Page 52 of Edge of Stars

For right now.

It’s not a phrase sitting well on the isthmus of my patience, though persistence helps me ground it a little better. The words say it all. This is temporary. No bride, in any realm, wouldn’t be bruised to the middle of their spirit from a wedding day like this. In the future—the far future—maybe she and I will be able to watch Worst Wedding Day compilations and laugh together. Hard and long.

For now, only the balance of this night is the applicable subject for those adjectives. I’m going to give her that, as much for my sanity as hers. We’ll both be more rested in the morning, which isn’t that far off. It already looks and feels like late afternoon, which makes sense given the handful of hours that separate us from LA’s time zone, so the concession isn’t gigantic.

But my love for this woman…

Absolutely is.

The admission itself becomes my mental mooring, already telling me this is the right call. Agonizing but right. Kara and I have had to put on masks for everyone else in the world, but not each other. We’ve never waited to face our truths together, no matter how horrendous or painful. That we’re doing even this minor duck-and-hide now, on our wedding night… I grit my teeth, trying not to compare it to stepping on a schoolyard crack or vertically planting our chopsticks in the rice.

This won’t be forever.

I’m willing to take the gamble for our love—which is better than forever.

This is for eternity.

* * *

“Triple chocolate ganache cake with one layer cherry liqueur and one mango mousse, frosted with Swiss meringue buttercream and chocolate-dipped strawberries.”

And if there’s any additional reason to seal why I want to be married to this female even when I’m ninety, here’s the moment I get it. I tell her so by leaning across the narrow kitchen counter that separates us and pushing an empathic kiss to her giggling lips.

This is absolutely the last scenario I imagined for us on our wedding night—perched on a couple of padded bar stools on opposing sides of a blue-and-gold damasco marble slab in a spacious but utilitarian kitchen, with at least twenty dishes of half-eaten food between us and the sink—but I also can’t think of any elaborate restaurant that would be more ideal. No candlelit setting that would have us laughing so freely. Grinning so fully.

And kissing…like this.

With the chance to lean in and urge her mouth open with mine. Taking advantage of the freedom to linger like this, with my own lips still wide, swiping in at her tongue with the flat of mine. Waiting until she pants at me in return, grabbing at the collar of my open dress shirt, until we’re making out more like the giddy teenagers we’re acting like. With rolling lips and clashing teeth. With wet, suckling sounds and wanton, lusty moans.

Until a punishing ding breaks us apart.

Kara falls back onto her chair, pressing cute fingers to her madly flushed cheeks. “Why does that sound so much like the timer on our porte cochere light? Which always seemed to be set to an earlier time when Kell was out on date nights?”

I crunch in my brows. “Never for yours?”

Her expression sobers by a small fraction. “Never met anyone I wanted to stay out like that with.”

“But now that this dude has, apparently, beamed you up to the Starship Enterprise?”

Her smirk returns, twice as adorable as before. “But the transporter clang is much more fun.”

“So far, so good.” I wave to our shameless sea of dishes, upon which there’s everything from strip steaks and seasoned fries to escargot and an outrageous cheese assortment. “I still can’t believe this place has a working replicator.”

“No. It’s a kouzilina,” she corrects with a wagging finger and impressive inflection. “Or so your uncle has dubbed it. Says so on the instructions there on the wall. And as long as you don’t go for any seafood…”

I chuckle, though toss a grimace over to the gray blobs that were produced in place of the shrimp scampi I first ordered. “Talk about a lesson learned the interesting way.”

A fresh laugh, light and brief, from her. “Guess I won’t be worried about having to hail you on the Federation-friendly frequency anytime soon.”

“And there’s the well-done geek gotcha for the night. You’ve been holding out on me, wife,” I accuse while she opens the replicat—kouzilina’s door and pulls out a huge slice of what looks like the intense dessert she just detailed. “Isn’t there a clause in the California marriage license laws about having to disclose Trekkie status before the rings go on?”

Kara leans forward as if her dessert fork is about to be a gavel. “Not guilty as charged. I hardly know the difference between a Vulcan and a tin can. Jaden was always the guy to boldly go and find the new creatures in the final frontier.”

I don’t correct her butcher job on the famous prologue. There’s a much more important subject to address.

“You mean Jaden is always the guy?”

She lowers the fork—though I no longer expect a cute order in the court to follow. Dejection defines her again to the point that the elaborate cake is forgotten.