Page 77 of Forever We Embrace: The Later Years
“Don’t forget the pink ribbon,” Maceo whispers as he sets the crown down.
“I won’t.” I wait until he settles against my shoulder again before pulling the blanket higher over Rosalie.
Maceo settles back against my shoulder as Luca’s hand rests over the curve of his belly while Blake keeps his fingers linked with Grayson’s across the blankets. Samuel’s arm remains flung across James, and James still holds one corner of the ring cushion even in his sleep.
Tomorrow, everyone else will witness us standing together.
28
Epilogue
Blake
Grayson catches my hand before I can straighten my cuff for the fourth time.
“You’re going to wrinkle it,” he murmurs, smoothing the midnight-blue fabric beneath his palm. His thumb lingers over my wrist for a moment before he leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth. “Leave it alone. You look beautiful.”
I turn my face enough to catch him for a second kiss. Grayson’s smile softens against my lips, and the tension in my shoulders eases before he steps back to inspect the rest of me. He chose the suit, adjusted the cut around the shoulder that still stiffens when I’ve used the cane too long, and argued with the tailor until every line sat exactly where he wanted it.
“You look better,” I tell him.
His charcoal suit carries a narrow silver thread through the vest, visible only when the sunlight reaches it. He spent most of the morning moving through the ceremony space with his plans folded beneath one arm, checking the curved seating, the progression of the lights, and the wide aisle he refused to let me narrow around my own limits.
Grayson brushes his fingers over my cheek before resting his forehead against mine. “We’re all allowed to look good today.”
Beyond him, the garden is full.
The curved rows hold Ember House staff, residents, members of the survivor network, employees from Keller Industries, and the people who have carried us through every year it took to reach this day. White peonies bend gently along the edge of the path, softened by smaller pink flowers Rosalie chose after deciding the ceremony needed more color. Warm lights wait beneath the leaves for evening, placed exactly where Grayson and I left them after our last argument over the plans.
Luther stands near the center with Wilson, reviewing the final transportation schedule even though every guest has arrived and every car is already parked. His suit is dark enough to make the silver at his temples more visible, and the tie beneath his vest matches the shade Rosalie selected for her crown. She held three pieces of ribbon against him before announcing which one he was permitted to wear.
When Luther looks up and finds me watching, he closes the folder in Wilson’s hands and crosses the grass. His palm settles against the side of my neck as he bends to kiss me, slow enough that I feel the shape of his smile before he draws back.
“You’re ready,” he says as I slide my free hand beneath his jacket and press my fingers to his waist, keeping him close for another breath.
“I am now.” I kiss him once more before he returns to the center.
Luther kisses my forehead before turning toward Grayson. He catches Grayson by the back of the neck, brings him in for a quiet kiss, and smooths one hand down his back as they separate. Maceo waits near the entrance to the aisle, adjusting his cuffs while his attention returns to the hedge on the opposite side of the garden.
Luca waits beyond the hedge, still hidden from me, but the bond carries his nerves beneath my ribs as warm pressure threaded with anticipation and the exhaustion he has tried to hide all morning.
Quentin cleared him for the ceremony after all of us promised to keep water nearby, make him sit when he needed to, and call immediately if contractions began or Luca’s water broke. The hospital bag is already in the car, packed and ready in case our son decides not to wait.
Maceo stops in front of me and adjusts the edge of my collar. His knuckles brush my throat, then his hand settles briefly against my chest.
“He’s ready,” he tells me.
I cover his hand before he can remove it. “How is he?”
“Uncomfortable. Emotional. Determined to walk the full aisle without help.” Maceo’s mouth softens as he looks toward the hedge again. “He’s beautiful.”
The words roughen something in my throat. I lift Maceo’s hand and kiss his knuckles, then draw him closer until our foreheads meet.
“So are you.”
His eyes close for a moment. When he steps away, he squeezes the back of my neck and joins Luther and Grayson in the center of the garden.
Luther takes his place to one side of the central space, Grayson to the other, and Maceo between them. They wait together while the children enter.
