My mother is in a state. “I’m going to kill the caterer. They promised me individual appetizers, and now they’re saying they can only do a serve-yourself platter of hors d’oeuvres.”

“Mom.” I cross to where she’s pacing back and forth, wearing a track in the carpet, and take her by the arms. “It’ll be fine.”

“For what we’re paying them, they can damn well deliver what they said they would.”

“And I respect your negotiating skills. But Mom, so long as all the guests show up, everything will be all right.”

She tilts her head to consider me. “You don’t care at all, do you?”

I smile at her. “It’s sweet of you and Dad to pull out all the stops for the wedding. It really is, and I love you for it. But Brando and I would be perfectly content to stand up for five minutes in front of a justice of the peace, and then sit down with bowls of peanuts and glasses of punch. We just want the people we care about to be there.”

“You never were much of a material girl,” Mom says. “But you’ve grown up a lot this past year. Your perspective on life is so mature I sometimes wonder where my daughter went.”

I shake my head. “I’m still not old enough to drink, though.”

Mom waves a hand. “No one is going to care if you have a glass of champagne at your own wedding.”

There’s a tap on the door; Brando’s standing there. “Hello, ladies.”

“Brando,” my mother says. “Come on in.” We’re in the sunroom in my parents’ house, enjoying an unseasonably mild late spring day.

Next week, I turn twenty. The week after that, on the anniversary of the day we met, Brando and I will get married at the Catholic church in his hometown — Adamotown, as I like to call it.

Brando busses my mother’s cheek and gives me a light kiss. “Is it all right if I steal her for a few minutes?” he asks Mom.

“Go ahead. I’m just grousing about the caterer. I need her back by two o’clock, though; she has a fitting.”

“Got it. See you later, Mrs. D.”

“Bye, Mom.”

“Bye, honey.”

I follow Brando outside. My parents weren’t thrilled when they found out I had a boyfriend who was almost twice my age. But as they got to know him, and also got to know us as a couple, they figured out what the Adamos already knew: we fit, my man and I. We’re good together.

Once they understood that our relationship was solid, and growing stronger every day, they got on board, and now they’re some of Brando’s biggest fans. I’m grateful for that. I would have stuck with him no matter what, but it makes life a lot easier that we don’t have to battle our families to be together.

“What’s up?” I ask as we reach the SUV.

“I hadn’t seen you yet today. I missed my girl.”

My heart melts. I go up on my tiptoes so he can kiss me properly, and by the time we finish my panties are soaked. “I missed you too,” I say in a husky voice.

“I can tell.” He gives my ass a squeeze, then opens my door. “Kiko’s at the apartment,” he adds when he sees me looking around the interior. “The drive down here was enough for him.”

Brando has made so much progress this year that he’s now a peer counselor for other vets living with PTSD. His flashbacks and other episodes are infrequent these days, and Kiko is starting to transition into being more of a companion dog, though he still stands ready to help whenever it’s needed.

I credit my soon-to-be husband for all my growth; he credits me for his. We have what one of my teachers would call a mutual admiration society.

“So much still to do,” I say as he takes the SUV around the curve at the top of the driveway, heading for the street. “Mom would kill me if we eloped, but I’m tempted nonetheless.”

“You wouldn’t have to persuade me,” Brando says. “But having our mothers mad at us is probably not the best way to start our married life.”

“Just saying, though. You better be serious about all that ‘until death do us part’ stuff, because I am never going through this again.”

His warm chuckle fills the car. “Just as well I’m planning on keeping you, then.”

“Very funny. If I’m going to be a kept woman, you’d better make it worth my while.”

“But of course.” He reaches for my hand and brings it to his lips. “A frozen pizza, expertly microwaved, at least once a week.”

I crack up. Brando makes amazing pizza. He doesn’t serve it at the restaurant, and I keep telling him he could open a second place, just for that, and make oodles of money.

But that’s not his priority, which is one of the things I love about him. He wants to spend time with me, and eventually our children. One restaurant is plenty.

I roll down my window so I can enjoy the breeze. Last fall, I transferred to the college campus in Adamotown and moved into the cabin. At first, none of my family and friends thought that was a good idea — to put it mildly. That was a rough time, but Brando’s family were there for us and it made all the difference.

I still haven’t met Matteo. All Brando will say is that he can’t talk about him, and neither will anyone else. It fascinates me how such a talkative group of people can all clam up on that one topic.

* * *

The apartment is a little studio Brando rented in the city. It gives me a place to crash when I’m here doing wedding stuff, because he doesn’t want me driving up the mountain late at night. It also gives us a place to sleep together that isn’t my parents’ house.

I’m sure my folks are under no illusions about me “saving” myself until I’m married, but I still can’t bring myself to have sex when they’re just a few doors away. It’s a total mood-killer. So the apartment comes in very handy.

Kiko greets us with a woof and a tail wag. “What’s the fitting this afternoon?” Brando asks as he settles into the loveseat I found at a thrift shop. The apartment’s in an older building, with exposed brick, and there’s a little nook by a window where the loveseat fits perfectly.

“The final one on my gown, plus all the bridesmaids.” I have a lot of bridesmaids, because after Brando told me about his intervention, we asked all seven of those men to stand as groomsmen.

Matteo would have been best man … but he won’t be at the wedding. That really bothers me. I hope, someday, I get a good explanation.

“Have you got everything set for the bachelor party?” I ask as I get Brando’s favorite beer from the fridge and pour myself an iced tea.

“Yeah, the cousins are heading that up. Which reminds me — I need to get gifts for the groomsmen. I’ll work on that when I drop you off for the fitting.”

“One more thing crossed off the list.” I put our drinks on the nesting tables on either side of the loveseat and sit down, turned sideways so I’m facing him. Propping my head on my hand, I say, “Hi there.”

“Hi.” He takes my other hand and rubs his thumb lightly over my knuckles. “How you holding up?”

“I’m fine. I’ll just be glad when it’s all over and we’re actually married.” It’s strange, sometimes, to realize how much we already act like a long-established couple. We’ve gotten so comfortable with each other, so much in sync.

“I’m looking forward to that part too. Especially the honeymoon.”

I laugh. “Yes, because we’ve been so celibate up to now.”

“There are more things to do on a honeymoon than have sex, you know.”

“Really?” I bat my eyelashes at him. “Are any of them things we’d actually want to do? More than sex?”

“We’ll just have to see,” he says with a grin. He’s refusing to give me even the tiniest hint about where we’re going.

“Fine. Keep teasing me. I’ll find something to torture you with.”

“I can’t wait.”

I poke him playfully in the stomach; he grabs me and tugs me forward. When I’m lying on top of him, he gently urges my head down with one hand curled around my neck. We still have lots of heated encounters, but sometimes, like today, the mood gentles and we wind up in epic makeout/foreplay sessions before we get down to the main event.

It’s times like this that I really appreciate Brando being older. He’s still got the drive and stamina of a young man, but also patience, control, and experience. It’s a great combination.

Our clothes come off slowly as we explore each other, touching and tasting. He lets me go down on him, something I love, and I make it last until he insists on reciprocating. Not until I’ve come three times does he put throw pillows on the floor for me to kneel on, my upper body resting on the loveseat’s cushions.

“How do you want it?” he asks from behind me.

“Any way you want to give it to me.” I trust him completely, with every inch of my body.

“Sasha,” he whispers against my neck. I know, because he tells me, that he doesn’t take what we have for granted, and is determined that he never will. “You humble me.”

“I love you.”

“That’s part of what humbles me.” He covers me, fills me, and starts to move, rocking against me, his hand finding my clit while his mouth nibbles my neck, my earlobe, the sensitive spot where my neck and shoulder meet.

I make a sound between a gasp and a whimper. “That’s right,” he says. “I’m gonna fuck you nice and easy until you come for me, and then I’m gonna fuck you til you scream.”

“Please,” I moan, the climax already on its way, pressure and pleasure twining together, twisting and turning inside me.

“I love how wet you get for me. So slippery, so tight, so hot.” He speeds up, thrusting steadily, and I start to whimper with every stroke, unable to contain the ecstasy ravishing my body.

Until his hand covers my mouth, his other hand still playing with my clit. “Keep it,” he orders, and his roughness sends a thrill chasing down my spine. “Take what I give you and send it all back to your clit. I want you coming like a rocket.”

The sounds I’m making have turned frantic as my body races toward the finish line. He’s fucking me harder now, his hips slapping my ass every time we connect. “Come, dammit,” he growls in my ear, and his hand starts lightly spanking my pussy and clit.

I come so hard I see stars. His hand pauses and then starts again, not letting me come down before I shoot over the edge into another wrenching orgasm. He’s holding himself deep inside me, feeling me convulse and clench around his cock as he sends me over yet again.

When I go limp, he moves his hands to take hold of my hips. I grab a pillow and stuff it in my mouth just in time for Brando to start fucking me hard and fast, his hands yanking me back to meet him, his powerful body driving his cock home again and again. My system is revving so hard that I lose track of how many more climaxes I have before he buries himself in me a final time and lets go.

I take his weight against my back, his elbows braced on either side of mine. When I can breath again, I say, “That was nice.”

Brando’s laughter echoes off the walls. “God, I love you.” I bring his hand to my mouth and kiss his palm, which is all the answer he needs.

* * *

The day before the wedding, I’m alone in the cabin, working on packing my bags for the honeymoon. When I asked Brando for guidance, he told me to be prepared for anything: warm weather, cool weather, casual dress, fancy occasions.

I threatened to teach Kiko to fart on command.

I’m testing a very full suitcase to see if I can zip it shut when I sense a presence. The millisecond after that, I know on some level deeper than consciousness that it isn’t Brando.

When I turn, there’s a man standing in the doorway. A very familiar man, though I’ve never seen him before. I stare at him a long moment before I say, “Hello, Matteo.”

He takes a step inside while I examine him. So much like his twin, and yet so different. If I had to give him a label, strictly in terms of his appearance, I’d call him the bad-boy biker version of Brando.

His hair, the same rich, dark, wavy brown as his brother’s, is down to his shoulders. He’s dressed in denim and leather and motorcycle boots. A scar runs from above one eyebrow down below his eye, curving toward his ear on that side.

And the look in those eyes. They’re the same gorgeous brown as Brando’s, but their expression is completely different. I can see, when I look at my man, that he’s been through things, that he’s got his inner scars. But all that he’s experienced has been integrated into who he is, and his dominant emotions are positive: contentment, amusement, even joy.

Matteo looks like he walks through fire every second of every day. And wants it that way. He looks like he’s more apt to be the nightmare than survive one.

“Brando’s not here,” I tell him.

“I know.”

I throw my hands up. “Well, that’s just great. When’s the last time he saw you?” Matteo doesn’t answer. He’s watching me like I’m an intriguing creature, one he can’t quite classify.

“He doesn’t talk about you, you know. Nobody does. All these people who love you, and it’s like you don’t exist.” I press my lips together against a sudden rush of emotion. “Whatever you’re doing — to yourself, to them — I hope it’s worth it.”

He still doesn’t respond, but there’s something new in his expression. I want to call it respect, but that doesn’t make any sense.

“Don’t expect me not to tell him you were here,” I say sharply. “I won’t lie to my husband.”

“No,” Matteo says, and his voice is quiet, almost gentle, in stark contrast to the storm in his eyes. “I don’t expect that.”

He takes a step back. “Be well, Sasha.” Then he’s gone, closing the door soundlessly behind him.

I flop onto the couch and run my hands through my hair, feeling like I’ve just survived some sort of ordeal. Then I shake my head, get up, and start packing again.

* * *

Sasha didn’t sleep at the cabin last night. After the rehearsal dinner, Kami took her home. Sasha and all her bridesmaids camped out together, along with Kiko, who’s staying with Kami during our honeymoon.

I can’t wait to watch my beautiful woman walk down the aisle, to make her my bride, to officially start our new life together. It’s ridiculous how much I miss her after a single night apart.

My luggage for our trip is about one fourth of hers. I have to say, I’m really glad I’m a guy. Not least because I get to be married to Sasha.

I get my tux from the closet, grab my suitcase, and start down the stairs. Two steps down, I know there’s someone in the house. Before I can drop everything and go back for my weapon, Matteo steps into view.

“You asshole.” I hurry down the steps, drop the suitcase, and drape the tux carefully over it before I turn to him. “If you gave me a heart attack the day of my wedding, Sasha would kick your ass.”

He’s in badass, do-not-approach mode, but I don’t give a fuck. I pull him into a tight embrace, and we hold it for a long moment before we step back.

“Sasha said you came by yesterday.”

“Yeah.” One corner of his mouth tilts up. “Most women are scared of me — even the ones who know me. Yours gave me a lecture.”

I grin. “She takes no shit, my Sasha. It’s one of the things I love about her.”

“She loves you too.”

“I know.” I hold his gaze. “I’m a lucky man, brother.”

He nods. “I’d be there today if I could. You know that. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

“The only thing you owe me is to stay alive.”

“Working on it.”

“When does this end, Teo?”

“Soon, I think. Really fucking soon. But things are apt to get worse before they get better.”

I wrap a hand around his neck and pull him in, forehead to forehead. “You come back to us. You hear me?”

“I’ll do my best, brother.”

“Do better than that. I’ll never forgive you if you don’t. And neither will Sasha.”

“God forbid,” he says, and smiles. “I’ll see you.”

Then he’s gone, and I’ve got something in my eye. I’m still blinking when Tonio honks outside the cabin.

* * *

Thanks to Sasha’s mother and mine, the wedding is a lavish success, and the reception is even better. It’s early evening when my wife and I wave goodbye and climb into the limo that will take us to the airport.

“Are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?” she says.

“Nope. I may even blindfold you and make you wear earplugs until we’re on the plane.”

She laughs. “You’re so mean to me.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“I bet you will.” Her wicked grin leaves no doubt how she’ll be extracting payment.

Lifting her hand, I kiss her palm. “I love you, Sasha Natalia Adamo.”

“I love you, Brando Elario Adamo. Now and forever.”

Then she leans over and whispers in my ear. “Guess what I’m wearing under this dress?”

My cock twitches. “Either a pair of my boxer briefs, or nothing at all.”

“You are correct. You’ll just have to wait to find out which.”

It’s going to be a beautiful life.