Page 96 of Yours, Now and Always
Our song is “Turning Page” by Sleeping at Last. Which, when we chose it, felt romantic. Now? It feels like foreplay with string instruments.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Gage asks, his hand sliding lower on my back. “You okay?”
“I’m great,” I say, trying to sound normal. “Just realizing we picked a horny song for our first dance.”
His lips twitch. “You’ll have to explain that one to me, sweetheart.”
“This song has ‘undressing you with my soul’ energy. And ‘I will inhale every breath you give me’ energy.” When he just keeps watching and waiting for me to elaborate further, I say, “It’s feral in a slow-burn soulmate way. Like, ‘you will get pregnant via eye contact’ type vibes. Surely you’re picking up on that too.”
His mouth curves. “I’m picking up that you’re thinking way too hard about this.”
“I’m not thinking too hard. I’m thinking the correct amount. Everyone can hear this, Gage. And oh my god, your dad isright there.”
“My dad’s had five kids. I think he gets it.”
I bite back a laugh and try to focus on the steps, but Gage is doing that thing where he leads without making it obvious, and I’m just following his body like I was built to do exactly this.
“Stop overthinking,” he says, pulling me closer.
“I’m not overthinking. I’m just aware that people are watching us?—”
“I don’t care about them.” His voice turns to gravel. “I only care about you.”
My heart actually trips over itself. “Okay. That’s very romantic.”
“I’m a romantic guy.”
“You threatened to put someone through a wall earlier.”
“Also romantic.” His thumb brushes my hip in a way that’s absolutely not appropriate for a family event. “Context dependent.”
I’m trying to come up with a response when he spins me, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m still a little foggy from this morning, a little exhausted from the day, and that my husband is looking at me like he’s counting down the minutes until he can get me alone.
When he pulls me back, his mouth is close to my ear. “You’re stunning.”
“You’ve said that like six times today.”
“I’ll say it six hundred more.” His hand tightens on my waist. “You’re my wife, Amelia. I get to tell you you’re stunning whenever I want.”
God, this man.
“You’re not playing fair,” I whisper.
“I never will.”
The music swells, and we’re just barely swaying now, barely moving, and I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to be doing actual dance steps but I don’t care. Because Gage is holding me like I’m something precious, and I can feel his heartbeat through his shirt, and?—
“I meant every vow I said today, Amelia,” he murmurs. “But there’s one I didn’t say out loud.”
I hold onto him a little harder because I know that whatever he’s about to say is probably going to make me cry again.
His eyes lock on mine, dark and serious and so full of heat I feel it everywhere. “I promise to want you every day for the rest of my life. Not just love you. Not just protect you.Wantyou. Obsessively. Unreasonably. Like this.”
My breathing slows. “Gage?—”
“I’ll want you when you’re eighty and yelling at me about the thermostat. I’ll want you when you’re crying into the carpet about your cheekbones. I’ll want you when you hate me. When you love me. When you’re hormonal and threatening to hurt me. And even if you don’t bury those bodies you promised you would, I’ll still fucking want you.”
A laugh-sob escapes me. “You can’t just say those things to me when we’re dancing to a horny song in front of our families. In front of ourdaughters.”
