Epilogue

Epilogue

A nother three years later

Max

I miss my husband.

I’m surrounded by people in this vineyard villa bridal suite, where everyone is talking about love and happiness.

I smile and laugh as I help my mother-in-law and her bridesmaids prepare for the big day, but inside, I’m in pieces.

Talbot is still with me at 50, and I consider myself as lucky as ever that our marriage has made it thus far. But we haven’t touched each other in weeks.

In preparing for his mom’s wedding, things have gotten so out of control, and my husband and I have lost our connection.

Pre-menopause set in almost the second I stopped nursing our youngest child, Noah, who’s now 4.

And no, I didn’t end up pregnant with a sixth child — my instincts were correct. And now, three years later, I’m in full-on menopause.

That has brought with it a host of symptoms: irritability, fatigue, and lack of interest in sex. Older mom problems, what can you do?

Finished with my makeup and hair, I steady myself at the window, taking a breath. Outside, the vineyard in autumn is beautiful. It’s mid-October, and the leaves are starting to change in wine country. The harvest is past, and tourism is beginning to slow down in Napa. I’m so glad Dianna chose this place. The location is stunning, for one thing, and the villa had room for all the wedding guests.

An autumn hike with my husband would have been fantastic this morning.

But he’d planned a golf outing instead, trying to pack in everything the area had to offer.

That’s okay. This weekend isn’t about us and our marriage and my stupid hormones, or lack thereof.

Time to focus on the bride.

Dianna beams at the updo that the professional stylist we hired has just done. At 72, my mother-in-law is like a new woman. Dianna has never looked so happy since I met her.

After all the heartache she’s had to deal with in her lifetime, she deserves a day that’s all about her happiness.

Hers, and Frank’s.

And hopefully, her rosy outlook will hide the fact that Talbot and I are having our first real fight in 13 years.

Dianna smiles as she smooths down the fine fabric of her dress, her fingers fluttering. “I’m so nervous,” she chuckles.

Her neighbor, Lee, sips at a third glass of pinot grigio. “Last time you got married, you were too young to understand what you were getting into. Now, you know.”

That can’t be it, but Dianna doesn’t argue. She goes to the lighted mirror and picks up an eyebrow pencil.

Since we moved Talbot’s mom to California to be closer to us and the kids over ten years ago, Lee has been a great friend to Dianna. She never knew Dianna back when she first married Talbot’s father; she only knows that the family used to own a bar and that she had a hard time after her husband passed away. Lee, a tanned and boozy free spirit, doesn’t ask too many questions, which has suited Dianna quite well. Lee loves to party, too, and it is a Napa wedding, after all.

At this point, I’m not sure Lee will ever manage to put on that bridesmaid dress without smearing lipstick everywhere.

I go to Dianna and take the eyebrow pencil from her shaking hand. “But you’re not nervous about Frank. Are you, Mom?”

My eyes quickly glance at my mom, Elizabeth, who’s putting on her shoes. No matter how close I get to Dianna, it still feels weird to call her “Mom.” My real mom doesn’t bat an eye. She hums to herself as her still-nimble fingers work the tiny buckle of her killer heels. She’s developed a taste for fashion whenever she visits me in California, and we shop on Rodeo Drive.

I wish we all lived closer together. I wish my mom could see my kids as often as Dianna does.

I wish Talbot had planned a week around the wedding festivities instead of three days.

My mother-in-law shakes her head and sighs. “Oh, I’m not nervous about Frank at all. I’m nervous at all the fuss and attention. And my knee is acting up again, and I’m worried I’ll fall down in front of everyone in these heels.”

“Sit down and drink some water. No wine,” I emphasize, hoping Lee gets the hint.

Dianna takes a seat and lets me pencil her brows.

“Have you eaten today?”

She nods and tells me she had some toast and juice this morning. I wish she’d taken more advantage of the free room service offered at the villa. They have an amazing chef on staff. But she’s never gotten over the urge to be frugal, even when other people are paying her way.

It adds to my annoyance and makes me wonder why Talbot or his childhood friends were not checking on Dianna this morning. They grew up enjoying Dianna’s cooking. They all should be taking better care of her now.

Instead, Talbot, his friends, Frank, and his sons all golfed this morning. Meanwhile, Frank’s daughter and her partner had volunteered to feed and entertain all the grandchildren.

I wish my husband hadn’t planned everything so close together. The schedule has been jam-packed this weekend: Friday was a vineyard tour, rehearsal, and the rehearsal dinner. This morning, everyone had the option of golfing, hiking, kayaking, or wine tasting. Tomorrow, we check out of the villa and come together one last time for the farewell brunch before Dianna and Frank head off to Hawaii for their honeymoon. In my opinion, It’s too much for Dianna at her age. Hell, it’s too much for me. There’s too much free-flowing alcohol, too much activity, and not enough time to relax.

Dianna hardly had anything to do with the planning other than the venue. Did she even want to walk down the aisle in the first place? She doesn’t like to be the center of attention; she never has. Maybe Talbot should have checked with her and arranged a simpler, less traditional ceremony with less marching and pomposity and whatnot.

“Listen. Talbot is not going to let you fall down,” I say of my husband, who will be walking her down the aisle in about fifteen minutes.

“He’s a good boy,” Dianna says. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“Shh,” I tell her so I can help apply her lipstick next. Also, I don’t want her getting too sentimental and ruining her fake eyelashes. She initially objected to the idea until I showed her a subtle set of lashes that matched her style.

When I finish doing her lips, I add some blush to the hollows of her cheeks. “I’m so proud of him. He’s so busy with the kids, and he took the time to plan my wedding,” she says.

Through a tight-lipped smile, I concur. “He’s a gem alright.”

Slightly slurring her words, Lee raises her glass. “Can you imagine anyone’s son wanting to plan his mother’s wedding so she wouldn’t have to lift a finger? What a good kid.”

If only Lee knew the real story. If only she were telepathic, she could hear me say, “Shut up, Lee.”

It’s all I can do to get Dianna’s friend and my own mother, who’s still preening in the mirror, to be fully ready by the time the wedding coordinator comes knocking.

“It’s time!”

Dianna exhales slowly. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous,” I say, gazing at her stunning silver updo and form-fitting shimmery dress.

“You work miracles, Max,” Dianna says.

Hardly. That woman and her son both have bone structure to die for. “You look amazing with or without makeup.”

Lee downs her fifth pour of wine, and I take the empty glass from her before she pours a sixth. For all I know, she’d probably walk down the aisle with a glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Making a wine tasting an option this morning was a mistake. But I’ll keep quiet about it. It’s not like my husband will be planning anyone else’s wedding.

“That skin, I tell ya,” Lee says, marveling at Dianna’s flawless face. “I don’t know how she does it.”

By staying out of the sun and going easy on the wine, for starters, I think cattily.

The small wedding party gathers under the stone portico that spans the rear of the villa, preparing for the big moment. A narrow footpath leads to a secluded garden where the wedding will take place. From the portico, the vista of the freshly harvested hills is incredible. I would love to sit here, stare at the autumn colors, breathe the fresh air, and do nothing else for hours next to my person.

My person, who is around here somewhere.

Lee, my mom Elizabeth, and I are all here in our rose-hued dresses; Frank’s two sons and one daughter are also ready in their modern gray linen suits—the groomsmen and groomswoman.

“What are we waiting for again?” Frank asks, dabbing the sweat from his forehead.

“My husband and the grandchildren,” I say, smiling. It’s enough to fool everyone but my mom.

The wedding coordinator hustles Frank along, reminding him he must wait at the bridal arch so Dianna can exit the villa.

“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!” she clucks.

Dianna joins us on the portico after Frank leaves.

“I’m worried about all those kids causing chaos,” my mom whispers so Dianna can’t hear.

Talbot is the one who should be worried, but he’s not. Here he comes now, grinning ear to ear, looking like he had the best nap of his life and just fell into his wedding suit looking fresh and spiffy.

“And the kids are…?” I ask.

The once-over he gives me is unmissable, and my stupid nipples react.

Interesting.

“It’s all under control,” Talbot says. Not an ounce of sweat on the guy. Oh, to be a man with no cares in the world. What the fuck is that like?

There are nine grandchildren between the bride and the groom. Our oldest, the twins Maddie and Talbot, Jr., pretty much look after themselves. They along with Grace, age 10, agreed to help look after all the younger ones, including their siblings, Jo, age 7, and four-year-old Noah. Lilith— partner of Frank’s daughter Edwina—has also been hanging out to lend a hand all morning.

All nine of the grandchildren from both sides are supposed to be leading the processional, much to my objections.

When Talbot first decided he wanted to plan the wedding weekend for his mother, I expressed concerns about including so many kids in the ceremony. “It’s too much work for you to wrangle nine kids,” I had said.

The stay-at-home of five was offended by that. “What am I, a bump on a log? The place has a wedding coordinator, and Lilith runs a daycare,” he told me at the time.

I had stressed to Talbot that this was a small vineyard wedding—yes, more flexible and laid-back than a church wedding, but still high-end. Luxury. Designer shoes and canapés—mainly catering to adult guests. Talbot didn’t want to hear that.

“I’ve never been to a wedding that didn’t include kids. It would be weird!” Talbot had said.

“You’re talking about weddings back home in Chicago. That is a whole different kind of vibe,” I’d said.

My husband asked if I wasn’t being a little snobby. And after that, I was done helping.

That was three weeks ago, and we haven’t touched each other since.

Looking relaxed and handsome in his custom suit, my husband gives me a dry, perfunctory kiss on the cheek. It’s the only kiss I’ve had in weeks, and I feel it everywhere.

I want to cry about it, but I chalk that urge up to insomnia.

Maybe I should have joined him for some sunshine and a leisurely nine holes of golf. Perhaps then I’d be completely chill, too.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Talbot says. “I’ll go check on the rugrats. Be right back.”

The kiss smells like a wine barrel but is mixed with his natural scent. The brief contact gives me that sweet, loved feeling I’ve been missing lately.

I’m accustomed to being surrounded by that scent. I still feel the scruff of his chin on my neck hours after a heated makeout session. I miss messing around with him.

I watch Talbot walk away down the length of the portico, then disappear through a doorway.

Damn, he looks even better at 50 than at 38.

Talbot

Whose idea was it to include kids in the wedding?

Oh yeah, that would be me.

The oldest are fine. Maddie, Talbot, Jr. and Grace lead the processional like champs. Our Jo pulls the rest of the youngsters in one of those oversized beach wagons that my sister-in-law Jenna helped me decorate with white sashes and flowers. The girls wear flower crowns in their hair, sprinkling rose petals along the ground. The youngest kids, including our four-year-old Noah, ride in the wagon. Noah is picking his nose. His soon-to-be cousins, three-year-old twins, are crying and complaining that Jo is pulling the wagon too slowly. Two more toddlers abandon ship as soon as they see their parents, sitting in the rows of guest seating. It’s a parade float of tired, over-stimulated kids in itchy formal wear.

I glance back at the wedding party and see Max watching me, eyebrow raised.

Damn, my wife is hot when she’s right.

Well, she’s hot all the time. Today, she’s a knockout. Her soft pink dress hangs just below her knees, displaying her long legs in those designer heels. I don’t understand why they cost nine hundred dollars, but they make her legs look amazing. Not to mention her ass.

Damn. I wish we had time to kiss a little.

Eventually, the kids make it down the aisle with only two more incidents of screaming, three shoes removed, and one runny nose being wiped on someone else’s dress.

It could be worse.

I hustle back to the portico and take my mother’s arm. We hang back as the rest of the wedding party disappears two by two.

“Ready?”

She smiles. “As I’ll ever be.”

She looks a little pale.

We walk slowly.

“Are you okay, Ma?”

She nods but then winces.

I stop. “Take off your shoes.”

“What? I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” I say. “You can’t walk in those.”

“I absolutely can, and you’re being ridiculous. I’m not making a scene in front of the guests by going barefoot in this dress.”

I hesitate before blurting out that her grandchildren had already primed the crowd for chaos, so a barefoot bride is nothing.

But my mom doesn’t budge.

The string quartet has to play Canon in D four times before we reach Frank.

Do I really want to turn my mom over to this guy? Is he going to take care of her the way I do?

Frank comes forward and takes my mom’s arm—just as her knee gives out.

I lunge to catch her, but the beefy Frank doesn’t miss a beat. He captures her before anyone notices her wobble. I’m sure everyone wonders why Frank has decided to scoop her up and hold her princess-style throughout the ceremony. But judging by the chuckles, the guests seem to think this is sweet and romantic.

Which, I have to admit, is awfully sweet and romantic.

The officiant awkwardly asks, “Who gives this woman in marriage?”

“I do,” I say, which prompts more chuckles. Give her away? The optics here look more like she’s about to be spirited away.

I take my place alongside the wedding party, catching my wife’s eye as I pass. She winks, and I feel like something is falling back into place for the first time in weeks.

I watch my mom marry Frank, and she looks happier than I’ve seen her since each of her grandbabies was born. Even happier than that.

She’s smiling from the inside out as she exchanges vows with Frank.

Max holds my hand after it’s over, and the guests file out to find their way to the reception tent.

“You did good,” she says, not looking me in the eyes.

“Thanks.”

“You should be proud of yourself.”

I shrug. “It was fun.”

She bursts out laughing. “Fun? Planning a wedding is fun?”

“Sure, why not?” I ask as we make our way to the tent.

She shakes her head. “Never mind.”

I notice my wife looks tired as we sit at the family table. She’s pulling away from me, just as she’s been doing since we argued about including kids in the reception.

But I won’t let go of her hand.

Grace, Maddie, and Talbot, Jr. have been seated with a bunch of other guests their age — mercifully far away from the younger bunch. The wedding coordinator has arranged for a sitter to entertain Jo, Noah, and the rest of the little ones for the evening.

I don’t let go of my wife’s hand until Frank’s son makes his toast.

“I’ll never forget the day that Dianna walked into our restaurant. Dad practically shoved the hostess out of the way so he could seat her himself. Then he proceeded to take her order and serve her table, even though he hasn’t waited tables in fifteen years.”

Gentle laughter follows, and Frank’s son continues. “You may not know this, Dianna, but Dad hovered around me in the kitchen, making sure you had the best cut of meat. He made me redo it four times before it was good enough to serve to you.”

I glance at Mom, who’s astonished, laughing, her hand on Frank’s shoulder. Frank shrugs. “It’s true!”

“Dad said that he hasn’t had a special feeling about anyone since Mom died. That night he came to me and said, you know why I was such a pain in the ass? Because I finally found my person.”

Well, that’s the best wedding toast I’ve ever heard.

“To finding your forever person,” he says.

We all clink glasses.

I down my champagne, even though I don’t much like champagne, and then I have another.

“You want to talk about us now?” I ask my wife as we all tuck into our dinner.

“I need to eat,” she says.

“At some point, we need to talk about what’s going on with us.”

“You don’t want to get between me and prime rib right now,” she says.

Fair enough.

Me? I can barely eat. I’ve been so consumed with the activities this weekend that I’ve been ignoring my wife. All this on top of the fact that she was already mad at me about the snob comment weeks ago.

When she’s finished, and the caterers have cleared our plates, I stand up and put out my hand.

The deejay is loudly announcing the first dance, so I let my expression to the talking.

She knows we need to go somewhere private to talk.

“Cake,” she says. “I’m not missing the cake.”

I roll my eyes. “According to my schedule, the cake cutting is in thirty minutes. We have time to duck out for a quick conversation.”

Sulking but with a hint of a smile, my wife takes my hand.

Max

“You’re not going anywhere until we fix this.”

Talbot’s low growl is everything I love. Raspy and sexy, but I’m not ready to give in yet.

I turn toward my husband as we walk back toward the villa. The golden sunset over the hills makes his skin glow, highlighting the silver in his hair.

We’ve reached the portico, but he steers me to the side yard, bordered by a short stone wall separating the villa from the rows of bare grapevines. It’s the best view in the whole place. Too bad we’re fighting in paradise.

“So you’re saying we’re broken?” I say as we stop to take in the sunset.

Talbot spits the words out through gritted teeth. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”

Tears sting my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Shit. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Don’t cry, baby.”

The word “baby” only makes me cry more.

The next thing I know, Talbot wraps his arms around my hips and lifts me on the stone wall.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry I took on too much. Most of all, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

I relax my shoulders. “It was a beautiful wedding. I’m sorry for calling you a butthead.”

“You called me a butthead?”

“Not out loud, but yes.”

We both laugh, and then my husband claims my mouth with a heated kiss like no other. The kiss from my man. My best friend. My lover.

All the tension from the past several weeks leaves my body.

I can’t imagine feeling this close to anyone else, even when we’re not getting along.

The first time Talbot kissed me, he obliterated the memory of anyone else.

Tonight, he erases the memory of whatever we were quarreling about.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Max,” he murmurs against my mouth, his breath hot, his voice urgent and needy.

How he looks at me sometimes steals my breath. “I don’t want to fight with you either. I hate fighting with you,” I squeak out.

My husband takes control so sweetly and firmly. I couldn’t resist even if I were still angry.

His hand drags up the outside of my thigh, disappearing under the hem of my dress.

“What the hell is this,” he says, snapping at the elastic that encases my thighs.

He knows perfectly well what shapewear is. And that, of course, I’d be wearing it for a wedding. “How long have we been married?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he growls, dragging his mouth lower over my throat. “I just don’t think you fucking need it.”

Talbot’s hands explore under the dress: over my hips, my belly, squeezing all the soft places that are sucked in by the body-hugging undergarment.

“I don’t wanna jiggle on the dance floor.”

He kisses my ear, stopping to suck on my earlobe. His hand goes to my breast and squeezes, and I suck in a breath. “But I like your jiggles,” he murmurs into my ear.

With my dress hiked around my waist, Talbot’s other hand tugs at the grippy waistband.

“Babe, someone will see us,” I gasp as he rolls it down to my hips.

“Come up,” he says, his voice straining. What the heck is he going to do?

Using my legs’ grip on him as leverage, I’m able to come up just enough for him to roll the shapewear all the way down.

“Good girl,” he says, tugging it down and swiftly unbuckling his trousers.

“On the contrary, this behavior is highly unbecoming of chief members of a wedding party,” I tease him.

“Shhh.”

Talbot plunges deep and hard, and I take him all at once. That warm, familiar shaft pierces into me as those eyes I know so well search mine.

“You take me so good, wife,” he rasps.

“You’re so bad,” I say on a gasp as he pulls out. I know that look. He’s moving in that way only he knows how, making sure I feel every hard inch.

“Only for you, Max.”

He smashes in hard, making my entire body jerk and twitch.

I rock forward, matching his rhythm.

His cock swells inside me. I bite my lip and grind harder, needing more.

He reaches down between our bodies and finds my clit.

“Talbot,” I whimper, fighting the need to scream.

His thumb caresses in small circles around my clit as my body gets ready to explode.

“I’m yours, Max,” he growls.

I come hard, milking his cock. “And I’m yours,” I breathe, “even when I’m pissed at you.”

My husband explodes into me, filling me with his seed as he comes in loud grunts, barely stifling the noise.

“I love you, wife,” he says, breathless, his forehead pressed against mine.

“Let’s never fight again,” I say, shuddering.

“But the making up is pretty damn fun,” he says.

“That, we can agree on.”

The booming sound of the emcee from the tent draws our attention back to what we’re doing here. Or what we’re supposed to be doing here.

“Cake time,” my husband says, helping me down from the wall, keeping a hand on me to make sure I don’t stumble.

“That, we can agree on,” I repeat, adjusting my dress and stuffing my shapewear into my handbag.

Talbot laughs, hooking his arm around me as we return to the tent, our friends, our family, and our life.