When I turn, my heart stops beating. There, standing amongst the oak trees, is a vision in red. Yes, red. My wife is wearing a long flowy dress in a color as bold and vibrant as she is. It’s seductive, sexy, and dips low in the front. Her long dark hair is pulled up on her head with a halo of flowers surrounding her.
She’s beautiful.
Breathtaking.
Mine.
As she makes her way toward me, I notice her feet are bare, and I can’t help but grin. My eyes return to her face, and all I see now is her smile. It’s wide and full of happiness, and to see that look on her face, knowing I put it there, brings tears to my eyes. I don’t even care that I could cry in front of my family, in front of my brother who’d no doubt tease me mercilessly. I don’t care because I feel that same happiness too.
Freedom stops in front of me. “Fancy meeting you here,” she says, making those around us laugh.
I shrug. “I had nowhere else to be,” I tell her with a wink as I reach for her hand.
“Damn right, you didn’t.” She shifts the flowers to her left and takes my hand with her right, and together, we turn to face the minister.
The ceremony is quick, but it feels amazing to repeat our vows, especially in light of the fact, I don’t exactly remember them the first time. Even though I listen to what he says, my eyes are only for her. She truly looks stunning today, on our wedding day.
Rewedding day, as Freedom likes to call it.
The moment the minister pronounces us man and wife, I pull her into my arms and kiss her. It’s probably not a church-appropriate kiss, but I don’t care. She’s my wife, and there’s nothing I want more than to seal this moment with a kiss. As I pull away, my left hand, the one with my wedding ring, drops to her belly. It’s still flat, but we could see in the ultrasound we had three days ago that our peanut is getting bigger every day.
Freedom hasn’t had any more episodes of passing out or getting dizzy. We make sure she’s well hydrated, and thanks to only minor nausea, she’s eating like a champ. She still works too many jobs, I’m just happy to report she has scaled back on them. She still massages a few of her regular clients, as well as continues to be a Reiki practitioner (still don’t really know what that means), but she’s stepped back from Kiss Me Goodnight, only working as a backup for the backups. She’s also still working part time at the funeral home, which I love because then I can keep an eye on her. And besides the times she completely disorganizes my filing system (which she does regularly), I love working beside her.
We make a great team.
After the ceremony, we take a few pictures on the beach, but we’re both anxious to go up to the backyard of the bed and breakfast. There, we have tables and chairs set up and enough food to feed half the town. When Mom and Marissa begged to make the meal, we had no idea they’d go all out. They even whipped up a big selection of desserts in place of the traditional wedding cake. Freedom’s eyes glazed over as she saw the spread, so I’m happy.
Happy wife, happy life.
It was laid-back and casual, but most importantly, everyone who means anything to us is here, celebrating right alongside us. “Ready to eat some food, Mrs. Grayson?”
“Hell to the yeah,” Freedom bellows as she eyes the varieties of food laid out for us.
I lead my wife to the tables of food, grab two plates, and watch with delight as she starts piling on the food. I’m surprised as she takes a small scoop of beef tips, mainly because she doesn’t eat meat. She must see the shocked look on my face because she holds the spoon up and says, “Baby wants beef.”
I hold up the hand not holding the plate in surrender. “Sweetheart, you eat whatever you want, though I do have to say, I’m worried your system might not like it since you haven’t had it in forever.” I actually read an article online recently where a woman took several years off from eating red meat and then the moment she did, her body rejected it. Violently.
She waves her hand dismissively. “I don’t care. I’ve been smelling these bad boys for the last fifteen minutes. Besides, if I get sick later, you’ll be there to hold my hair again, just like last time.”
I stop and look her way. “You got sick last time?” Since I barely remember anything about our first wedding, I had no idea she was ill.
“We both did, Sammy. Why do you think we ended up in the shower?”
I pull a face, but she doesn’t seem to care, just continues to place food on her plate. I follow behind, taking a little bit of everything, since my mom and sister are the best cooks I know. “To answer your question, yes, I’ll hold your hair later.”
She stops at the front of the line, not even caring that she’s holding everyone up. “What if I don’t actually get sick? Will you still hold my hair?” Freedom wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, which makes my cock jump in my pants.
“Nothing beats a good hairpulling from behind, right?”
I gasp and turn, noticing for the first time Aunt Emma standing right behind me.
“Oh, wedding nights are special. Everyone thinks you need sweet lovemaking with missionary positions.”
“Stop talking,” I beg, but Freedom leans forward, all ears at
