Page 48 of Yours, Now and Always
“Fuck.” He takes a step away from me, his breathing ragged, his control dangerously close to snapping. And as Tim carries on outside the door, monologuing something about grooms who can’t keep their hands to themselves and brides who don’t know how to say no, Gage watches me like he’s still deciding whether to keep me to himself for the afternoon.
I reach for his neck and pull his mouth down to mine for one last kiss. Then, I graze my mouth against his ear and say, “I want you to use my mouth tonight while the cameras are on. And then I want us to watch it back. While I’m sitting on your dick.”
Yes, I like playing with fire.
And yes, I enjoy watching my husband try to survive me.
Today, I think I really may be the death of him.
He looks like he’s in hell right now.
And because I live to see him in this kind of hell—the kind that tells me I am hisentire reason for breathing—I give him one last parting gift.
Letting his neck go, I say very sweetly, “And now I need to go and clean the mess you made inside me, because your mother does not need to see your cum leaking all over my dress while we celebrate the fact her son is marrying me tomorrow.”
Gage’s growling and cursing while I walk into the bathroom iseverything.
CHAPTER 17
AMELIA
Turns out, a bachelorette party feels different when it’s your own. Especially when you’re already legally wed and experiencing mild separation anxiety from your husband after three hours apart.
Yes, I’m married and acting like we just started dating and I haven’t seen him in a week.
However, if I have to be forcibly separated from my soulmate for an afternoon, this is the place to do it in.
The library Gage built for me is flooded with soft afternoon light and warmth. The windows are open just enough to let fresh air in, and the scent of books and lavender floats through the air. My favorite armchairs are here. So are all my favorite books, some annotated with color-coded flags poking out of the pages.
When Tim suggested an afternoon of separate bachelor and bachelorette parties, Marin immediately took charge of mine. Even if I’d wanted to stop her, I don’t think I could have.
She started planning weeks ago and hasn’t stopped texting the group chat she created for us girls. Daily updates. Mood boards. Voice notes at midnight about flower symbolism and “feminine expansion.” Half the time, we didn’t even know whatshe was talking about. So we sent wild responses just to see what she’d say.
At one point, she sent us all a document titledThe Sacred Spiral of Sisterhood: A Pre-Wedding Activation.Olivia opened the doc and said she didn’t know what half the words meant, but that she supported the energy. Maddie asked if Marin was going to turn it into a slideshow, and Kristen, who’d had a few glasses of wine, announced she’d only attend if we had our very own girl gang Notion board, complete with gifs.
Yes, the daily updates and OTT-ness of it all have been a lot. The group was operating in a state of loving exasperation by day three. Kristen tried to mute the chat more than once. She also tried to leave it. Marin added her back every single time. With a new custom nickname. And while I pretended to roll my eyes and complain about it all being too much, the truth is...I loved it because I’ve never had this before.
A girl gang. A group of women who want to spoil me just because they love me.
I didn’t even know how much I’d been craving it until it showed up in the form of moon phase reminders, voice notes, and a group chat I never wanted to leave.
These are women who never let me spiral alone. Who keep tabs on each other’s emotions. Who show up before I even know I need them.
No drama. No expectations. Just love.
By the time today rolled around, Marin was vibrating with intention, florals, and the kind of energy that suggests she might accidentally summon a goddess just by lighting a candle too close to a crystal.
She’s in her element—barefoot, chaotic, beautiful. She set the whole thing up while we were all taking a quiet break after lunch. She said it was “vibrationally urgent” and couldn’t wait for anyone’s help. There are crystals laid out on a small velvet cloth,a deck of cards that looks like it was illustrated by a forest witch, flower bundles tied with silk ribbon resting on the window ledge, and candles flickering in vintage holders along the mantle.
And then there’s the spray. Marin called it a “ceremonial mist”, but it was basically lavender and rosewater in a spray bottle with a quartz crystal taped to it.
Still, she spritzed each of us as we entered the library like we were being blessed. And now, halfway through the party, she’s just pulled the spray out again.
“Okay,” she announces. “Moon water for everyone. Spritz with intention. And then draw a card. We’re activating your next feminine era.”
Kristen side-eyes the water. She’s not big on witchy stuff or manifestation, even though she plays along with most of Marin’s ideas. This, though, appears to be where she’s going to draw a line. “Just so we’re clear, I’m emotionally unavailable for activating anything.”
Marin ignores her. Spritzes her anyway. Twice.
