Page 155 of The Temporary Bride

As we continue moving over the dance floor, his fingers rub a slow circle over the exposed skin of my back, the purposeful touch sending another shiver through me. I lean into him, my breath catching as the heat between us grows.

His lips find the curve of my neck, planting soft, teasing kisses. “You’re incredible,” he breathes. “I can’t wait to show you just how fucking much I love you.”

I let out a soft, contented sigh, savoring the moment and the promise of what’s to come. “Yeah?”

He nips at my earlobe. “Abso-fucking-lutely, dimples. Trust me. I plan to worship you all night long.”

Epilogue Two

Gabriel

Peyton has been in the bathroom for ten minutes, and I can hear her singing to herself, which means she hasn’t started brushing yet.

I lean against the doorframe. She’s standing at the sink in her pajamas, her toothbrush in hand, conducting an imaginary orchestra in the mirror. The song is something from school, I think, one of those ones that gets stuck in your head for days whether you want it to or not. She hasn’t noticed me yet, too focused on her performance.

“Bug.”

She startles at the sound of her nickname and looks at me in the mirror, scrunching up her face. “Hey, Daddy. I was just…”

“Oh, I know what you were doing.” Chuckling, I push off the door frame and come in, grabbing my own toothbrush from the rack. “And you sounded great. But are those teeth getting any cleaner, do you think?”

She sighs, tilting her head to one side. “I guess not,” she lisps.

“Come on, I’ll brush with you.”

She nods and grabs her toothbrush from the holder, holding it out for toothpaste. I set the two minute timer on my phone and load up our brushes, and for a while, the only sounds in the bathroom are running water and Peyton murmuring around the toothbrush as she makes occasional eye contact with her reflection in the mirror like she’s having a private conversation with herself. She watches me sometimes too, glancing over as if to make sure I’m not cheating or phoning in my dental care.

When the timer goes off, she spits and rinses, and I do the same. I give her a towel to dry off her face, and she dabs at her mouth before I crouch down to let her press the towel to my face too. She started doing that when she was four, and it’s become part of our routine over the years.

“Okay, let’s see ‘em,” I tell her.

She turns to face me and bares her teeth in an exaggerated grimace, top and bottom, then sticks her tongue out, eyebrows raised like she’s presenting evidence in court.

“Looks good.”

I grin, then stick my tongue out at her too, and the bathroom fills with that carefree, childish laugh of hers, the one that gets me every time.

“You’re so silly, Daddy!”

Only for you, I think, but I don’t say it out loud. I’m pretty sure she’s the only person in the world who holds that assessment of my personality.

She bounces out of the bathroom ahead of me, already halfway down the hall by the time I’ve turned the light off. Her room is at the end, the door decorated with several stickers she’s gotten from various places.

I follow her in and find her already in bed, burrowing beneath her covers as she gets comfortable. When she finally goes still and looks at me, I sort out the left side of her blanket, the part she can never quite reach, and tuck it in the way she likes. Then I sit on the edge of the mattress beside her.

Lying on her back, she stares up at the ceiling, her feet moving restlessly under the covers. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to get married again?”

My entire body jerks slightly in surprise, and I go still for a second before I get myself back under control. She’s still looking at the ceiling, clearly unaware of the fact that she almost gave me a heart attack. The question seemed casual, so I try to match her tone as I answer.

“What made you think about that?”

She rolls her head toward me on the pillow. “Ella’s mom is getting married again. She told everyone at lunch today.” Her eyes go wide as she props herself up on one elbow. “She gets to be a flower girl and she gets to pick her own dress and everything. But her mom said she can pick anything she wants as long as it’s not pink.”

“Why not pink?”