Say Forever (Something More)

by Tara West

  "I don't want them giving away our slot." I pace the sidewalk while I wait for her. I can feel the tension mounting, pressing down on my shoulders like a two-ton sack. "I'm marrying you now before you change your mind." That last part comes out on a rush of air, and I'm not even aware what I say until it's too late.

  She stands up, bunching up the sides of her dress in small fists. "Why would I do that?"

  I heave a groan as I look from her penetrating eyes to the concrete. Might as well come out and say it. It's only fair she knows what she's getting into. "Because I'm not worthy of you."

  Christina grasps my shoulders, pulling herself up on her toes while craning her neck to look up at me. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that." Her bottom lip trembles.

  Damn. I've upset her. Now I feel even less worthy of her.

  Shut up, Andrés. Take your beautiful bride and make her all yours. Don't fuck this up now.

  But there's this aching in my chest, not strong, not enough to weigh me down. It feels like my heart has been punctured by the smallest hole, and it will never close until I come clean. Until I tell her how I feel, and I know I have to do it now. Before she commits to me for a lifetime, she needs to know this man she's marrying is not worthy of her. Not at all.

  I look into her face and swipe a tear form the corner of her eye. "You don't have to be marrying me. You could be marrying a billionaire's son."

  She shakes her head, biting down on her lip. "I don't want him. I want you."

  I can see it's taking all her willpower not to break down and cry. I'm feeling less worthy of her by the second.

  "I might have to quit my job, mija. If this catering thing doesn't work, then I won't have a job at all."

  Christina settles back on her heels and crosses her arms. She was on the verge of sobbing just moments ago, and now she looks ready to bite my head off. "We haven't said our vows yet, but I'm pretty sure there's a part in there about for better or for worse, and when I say it, I'll mean it." She jabs me in the chest. "There's nothing that life can throw at us that will be any worse than the life I lived before I met you." Her expression softens as she splays her hand across my heart. "As long as we're together, we'll deal with whatever the future holds."

  My heart pounds like a drum beneath her touch. I can still feel that hole, that fucking stupid hole, and though I know she's trying to reassure me now, all her forgiveness does is drive home the fact that I'm definitely not good enough for her.

  "I wasn't there for you when you lost the baby." My throat feels so tight, I'm surprised I can speak at all. "I stayed too late at work. You needed me, and I wasn't there."

  She frowns and looks at those red shoes of hers. She twists her feet for a moment, as if she's examining the flowers on her toes. And while she's contemplating flowers, I'm holding my breath, because I know it's not flowers she's thinking about. I know she finally realizes she can do better.

  She lets out a slow breath of air, punctuated by a soft moan. When she looks at me, my heart stops. In fact, everything around me stops. I don't hear the noise from the crowd behind us or the blaring music. I don't see the flashing lights, either. All I see are those big, soulful green eyes staring at me.

  "I did need you, Andrés, but you had a lot to deal with, too."

  I shake my head, hardly believing she's trying to justify my behavior. "Don't make excuses for me, mija."

  She flashes a weak smile while tracing a pattern on my chest. "You'll do better next time."

  "I'm never putting my job ahead of you again. I'm sorry."

  "Apology accepted." She leans into me, wrapping her arms around my neck. "Can we get married now?"

  The impatience in her tone makes me laugh out loud. My fear and guilt seem to melt away as I bend her over and capture her lips in a soul crushing kiss. Yeah, maybe I don't deserve this amazing woman, but goddam, I'm making her mine.

  We spend a half an hour filling out marriage certificate paperwork and picking our photography packages before Elvis will marry us. Christina gets offended when the woman at the front desk says she looks as old as her high school daughter. She checks over Christina's ID carefully, as if we've forged it. I stifle a laugh as Christina rolls her eyes at the woman. Christina doesn't bring a ring for me, but since the chapel is nice enough to have wedding rings on hand for an extra three hundred dollars a pop, we buy me a simple silver band. When Christina asks about bands for herself, I hold up a hand, telling her not to worry about it, and then I shrug off her questioning look.

  Elvis really plays his part well as he saunters up to us, swaying an ass that is probably thirty years too old and forty pounds too much for those polyester pants with multicolored rhinestones sewn into the seams. He knocks his knees a few times and waves his hands around in an awkward circular motion before pointing at my bride.

  "Rhythm is something you either have or don't have, but when you have it, you have it all over." He waves his hands down his body as if he's trying to fan paint fumes off his pants.

  I try to pretend that's what he's doing, but I groan when he starts going on about us not stepping on his blue suede shoes.

  Fuck. Why did we have to get the Elvis wedding?

  But my bride giggles, so for her, I guess he's worth it.

  We follow Elvis inside the little chapel and up to the rhinestone studded podium. Elvis's pianist, a woman who's either in her early fifties, or else in her seventies and bursting at the seams, (literally) from cosmetic surgery, plays "Here Comes the Bride" on the piano. I'm thankful it's not an Elvis song.

  The ceremony passes in such a blur, I hardly remember what's happening, but I remember saying "I do" plenty of times, especially the part about cherishing her forever. That part is easy, because cherishing my amazing bride is second nature.

  I like the look of shock on Christina's face when I pull out the diamond and emerald wedding band I brought with me. No, I wasn't planning on getting hitched, but I thought I'd best come prepared, just in case Christina lost her mind and agreed to be my wife.

  I'm vaguely aware of saying our final "I dos" and then I cup my wife's beautiful face in my hands and stifle her gasp when my lips come crashing down on hers. I kiss her long and hard, until I feel the tension ease from her, and she melts like butter in my arms. Elvis clears his throat loudly behind us, but I don't give a damn. I keep kissing my wife, until we both finally come up for air, nearly out of breath and chests heaving.

  My prick is rock hard. I can't wait to carry my bride across the threshold to our hotel room and fuck her every which way until she's begging for release.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Christina

  "Good morning, Mrs. Cruz." Andrés is sitting up against the cushioned headboard. With a yawn, he stretches muscular, tanned arms toward the ceiling.

  I stretch my arms out too, admiring my new diamond and emerald band as it catches a ray of light that slips in from behind the heavy window curtain. I still can't believe I'm a married woman.

  "Good morning, sexy husband." I climb into Andrés's lap, and we share our first good morning kiss as husband and wife.

  I taste the champagne on his breath from last night. Yeah, we had a few too many glasses after we said our "I dos" in front of Elvis, but it was our honeymoon night, after all. And what a night it was. After he carried me across the threshold into our room, my husband made slow, tender love to me all night long. My heart warms just thinking about it, so does that juncture between my thighs, and I think how very much I'd like to make love to my husband all day long.

  He pulls back, brows drawn together. "You ready to catch that plane?"

  I shake my head and then shift in his lap, as I not-so-subtlety grind against his erection. "Not really." I bat my lashes and bite my lip, hoping he'll lock me up in this hotel room a few extra days for bad behavior.

  Andrés laughs as he nibbles my ear. "Maybe we could put off leaving for a few more days."

  "Mmmm," I groan as I toss my head back while he tickles my neck with
feather soft kisses. "What about your job?"

  "Tio will have to understand we need a honeymoon," he says as he courses his fingers through my hair. "Besides, I'm quitting when I get back." He tenses up beneath me as he speaks with an edge to his voice. "If that's what you want."

  I pull back and look into his gaze, which was reflecting love and adoration only moments ago. His frozen features can only be described as a look of pure terror.

  I cup his face in my hands, kissing his full lips, until I feel his body relax beneath me. "I want you to be happy," I murmur against his mouth. "I want you to do what you love."

  "Even if I have to give up all that money?" When his voice cracks, I think I feel my heart breaking, too.

  I kiss him again and again, trying to drive away his fears with my affection. "I didn't marry you for your money. I married you because I love you."

  ***

  The wedding reception is simply stunning. Mom enlists the teens, and they transform Violet's ranch into a winter wonderland, complete with popcorn snow, cotton ball snowmen, and thousands of papier-mâché snowflakes. Hundreds of little lamps hang from the oak trees surrounding the courtyard, giving the place an ethereal glow. They even built a beautiful hardwood dance floor in the center of the courtyard. Facing the dance floor is a large buffet table loaded with tamales, fajitas, and the most delicious red velvet wedding cake ever, plus a chocolate fountain loaded with fresh fruit and cookies, which is why my little brothers' faces are coated in brown sticky sauce every time my mom turns her back on them. I'm happy to report the buffet doesn't include a single shrimp puff.

  Tia invites her priest to bless our marriage, and I think it's kind of funny that he looks exactly like the Elvis impersonator who married us. Since I put so much work into that train, I wear it attached to my dress for about the first five minutes of the reception, but then I get tired of stepping on it, and my mom hangs it like a tapestry behind the buffet table.

  I think my favorite part of the buffet is the hot cocoa topped with marshmallows and spiked with Bailey's Irish Cream. I clutch my mug like a lifeline, letting the hot, sweet liquid warm my insides as Andrés keeps a strong arm wrapped around my shoulder.

  Our guests go all out and dress for cold weather, with snow boots, jackets and knit caps, something Andrés suggested they do to go along with our winter theme. Good thing, too, because Texas is having an unusual cold spell. It even snowed north of Dallas. We all huddle in our seats, leaning into the warmth from the gas lamps and laugh while sipping cocoa. Everyone turns around when we hear a loud dinging sound. Tio is beaming ear-to-ear, standing in front of the buffet table, as he taps his mug with a spoon.

  "A toast to the lovely bride and groom," he says and winks at us. "Salud!"

  The crowd responds with a "salud" and we all drink.

  "Sobrino," Tio says to Andrés as his voice takes on a wistful tone, "those first few months you lived with us, I never thought you'd come out of your shell. Now look at you, an Army hero, married to a lovely young woman, and I know you'll do a terrific job running Arturo's catering business."

  Andrés's eyes have a glossy sheen as he tips his mug toward his uncle. I think he wants to answer back, but the look he shares with his Tio is worth more than a thousand words.

  I'm so relieved Tio is supporting Andrés's decision to work for his Uncle Arturo. I sat beside Andrés when he broke the news to Tio and Tia last week. They both took it better than we'd expected.

  "How could you ever think you'd disappoint me?" Tio had said as he clasped Andrés on the shoulder. "If you spend the rest of your life miserable because you care too much about what I think, then you'd disappoint me. Don't worry about me," he added with a sheepish grin. "I'm not ready to retire yet, anyway."

  He told Andrés he'd give him a year to work for his Uncle Arturo, and if things didn't work out, Andrés would have a position waiting for him at Tio's automotive shops. Although, honestly, I hope Andrés never has to go back to Cruz Automotive. He's been so happy this week planning the wedding menu with his uncle and getting the catering business ready for another wedding next weekend.

  I look up at my husband and smile as he squeezes me to him. A few relatives step in front of the buffet table and make their toasts. I cringe when Marie taps her glass, but she surprises me by wishing us the best and then apologizing to us both for judging me too harshly.

  When my mom walks in front of the table, a hush falls. I lean into Andrés for support, and he braces me by holding tightly around my shoulder.

  "My sweet baby girl," she says with a watery voice and red-rimmed eyes. "I held you in my arms for just a moment before they took you away, but I've held you in my heart forever." She pauses to wipe her eyes. "And I always will. I'm so happy that, despite the odds stacked against you, you've grown to become a caring, loving young woman, and you've found a wonderful husband who returns your love."

  Unlike Andrés, I'm unable to hold back my tears. Andrés releases me when my mom walks up to me with open arms. We hug while crying onto each other's shoulders.

  Then the band strikes up the first tune. I recognize it as the slow song Andrés and I danced to when I met him at Dylan's. They alternate between Tejano and country music after that. Everyone joins in the dancing, and we all make quite a sight when we circle around the floor to the "Cotton-Eyed Joe."

  After over an hour of dancing, I fall into a nearby chair, exhausted. These little red shoes sure are pretty, but they're killing my feet. I was worried it would be too cold outside for our guests, but now, despite the fact that I'm wearing Andrés's suit jacket, I'm the only one who's freezing. Though the temperature was in the high forties earlier, it's steadily dropping, and I'm about to ask Grace if we can all move into the house when Andrés pulls my snow boots and heavy pants from beneath the buffet table. I eye him skeptically as he flashes his signature half-smile and tells me I need to go change.

  When I come back outside, I can hear deep roaring engines, muffled by the sound of several high-pitched motors. The guests are no longer in the courtyard; they are cheering and laughing beyond the walls.

  Andrés is waiting for me by the back gate with an outstretched hand and a devious gleam in his eyes. "Are you ready for your wedding present, mija?"

  I smile at my husband, who's also changed into a downy jacket and snow boots. "What did you do?"

  Imagine my surprise when I follow him through the gate and see several big trucks unloading fluffy white stuff onto a grassy slope behind Violet's house. A few guys come from behind the trucks and start blowing the snow, until it cascades like a giant slide down the hill.

  Andrés sweeps his hand in front of us as he calls to the crowd. "Fresh snow imported from north Texas for my lovely bride."

  The crowd breaks into applause. My little brothers are squealing and running around like puppies chasing their tails, begging my mom and stepdad to take them down the hill.

  I'm too stunned to say anything as one of the teens comes up to us, handing Andrés a yellow plastic sled.

  Andrés turns to me and arches a brow, his dark eyes looking far too sexy beneath that black woolen cap. "You ready to go riding?"

  At the moment, I think I'd much rather be riding my new husband, as I bat my lashes and smile seductively up at him. "I can't believe you did all this."

  His eyes light with desire as he strokes the side of my face with a gloved hand. "I'll do anything to make you happy." When he cups my chin and plants a tender kiss on my lips, I lean into his warmth, wrapping my arms around his neck. The plastic sled hits the ground as Andrés places his hand on the small of my back and bends me back while deepening the kiss and setting my body on fire.

  I think I hear cheering and whistling behind me, but it's soon drowned out by the sound of the snow blowers and the wild beating of my heart.

  ***

  Seven years later

  Christina

  “Again, Daddy, again!” James squeals as he and Andrés come to a stop at the bottom of the hill.r />
  It’s only after my husband lifts our son off the sled and sets his little feet on the ground that I breathe a sigh of relief. Andrés says I worry too much, but I can’t help it. Though he’s only four years old, James is quite the daredevil. Doc finally removed his arm cast last week after he fell out of that tree while trying to catch my brothers.

  “I wanna be like Gio and Manny,” he tells us. But my brothers are ten and eleven-years-old, and poor James can’t keep up with them.

  “Broder go down.” Victoria giggles and squirms on my hip.

  “Yes, he did go down the hill, sweetie.” I kiss my baby angel on the brow, my lips lingering on her skin for a few extra moments. I’ve been so worried she’ll come down with another cold. Though she’s been a healthy child, that virus she caught last month was enough to scare even my big bad husband. In fact, the night her fever peaked was also the only night he’s had a bad dream in seven years.

  But I remind myself for at least the hundredth time that kids fall down. Kids get sick. It’s part of life. The best I can do as a mother is love my children unconditionally. And I do love my family, more than I ever thought was possible.

  I think back to the night it all began. The night of my twenty-first birthday. Andrés was my knight in shining armor after my friend’s car engine blew up, and he’s been my hero every day since. He saved me, not just from a bad home life, but from myself. Not only did I refuse to believe I was incapable of loving a family: I refused to love myself and let myself be loved the way I deserved.

  “Me go with Daddy!” Victoria kicks her legs against my side.

  “Oh, no, pumpkin,” I stroke her tanned cheek and look down into her vivid green eyes. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “Pease, Mommy,” she begs, batting thick lashes.

  Andrés comes up to us and peels Victoria from my grip. “Just one time, Mommy.”

  “Andrés,” I cry. “She’s too little.”