That’s how I know: that this man, this Mr. Xavier Black, with all his faults and all his tangles . . . for better or worse, this man is truly mine forever.
* * *
Then we kiss again.
This time it’s in front of a minister — a delightfully bespectacled Unitarian, flown in especially for the marriage service. He does his best to accommodate an intimate beach wedding on short notice: while he’s wearing a traditional robe and vestments, I can’t help but notice the pair of beach sandals peeking cheekily from beneath his robe. Baby and Rosco haven’t noticed them at all, which is probably just as well — they’ve both made themselves nearly crazy, trying to make certain that everything is absolutely perfect today.
Which, I have to admit, it is. The connected villas of Sand House have been transformed into the perfect marriage getaway.
It had been Xavier’s idea . . . a bigger show of Big Romance than anything he'd ever done for me.
So long, Barbados. Hello, all-new Xavier.
The transformation is magical — the villa now looks like a place for celebration with family and friends, rather than some Xavier-only Peter Pan hermit kingdom.
The wedding is a cozy affair. Rosco and his husband come, of course, along with Baby and Randall. It had been a tough call, but in the end I’d made Jayla my maid of honor. She’s beside herself with joy — Xavier had her flown out for the occasion, and she keeps telling anyone who will listen about the wonders of first class.
I take a look at the twinkling blue sapphires on the fan dangling from my wrist. “Something blue . . . and something new,” Baby had gushed when she’d given it to me. It’s just like hers — she’d managed somehow to find the same little shop in Kyoto where Rosco had gotten her own. I take it as a reminder that no matter what happens, I always have to remember to be my own oiran.
I look up into the eyes of Xavier, my beautiful and perfect husband, and I see the unfolding of a million adventures together, a million futures . . .
Laughing kids. Crying kids. Three-day weekends at luxury resorts. Sweaty hikes up overgrown nature trails. Being young together. Getting old together. But most of all . . . most of all . . .
Just finally being us.
Alice and Xavier.
Forever.
About the Author
Clarissa Monte is the half-clever pen name of an American writer. She is a procrastinator, an occasional duster, and a finder of loose change. When she isn't thinking up stories, she enjoys parking her cats, limeade, and trying to get her husband to check her Pinterest for gift ideas.
You can mail her at [email protected].
Or twitter her at @MsClarissaMonte.
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