Ella in her arms, Neva crosses the door into their home. Rhett close behind her, he leans in to whisper in her ear,
"Put on the dress I placed on our bed, and meet me in the living room."
Her dazzling eyes lift to his, and he smiles—kissing her on her blushing cheek.
"Can you do that for me?" he asks, amused.
She nods, unaware of the secret purpose behind those beautiful, knowing eyes.
Before slipping into the room, she glances back at him—still by the doorway where she left him, lips arched in a soft smile.
She tilts her head, then saunters inside. Her eyes fall to the white rectangular box on the bed, girded in a red bow. She sets Ella down gently.
Amazement sparkles in her glittering gaze as she perches on the edge of the bed. Placing the box in her lap, she runs her fingers along the soft ribbon,
then untangles the bow and lifts the lid.
A red dress lies inside.
She gasps at its beauty—flowing, elegant, her hands trembling as they grip the bust of the stunning gown.
Loosening her hair, she brushes her face with light makeup—igniting, enhancing nature's grace on her face.
The deep red suits her form perfectly. Off-shoulder, with a straight neckline and a bodice that hugs her waist, it drapes soft and willowy,
a burning slit along the left thigh. The dress flutters around her—fire kissing earth.
He always has such an exquisite taste in everything.
She opens the door.
The darkness is stripped away by flaming candles and fairy lights, warming the living room in golden glow.
"Do you like it?" he murmurs close.
A hand rests on her chest. She gasps in surprise.
He's leaning against the wall beside her—arms crossed, dressed in a fitted white shirt with sleeves rolled high to his elbows, and black pants.
So dashing. So impossibly handsome.
His hair is slicked back, clean, his eyes melting with warmth, and his smile tender.
God... She can't believe he's hers.
Her husband. Her love—this love that will live on eternally.
"You are perfect," he says, kissing her cheek.
Neva flushes scarlet, dazed. Her husband thumping her heart fast and hard.
Rhett steps back a few paces, fingers brushing over his lips. He watches her—his gorgeous wife—love lacing his gaze.
"Heaven…" he breathes, and a soft chuckle escapes her blossoming lips.
The round table is lit with floral candles, surrounded by delicious dishes. A strawberry cake rests in the center.
A bouquet of red roses leans to the side. Neva laughs softly at the sheer love of the man holding her hand.
She looks up at him—taller, strong, glowing. Her eyes glisten with emotion.
Threading her gaze into his soft ones, she wraps her arms around him.
"I'm so grateful, Rhett," she whispers, kissing his lips. "I'm so happy."
He chuckles gently. "I'm glad." He offers his hand.
"Before dinner… may I have a dance with my beautiful wife?"
She smiles, placing her hand in his. "Of course."
He turns on a music in the casette placed on the coffee table.
The magic of guitar, the sweetness of a voice, the warmth of lyrics, the mellow of piano—a love song floats through the air, its rhythm soft and slow.
The chorus vibrates the earth, the verses circle the room, and the bridge flies high into the night sky.
Their raised hands intertwine.
His protective arm wraps around her waist.
Together, they sway to the music… and the breeze outside.
Neva rests her head on his chest, eyes closed, their bodies close and one.
He kisses her hair gently.
The golden warmth of love flickers between them—hovering in the candlelit air.
"You are mine," he murmurs, voice low and reverent, "one with me… even after this life."
She lifts her gaze, their souls tangled in their eyes.
She smiles.
"Forever yours. One everlasting."
He smiles deep and wide, and kisses her—with soaring passion, with devotion, with adoration and affection.
"Happy 19th birthday, Angel," he whispers.
She wraps both arms around him, her ear against his chest. His heartbeat is steady and soothing.
"Thank you."
"Shall we cut the cake?" he asks, drawing her close, fingers stroking her long, wavy hair that falls like a waterfall down her waist.
"In a while," Neva murmurs, breathing deep—wishing to remain in his arms for as long as the night lasts, for as long as the moon delights.
"Wait…" She lifts her head from his chest, her brows furrowed.
He tilts his head at her, brow raised.
"Ella? Have you seen her?" she asks, suddenly wondering where the kitten has gone.
"The orange cat went home, I guess," he says casually.
"When?" she frowns.
"While you were in the room. She came out, cried defeaningly. I opened the door—she hopped away."
Neva pouts. "I was going to give her some treats."
He shakes his head.
"I couldn't let the loud cat third-wheel us."
She laughs, eyes warm.
"Well… from now on, someone will always be third-wheeling us."
She smiles up at him, threading her arms around his neck.
He pauses, thinking. Frowning deep.
Then his expression softens, his eyes rounding with realization.
"Ahh… of course. Our baby."
He sighs, smiling as Neva traces a smile on his lips, awe painting his face.