“The story is, Georgios told me, her husband mined the diamond himself, and the gold. He made the band himself, and had the diamond cut and set. She wore it every day of her life, and then she gave it to her eldest son, to give to his wife when he married.”
I hold out my finger, and he slides it on—it fits perfectly.
“No shit,” he breathes. “I assumed we’d have to have it sized.”
“I guess not.” I marvel at it. “It fits like it was made for me.” I watch the diamond catch the afternoon sunlight. “I love it. So,somuch.”
“You didn’t want anything huge, so I thought maybe you’d want something…meaningful. Something old.” He cradles me closer. “And I wanted to give it you when we were naked in bed together, after the most amazing lovemaking of our lives.”
I smile against his chest. “Let’s go back to sleep.”
He sighs happily. “Okay.” A pause. “Want me to clean you up?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.”
I kiss his chest. “When we get up, we’ll take a shower. You’ll feed me. We’ll fuck a few more times, and then we’ll fly down to the island, and we’ll let Mom and Auntie Lay-Lay plan our wedding.”
“Sounds perfect.” A long pause. “Do you think we got you pregnant?”
I nod. “Yeah, I do. I’ve been off my pill for over a week, and this is when I’m most fertile, according to my cycle.” I pat his side. “But if not, we can keep trying. I want to have your baby as soon as I can.”
“I want that too.”
“You do?”
He’s quiet, nodding; I feel the motion. “A little Yelena of my own, calling me Daddy.”
“Should we name her that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. We can talk about names.”
Another long silence.
“Apollo?”
Drowsy, but not sleepy. “I can’t sleep.”
“Me either.”
I roll to my back and pull him over me. “So fuck me again. Maybe that’ll make us sleepy.”
And so, he does.
Epilogue
Family Found
Despite Corinna’s continued protest that she only wants a small, intimate wedding, the planning ends up occupying a full eight weeks. And it swells to include…everyone.
There are lights festooning the palm trees, a white rose-wreathed arch with rows of white-swathed couches facing the arch, and the rippling turquoise sea behind it. There are caterers, and security so tight as to make a Buckingham Palace seem positively unguarded. Swans float in the surf. Red rose petals carpeting the sand to line the path to the altar. Dozens of guests—all of A1S Original Six and their wives and children, and Dyani; Bryn’s fiancé Zero’s whole family shows up, expectedly unexpected and in droves, chattering in half a dozen languages and accents, turning the party up to eleven.
Zero is tall, lanky, and debonair. Short messy black hair, but with freckles, and green eyes, and an energetic insouciance, wearing board shorts and an unbuttoned shirt, a hemp necklace around his neck and wraparound sunglasses on his eyes, night or day. He always has a ukulele or a guitar or a mandolin or something, once even a hurdy-gurdy, and another time a strange large-bellied, four-stringed instrument with a tilted head—a lute.
Bryn is gaga for him, but it’s easy to see why—he’s effortlessly, endlessly cool. He speaks who knows how many languages, plays who knows how many instruments, and plays them because he can’t not play music. He’s always singing, always playing. And if he’s not, he’s about to.
His family shows up while the preparations are still being made, but everyone else is already on the island, so it’s simply a wild party that lasts a week. There are bonfires all over the beach, and people drift from one to the other, and there’s always someone singing or laughing or dancing.
