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Henry draws up the duvet, and I snuggle up to him, and soon we’re both drifting off to sleep.
Deep down, our talk hasn’t solved the issue. His infertility lies like a bolster between us, and it doesn’t matter how much we talk about it, or if we choose to ignore it, it’s not going away.
A sperm donor clearly isn’t something he’d consider. I don’t want to force him to have IVF, and even though he’s said he’d do it for me, I’d feel guilty if he doesn’t really want it. I think I could convince him to adopt, but I would love to have my own children. I’ve always dreamed of being pregnant one day, and I’d be heartbroken if I couldn’t be.
I suppose it comes down to what I want more. My own children? Or Henry?
Outside, the moon shines its calming light on us. I’ll worry about it tomorrow. Tonight, he’s here in my arms, and I’m going to make the most of the moment.
*
The next morning, I head back to my room after breakfast. Henry is going over to Brooklyn Heights later to be with the other guys, and I want to take my time getting ready. I have a bath and wash my hair, then take a long time drying it and coiling it into an intricate bun. After that I do my makeup—lots of kohl on my eyes and shimmering eyeshadow, and I choose a blue bindi to wear between my brows.
As the time to leave nears, I pull on my petticoat and my new pale-blue vest, and slip on my silver high-heeled sandals. I have a new, special sari today, and I retrieve the fabric from my bag with care and unfold it reverently. It’s also pale blue with a slightly darker blue strip on each long edge, and it’s embroidered with silver thread in clusters of flowers. It’s absolutely beautiful, and I know Henry’s going to love it.
I drape it around myself, pleat it, and pin it, doing it a couple of times until I’m happy with it. Then I add my matching blue earrings, bangles, and necklace, and finally I’m good to go.
I head down to the foyer at 2:15 and meet the others heading to the church. We all get into the minivans and arrive just after 2:30.
As we leave the van, I see Henry at the front, helping people down. My heart skips a beat. Ooh, he looks amazing. Like the other groomsmen, he’s wearing a black morning coat over a dark-gray waistcoat and trousers, and a silvery-gray tie.
When I get to the front of the van, he looks up, and my heart lifts as an amazing smile lights his face.
“Hello,” he says, holding out a hand to help me down. “Wow. Look at you.”
I step down carefully and look up at him. “You look yummy,” I tell him softly.
He laughs. His eyes are very blue today. “And you look absolutely stunning, you gorgeous thing. Come on. I don’t care what anyone else thinks; I’m escorting you into the church.”
I let him, because I can’t deny him when he looks so good, and I slide my hand through his arm and walk down the path and into the church. We stop at the top of the aisle, and I take in the view of the guests starting to gather like colorful birds in their finery. Flowers decorate the end of each pew, and someone’s playing the organ, filling the church with uplifting music.
Damon’s mother, Mae, comes over, and Henry reluctantly releases me. I haven’t had much chance to speak to her yet, and she smiles as she kisses me on the cheek.
“You look so beautiful,” she says.
“You too,” I reply sincerely.
“No Cam this weekend?” she asks.
I swallow, not looking at Henry, but conscious of him standing next to me, silent and gorgeous and disapproving. Panic fills me, and I can’t think what to say. “No, his brother is visiting from the UK, and he decided to stay with him,” I blurt out.
“That’s a shame,” she says, “you make such a lovely couple. I’m sure he’s missing his girl. Well, I can see you’re in good hands! Have a great time.” She smiles and moves on.
Henry slides his hands into his pockets, glowering. He didn’t like Mae calling me Cam’s girl.
“Sorry,” I say awkwardly.
“Why aren’t you married?” he demands. “To Cam, I mean.”
I look up at him in surprise. “Because he’s never asked me.”
He frowns. “Why not?”
“He doesn’t believe in it. He says rings are an outdated symbol of ownership and possession.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “That’s what so fucking amazing about them.” His eyes are like lasers, burning through mine as they lock onto them. “Marry me,” he says.
My jaw drops. “What?”
