primping to be the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen. I know now that I fell in love with her the moment I saw her on that campus lawn. I set my sights on her and never looked back and the only mistake I’ve ever made—okay, maybe there were two—since then was letting life get in the way of all the romantic things I was willing to do as a love-sick college kid. I make a mental promise to myself that from this day forward nothing will get in the way of the simple things like good night kisses, holding hands while walking in the mall, complimenting her when she looks nice and makes a great dinner, and singing to her whenever the hell I get the chance.

  Just as I’m about to check my watch again, the tiny four piece acoustic band—that I hired at the last minute—starts up. That’s her cue. I see her emerge from behind the sand dunes and my breath catches.

  The song of choice for my gorgeous wife is a subdued version of Bittersweet Symphony. I remember her telling me she always wanted to walk down the aisle to this and I’m happy to oblige because her wish is my command. When she passes the band, she points to them with her thumb and then winks at me. She approves… I knew she would. As she makes her way closer to me, I see the tears in her eyes. Absolutely stunning. There’s no other way to describe the way she looks in that dress with her hair pulled over to one side, making her look like a runway model. She clutches a small bouquet of daisies with ribbons hanging from the bottom. I notice something attached to each ribbon but she’s still too far to make it out.

  I swipe at my own tears—yes I’m emotional as all hell. The way she looks, the music, the atmosphere, the reason we’re here. It’s a lot to take in all at once and I want to freeze this moment in time and remember it forever.

  Finally at my side, I lean over, kiss her on the cheek and whisper in her ear, “You are the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”

  She tilts her head and smiles, “Thank you. You look incredible too.”

  The minister interrupts our private moment and takes each of our hands in his. “Mia, Declan, are you ready to become husband and wife, again?”

  We look deep into each other’s eyes—so familiar and welcoming. There’s no doubt in my mind that when I look into her eyes fifty years from now I’ll feel the same insane need to kiss her as I do right now. “Yes,” we both say in unison.

  Throughout the ceremony the minister mentions our children and some funny stories I shared with him during our phone conversation. We laugh together, remembering all the things that make us who we are today. Sure, all those good memories are mixed with some bad, but each and every one of them helped make us the couple we are today. They molded us into better people, in fact. We can now recognize our flaws and move past them.

  When it comes time to say our vows to each other, the minister prompts Mia to go first. I quickly clear my throat to stop him. “Would you mind if I went first, actually?”

  I look to Mia, who looks like a deer in headlights. “You wrote your own? Dec. I didn’t—I thought—”

  “It doesn’t matter, baby,” I say, coaxing her. “Please just let me share this with you?”

  She nods, sniffling back the tears that flow down her flawless face.

  “Don’t cry,” I say, lifting my hand up to her face to wipe away her tears. “You’ll mess up your makeup.”

  “Does it matter?” she asks, with a little laugh.

  “Of course not, but—no crying. This is a happy day.”

  “The happiest day,” she says.

  Taking her bouquet from her, I recognize what the tiny objects attached to the ribbons are—guitar picks. I lift one up in her direction with a questioning glance, “What are these?”

  “Little pieces of you. My something old… and kind of my something borrowed, too. I stashed them in the luggage because I was hoping you’d find a guitar somewhere to play while we were on the beach. When you planned this—which is way better, by the way—I figured I’d add them into the mix for good measure. I hope you don’t think it’s weird or tacky?” Her face contorts into an anxious smirk.

  “They’re perfect. So us. I love that you thought to have them with us today.” I palm a handful of the picks and admire them—they bring back so many good memories—before handing the flowers over to the minister.

  “So, can I say what I want to say now?” I ask, holding her hands in mine.

  Mia nods with a smile, the teardrops falling from her beautiful brown eyes.

  I imagine it’s just me, my wife and the tumbling of the ocean waves to witness what I have to say. Even the faint melody of the quartet playing behind us does nothing to distract me from my bride. I take a deep breath, not having to look down at the paper where I scribbled down some notes, because these words come from my heart and those are the easiest to speak. “When I saw you that very first day I knew I had to have you, and not in the way that a horny teenage boy drools over a girl—there was something about you; an effortless grace, the way you flipped your hair when you laughed, not even getting how gorgeous you were just standing there. It took me longer than it should have to get up the nerve to ask you out, but my procrastination—or maybe just the way fate timed it—showed me that every single moment in time from that first sighting on campus to standing here right now, was meant to happen exactly the way it did.

  “I’ve made mistakes and taken you for granted. I let everyday monotony get in the way of telling you I love you even when my heart was aching to reach out and tell you anyway. I want to promise from this moment forward that I will never allow that to happen again. It won’t be perfect—and who wants perfect, because that’s boring, right?”

  She lets out a small laugh, sniffling back more tears.

  “You and our daughters are the best things to ever happen to me—the best things that will ever happen to me. It took almost losing you to remind me how lucky I am, but just looking at you, holding you, loving you—I’d be a fool to ever let you slip through my fingers again.

  “Five years ago I made these vows to you, and I meant them then, too, but now—a little older, a little wiser, a little stronger from our struggles—I’d tattoo them on my body to prove to you what I’m willing to do to make you happy and keep you by my side… forever, baby.” It’s hard to fight my own tears now. I don’t know if my words can even do what I’m feeling justice. I’d walk the world a million times over just to prove to her what she means to me.

  “Dec, not you.” She swipes at my eyes, collecting the few tears that managed to escape. “If you cry, I’m really gonna lose it.”

  Damn it! Waterworks on my wedding day—what a pussy. Ah, fuck it! I’m a sentimental pussy and not too ashamed to admit it.

  “I can’t help it, Mi.” I’m practically on the verge of sobbing. It’s completely overwhelming. I love her so much it takes over my whole body. I lean into her, the two of us wrapping our arms around each other and letting the emotions pour out. We need this moment as a sort of cleansing; an uninhibited flood of pent up, ignored feelings.

  I never want to let go, but when the minister clears his throat, I know it’s time. “Mia, do you have vows of your own?” he asks.

  When I pull away from her to straighten out my suit and regain some composure, I notice her trembling. This has been one emotional afternoon and I know how overcome she has to be. I don’t need to put her on the spot or for her to say anything to know how she feels. “Mia, you don’t have to say a word. I know. I know you’re mine. That’s all that matters.”

  She looks at me, our eyes connecting. She knows I understand. Finally, she turns to the minister with a shy shrug, then back at me saying, “I can’t think of anything that will top that, Dec. So… to the boy in the library who stole my heart with a song
and fought for our forever… ditto to everything you just said, babe.”

  The minister smiles and lets out a tiny chuckle. “It’s clear you two don’t need many words to speak of your love for one another.”

  “We don’t,” she answers, “but my husband sure does have a beautiful way with them.”

  We share a knowing glance of adoration, and the minister takes this as his cue to complete the ceremony. “Well then, Mia. Declan. By the power vested in me by the state of Rhode Island, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He glances at me with an arched brow and a nod. “Declan, you can kiss her now.”

  “Sheesh, Rev, I thought you’d never say it.” Without another word, I claim my wife all over again. If there was a way to make our bodies one—without offending the minister—I would do it right here on this beach. But instead, I opt for a knock-her-off-her-feet, romantic kiss, before I lift her into my arms and carry her down the aisle.

  She leans over my shoulder to retrieve her bouquet from the minister and then we head down the aisle to the band’s string version of All You Need is Love.

  As I lean down to steal another kiss from her smiling pink lips, I can’t help but ask, “Well, I’d arranged for a candlelit dinner on the beach—complete with our kick-ass band over here to create some after dinner dancing music, but… mind if we skip right to the honeymoon part instead?”

  She hooks both arms around my neck, tangling her fingers in the hair at the base. “Why, Mr. Murphy, that sounds like the perfect way to start the rest of our forever—part two—together.”

  Hmmm, I like the sound of that. “Here’s to forever, part two, baby.”

  “Here’s to us.”

  For such a simple dress there sure are a lot of buttons and ribbons to untie. If I didn’t like it so much, I’d just tell him to rip it the hell off.

  I’ve never wanted his hands on my skin so badly. Maybe it’s the idea of consummating this all over again but—nah, he’s just flipping hot and I need this man inside me.

  “Baby, wait. Let me,” I say, peeling his hands from my behind and unhooking the clasp at the small of my back.

  “As much as I want you naked, I hate to take it off. You look fucking gorgeous, Mia.” The way he stares at me as he says it makes my panties damp.

  I bite my bottom lip—I know it makes him crazy—and make a show of slowly sliding the dress down my shoulders and over my breasts. The low cut V in the back didn’t allow for a bra, so I’m naked underneath and I can tell that Declan likes what he sees.

  “Still want me to leave it on?” I tease.

  “Um, no,” he says pawing at the delicate material to get it all the way down my legs.

  The heat and the urgency between us reminds me of when we were younger. Before we were married, every time together was exciting because it was new and we were still exploring, experimenting, and learning all the ways to make each other crazy. Now—now there’s no learning. I know him inside and out, and by the way he’s caressing my inner thigh and making his way up to the apex between my legs—this man knows how to make me come undone.

  “Tell me what you want, Mia.” he says with a raspy whisper.

  “I want you,” I admit without reservation.

  His hand moves up to cup my sex, hooking one finger in the thin, wet lace of my panties and inching it over so his finger has access. “Like this,” he whispers, as he inserts one finger inside me.

  Well, yes that feels divine, but I want more. “Uh uh,” I disagree with a soft moan.

  He takes that as his cue to insert another finger, plunging deeper and eliciting another, more profound moan from me. “How about like this?”

  Mmm, even better. But still not enough. “More,” I whimper against his neck as I lean into him and allow my body to turn to jelly underneath his expert touch.

  With one sharp thrust and his thumb circling my most sensitive spot, he takes my earlobe between his teeth and growls, “What about this, baby?”

  I grip his hand between my legs and urge his hand to move faster, as my legs start to weaken and my insides tighten. I feel my release building with each stroke against my center, letting the ecstasy spiral throughout my blood stream and force its way to my nerve endings. When my body can take no more and I’m about to explode, I wrap my arms around my husband’s body and ride the delicious wave of pleasure until it overflows completely.

  “Oh, Declan,” I cry. “I love you so much.”

  Panting and breathless, I can’t help thinking that I never imagined sparks would still fly or that our connection would be so intense after two kids and five years of marriage. And that was just a little taste—I’m suddenly hungry for so much more.

  Pushing off Declan’s strong muscular chest, I collapse on the bed and curl my finger, motioning for my handsome husband to join me. I’m naked except for my lacey white panties, so I lift up on my elbows and arch forward, bending my legs to make my body form a seductive curve.

  “Shit, you’re going to kill me tonight, aren’t you?” Declan asks, lunging at me.

  “Don’t die on me now,” I laugh, as his tongue tickles the sensitive spot between my breasts. “I’m just getting started and we have two whole days left in this big lonely house—but I hope you like this room best because I don’t intend on leaving this bed.”

  And we don’t.

  We spend the rest of our time in Newport wrapped in each other’s arms and making love. We never redress or remove my wedding dress from its place on the floor until we pack up our belongings an hour before we leave for home.

  Sometime right before it hits midnight on our wedding night, I walk over to the closet where I stashed Declan’s gifts from the antique shop.

  When I give him the plaque his eyes go wide. “This is our song,” he says, fingering the words that some very wise person sewed onto a piece of art. In many ways it was our song. I intended on loving him way past the age of sixty-four—I’d need him (and feed him, according to the lyrics) no matter how old we got. But that was our new Beatles song. The original meant even more.

  “No,” I say pulling the 45 from behind my back. “This is our song.”

  He carefully takes the record from my hand, reading the titles of the songs out loud. “And I Love Her & If I Fell. Mia, where the hell did you find this?”

  Declan was the one to pick our wedding song five years ago. I’d begged him to choose something more modern, more meaningful to our relationship at the time; Matchbox Twenty, Edwin McCain, Bon Jovi—nope! It had to be the Beatles. At first I wasn’t too happy about it, but when I’d heard Declan sing me his own version of If I Fell—I fell even harder in love than I ever could have imagined.

  “Isn’t it perfect?” I boast, overjoyed by the excitement in his eyes.

  “Insanely perfect. I wish we had a record player around here somewhere,” he says, looking around the room as if one might appear out of nowhere.

  “You can always sing it to me,” I suggest, sweeping my fingers through his tousled, rolling-around-in-the-bed-all-day, hair.

  Without the slightest objection, Declan rests his head against my chest and begins to hum the melody. As I trace hearts on his back and hum along with him, he starts to serenade me with the words we danced to the night I first married the man of my dreams.

  “As much as I miss them I don’t want it to end,” I whine, grabbing Declan’s hand over the console. We’re about two miles from home and I have a pit in my stomach. Not because I don’t miss the hell out of my kids and not because I’m afraid to face reality, but because I’ll truly miss having my man all to myself.

  “Did you have fun?” Declan says, eyes still focused on the road.

  “No!” I mock him, obviously joking. “Dec, it was the best week of my life. Hands down.”

  “I agree. Best. Week. Ever.” he says darting a quick glance my way. His eyes sparkle as he smiles—I missed that when it was gone. When I’d taken it away from him for a while. But I can honestly say and believe wholeheartedly that
all of that is finally behind us—for good. No more guilt, no more remorse, no more second-guessing. I haven’t felt so at peace in a long time.

  When we pull into the driveway, I notice the curtains swaying. Within seconds, the front door swings open to reveal our two little monsters. Chocolate-smudged smiles, and knotted hair-dos, too, I can’t wait to smother them in kisses.

  “Mommmmmyyyyyy!” Cara shrieks as she runs out, barefoot, to greet us.

  “Baby,” I say, flinging my arms around her and scooping her up off the ground. “I missed you, doll.”

  “We missed you, too, but we did have fun,” she smirks, looking over at my mom who’s toting an even messier Charlie.

  “Mama,” she croons, nearly jumping out of my mother’s arms.

  I take her in my free arm and kiss them both atop their curly heads.

  “Hey,” Declan pouts as he walks around the car. “No Daddy love?”

  “Don’t let them fool you, Declan,” my mother says. “They’ve been asking about you all week.”

  “Huh, is that so?” I know how much they love their dad, but it surprises me that they were more vocal about missing him over me.

  “Well, we get to see you all the time, Mom. Daddy’s gone a lot.” She says it so innocently, but I can tell from the expression on Declan’s face that it still feels like an unexpected jab in the gut.

  Declan snatches Cara out of my arms and gives her a squeeze along with a rough Eskimo kiss that makes her squeal. “Well, Daddy’s gonna be around a lot more. No more trips for a while so don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. Deal?”

  “Deal,” she giggles. “Come on. Can we go inside and show you what we made you?”

  I look to my mother who gives me a sympathetic shrug. “Please tell me it doesn’t involve re-spackling the walls or peeling Play-doh off the ceiling?”