Epilogue

Valentine

“Christmas weddings are the best, aren’t they?” I ask as I look out at the expanse of sparkling white before me and sharp blue skies above.

“You’re just saying that since I agreed to marry you in Saint Lucia,” Logan mutters as he leans back in his beach chair. I do the same and dig my feet down into the pristine white sand as I close my eyes. We decided to elope to a tropical destination for our wedding, with the intent to throw a big shindig when we got back to Alaska, most likely next summer. I never wanted that big white wedding—and Logan knew there was nothing virginal about me—and Logan wanted something low stress and really only about the two of us. In my opinion, it was perfect.

Before we finalized this plan, however, we did check with his family, who are absolutely the best people ever. We wanted to make sure they were okay with us eloping, and because they’re the type of people that just want us to be happy, they were all for it. Plus, they liked the idea of a party in Alaska better.

My parents were a little peeved they couldn’t do a big society wedding in New York, but I wasn’t about to have the happiest day of my life played out in that scenario. And once they got over their snit about it, they did send Logan and me a beautiful eight-piece china setting.

We both snorted over that, because what in the hell do we need china for in Alaska?

When I tilt my face up to the sun, I feel Logan take my left hand, his fingers absently twisting my wedding band back and forth. A small smile plays across my face, because he’s been doing that for the last four days since I’ve said “I do.” He does it because he’s having a hard time believing it to be true.

That I said yes.

After all, he asked me to marry him only five weeks after we reconciled. Both of us knew the request was impetuous and a huge risk. After all, I’d just moved to the wilds of Alaska and was yet to even experience a harsh winter—although truth be told, this area of Alaska really doesn’t get that much colder than New York in the winter. However, in New York I had a car service to take me where I wanted. In Alaska, I’d have to get out and drive around in that snow on curvy mountain roads.

Regardless, Logan is a man of confidence, and in his words, “We fit so well together in all ways,” that there was no reason to wait. He did mention something about him being thirty-seven, and perhaps he felt our biological clock was ticking, and he did keep harping on the fact about that night long ago when he carried me out of The Wounded Caribou over his shoulder and I made a passing remark to Ted that we’d name our firstborn after him.

Seems this stuck with Logan, and before he asked me to marry him, we’d spend long nights in bed holding each other and talking about the future. That included kids, of course, and I learned he wanted three. I hadn’t thought about it at all, since I never saw myself getting married. He let that subject lay low for a while.

The marriage proposal caught me off guard, because as I said, it happened pretty quickly. But it was simple, private, and in only the way that Logan can do. He had me on the couch, on his lap, and there was a nice fire going. We were both sipping wine and talking.

And then he just pulled out a black velvet box from his pocket and gave me an impassioned speech about love, destiny, and fate. As he started to open the box, I risked a glance at his face, and for the first time since I’d known him, I saw he was nervous.

Before he even got the box open, and with my heart hammering harder than it ever has before, I blurted out, “The answer’s yes. So you can stop worrying.”

Logan’s eyes came to mine, his lips tipped up. “You might not say that after you see the size of the ring.”

My eyes dropped down, my heart still hammering over the magnitude of what I just agreed to, and when I saw the ring sitting there, my heart just broke wide open with love for him.

It was simple.

Elegant.

A gold band with a small diamond solitaire.

I loved it at first glance because it was exactly what I would have wanted from Logan.

“Answer’s still yes,” I murmured as I plucked the ring from the box.

He in turn took the ring out of my hand and slid it on the appropriate finger on my left hand.

Then he dragged me off to bed and we went at it for so long and hard that night I swear I was walking funny the next day. We had also a tentative plan for a Christmas wedding because we’d made our plans between all the sex that night.

Logan continues to twirl my ring around and I lazily roll my head to the side to look at him. His face is tilted up to the sun, eyes closed.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, and his fingers stop moving on my ring.

He sits up, releases my hand, and turns in his chair to face me. I twist slightly to face him.

“I noticed your birth control pills have been gone from our medicine cabinet for a few weeks now,” he says, and I blink at him in surprise. Never in a million years would I have thought he’d notice that.

When Logan proposed to me, and after I said a very hasty but definite yes, he wanted to talk about kids. I think this was about after the third time we’d had sex to celebrate the engagement. He told me he didn’t want to wait.

I told him I had to think about it.

And I did, for about two days, and I realized…I didn’t want to wait either. Neither of us were getting any younger, so I threw my pills out and didn’t look back. I also didn’t say a word to Logan, because if and when I got pregnant, I thought it would be fun to surprise him.

“Are you—” he starts to ask.

I shake my head. “It’s only been a few months, and I went to see a gynecologist and she told me it can take some time.”

“Makes sense,” he says as he stands from the chair. Reaching down, he lifts me up and sweeps me off my feet. His skin is warm and oily against mine, and I have to admit I’m dreading going back home in three days, only because I’m going to miss him strutting around in nothing but swim trunks and hard abs since we got here.

“Where are we going, Mr. Burke?” I ask as I hook my arms around his neck and nuzzle into him.

“To the room, Mrs. Burke,” he says, picking up the pace. “Why the fuck we’re still lying out here on the beach when we could be inside fucking and getting pregnant is beyond me.”

I giggle into his neck and then pull back to look at him. “We should try tequila.”

He stops dead in his tracks. “Tequila?”

“Yeah, supposedly if you get drunk on tequila you get pregnant,” I say with a shrug. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“Well, right now let’s do some sober fucking,” he says as he continues past the pool and into the resort. “I can go a few times this afternoon. Then after dinner tonight, we’ll try tequila.”

I laugh at my husband as he carries me all the way up to our room before walking us into the large shower to get us rinsed off before we hit the bed. Truth be told, we’ve spent a lot of time in this room, and I’m fine with spending more.

I’m also not going to be joining in the tequila tonight. As of today, I’m technically two days late on my period, but I don’t want to tell him that and get his hopes up for nothing. Sometimes I’m late.

But once we get back to Alaska, if it still hasn’t started, I’ll get a pregnancy test and then maybe the last of all our wishes will come true.