Juliet

I’m sore everywhere. And it’s for the best reasons. Dancing for hours, jumping up and down as we closed the night with “Shout!,” getting way too physically demonstrative as we played Pictionary turned charades in pajamas with our friends and siblings who hung around at Will’s place after Jamie and Bea drove off the Orsino property in their vintage car, headed for Jamie’s upstate home just fifteen minutes away.

And, of course, being thoroughly, deliciously ravished by Will last night, starting the second he shut the door behind the last straggler and pinned me against it.

I sigh happily as I roll in bed onto my back. I open my eyes and blink against the bright sunlight, knowing what I’ll see—Will in bed beside me, propped up on one elbow, peering down at me, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

But today, there’s no smile. Just an arresting, beautiful stare. Those wide, pale gray-green cat eyes, morning light warming his skin.

Gently, I poke at the small cleft in his chin. “What are you looking at?”

“The most beautiful woman in the world,” he says quietly.

A wide smile breaks across my face as I shake my head and trail my finger lightly down his throat, playing connect the dots with each cinnamon freckle leading to his chest. “Nonsense.”

He gently combs his fingers through my hair, smoothing it off my face. “The truth.”

I clasp his wrist and stare up at him. My heart is so full, so happy, glowing like the sun outside. Every morning, I wake up, even on the sorest, stiffest days, the days my chest is tight with anxiety and fears sneak through the cracks of my confidence, so impossibly happy that he’s here, that Will sees it all, that he loves me for it.

I’m one big ball of love and hope and joy.

And it’s not the wedding last night talking, though I am a sucker for weddings—I’m a hopeless romantic, after all. It isn’t just that I’m soaring from the thrill of seeing my twin happily married and sharing that incredible joy with Will. It’s not because I witnessed heartfelt vows and danced and laughed and played the night away with my favorite people, as beautiful as that was.

I’m just dizzyingly desperate to marry him. I have been for so long, I can’t even remember when I didn’t feel this way, so ready to tell him I want him not just for now but for always.

I have never known love like this, and I know that I never will again. The way Will and I love each other is like those beautiful flowers creeping up the trellis outside our home—growing, bending, weaving together, nurtured with care and nourished richly, so they can thrive and blossom, changing with the seasons yet always entwined even in the harshest months, on the coldest days. The woman I am when I love Will is my best self, and that’s not because I’m always at my best, but because Will loves all of me and I’m safe to love him just as much, as we share our flaws and fears and frailty, knowing our love isn’t burdened by those truths but strengthened for having weathered them, and nothing could be better than that.

“Will,” I whisper, my hand settling over his heart.

His eyes search mine as he sets his hand over mine and tenderly rubs at my knuckles. “Juliet.”

“Will…will…” A soft laugh leaves me. It’s not the first time I’ve encountered the linguistic challenge of having a partner named Will whom you want to ask “will you” questions. Between the two of us, I’m the one with words always at the ready, but right now, I’m tongue-tied, searching for how I could possibly articulate how much I love him, how much I want to marry him.

“William Campbell Montag Orsino…” I clear my throat, smiling up at him, feeling tears start to prick at the corners of my eyes. “Will you— mmph! ”

I’m cut off by the warm, firm press of his mouth on mine, his big, heavy body gently pressing me into the mattress. I gasp against his kiss as he cups my breast and thumbs my bare nipple.

“Let me,” he whispers against my neck. His lips graze my jaw, my throat.

My heart skips. Did he sense what I was about to ask him? Does he mean what I think he means? I want to press him for an answer. I don’t want to wait a second longer, but Will Orsino is a connoisseur of my body, and as he settles his weight between my legs, every word on the tip of my tongue dissolves.

“I love you,” he rasps as he reaches between us and feels me, wet and hot, my hips lifting toward his touch.

“I love you, too,” I tell him, my voice breaking to a whimper as he tenderly strokes and teases me. His hard length presses into my hip as he curls a finger inside me, then another. I moan, loud and hoarse as he grinds his palm against my clit.

“Please,” I whisper. “Please don’t make me wait.”

He holds my eyes as he gently draws away his hand and grips himself at the base. “I won’t.” He fills me with each hard, hot inch of him, his gaze never breaking from mine, and I know he knows, that while at first it was such a frustration for him, now he reads between the lines of my words better than anyone. “I won’t make you wait,” he says roughly, stroking deep inside me, drawing back, then rocking in again. “Promise, Juliet.”

I’m too sore and soft-limbed to bring much to the table physically, and Will knows. It’s not the first time I’ve wanted sex but needed him to do the heavy lifting. He hoists me up at the hips effortlessly and shoves a thick pillow beneath my backside. Then he curls his arms around me and holds me close, and fills me again and again, so all I have to do is all that I can—be held, be loved, be given everything he wants to give me.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I press my lips to his, our breaths jagged, our kisses slow and deep. Heat licks through me, tight, coiled pleasure in my breasts as they rub against the coarse, springy cinnamon hairs on his chest, deep inside me where he strokes and fills me so perfectly, in the aching, sweet pulse between my thighs that he rubs with each grind of his hips.

Our skin is slick, the sheets stuck and twisted around us. We’re how I always want us to be—enraptured and entwined, as close as we can be. Hearts pounding, we move. My hips canting frantically, helplessly into his, Will’s grip on my ass wide and possessive, moving me with him.

Deep, ragged groans leave him as I gasp his name over and over.

“Jules,” he whispers against my kiss, “easy, baby. Let me,” he says again, “let me give you what you need.”

I bite at his lip. “You said you wouldn’t make me wait.”

“Woman.” A hoarse laugh leaves him. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

A laugh leaves me, too, but it morphs into a cry of pleasure as he drifts down just far enough to take my nipple in his mouth, biting lightly, then biting the other, sending glorious sensation bolting through me. I clutch his hair, rake my fingers down his back. He lifts his head, kissing at the exquisitely tender spot on my neck beneath my ear, and drives into me, then seats himself, not pulling back, only grinding his hips to mine in tiny, terrifyingly perfect circles. My eyes roll back, then fall shut. Pleasure strikes me like lightning, flying through my body, arching it up into his.

I scream his name because all of this—the bliss, the shock of its intensity, the pure, thrilling euphoria of release—can’t possibly stay inside me.

Will jolts as he feels me come around him, each tight, hard spasm that wracks me and makes me gasp. “Jules,” he says, rough and low, pulling back to meet my eyes. His face tightens, his jaw locks, his chest heaving. “Love you. I love you—”

I watch him, the pleasure breaking across his expression, his mouth falling open, the tremor that shivers through him as he spills into me. And then I draw him down, his weight over mine, and kiss him as he rocks into me, riding out every last wave of his release.

“I love you,” I whisper against his lips.

He shivers again as he falls over me, then brings me with him as he rolls onto his side. “We…” he pants, “are so twisted up in these sheets.”

I smile up at him, sleepy and sated, cupping his face. “I know. But I don’t mind one bit.”

He sighs heavily and draws me tight in his arms. My eyes start to drift shut. I feel his lips press, warm and soft, to my forehead. “Sleep, baby,” he whispers. “And, Juliet?”

“Hmm,” I mutter drowsily.

“When you wake up and get dressed, can I ask a favor?”

“Sure,” I tell him, barely managing the words, I’m so dazed and deliciously tired. “What is it?”

“Wear the purple dress.” He presses a tender kiss to my hair. “You know the one.”

—

This time, when I wake up, my eyes aren’t even open, but I already know what’s different. Will isn’t here. His words, broken and whispered, however, still are, like the lingering light filling our bedroom, warm and sparkling with promise.

Let me.

I bite my lip against my smile as I wriggle happily, nervously, in the now-smooth sheets.

I throw them off wildly and ease out of bed. I splash off my face, brush my bedhead waves. I slip on the purple dress that I wore to our first date, clumsy and clinging to the doorway as I step into the flower sneakers I wore, too.

My reflection greets me in the bathroom mirror as I brush my teeth. Glittering eyes, flushed cheeks. Hope beats through me in tempo with my heart.

And then I make my way down the stairs, clutching the banister, not as fast as I want but as fast as I can manage. I throw open the door and stop in my tracks.

There’s Will, in that same pumpkin-orange shirt he wore on our first date, standing beneath the wisteria and rose trellis.

I grip the doorway, steeling myself to stay steady.

But it’s so damn hard. Will smiles at me, that soft, sweet smile only for me. Hector sits at his feet, tongue lolling as he pants. His tail thumps hard on the slate pavers as he looks at me, and I know how hard it is for him to obey the command Will’s given him to stay, to wait.

For me.

Slowly, I push off the doorway and draw the door shut behind me. I take one step toward Will, then another, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Hector whines, glancing between us.

“Stay,” Will tells him again, his eyes fixed on me.

“He can come,” I tell him gently. Hector whines up at Will again. I’m a softie for Hector, and all three of us know it.

“He can wait,” Will says, those stunning eyes fixed on me as I draw closer. “I had to wait thirty-four years for you, Juliet. He can wait thirty-four seconds.”

I laugh softly, but it’s tinged with the threat of tears thickening my throat.

Finally, I’m a step away from Will, under the canopy of blossoms, drenched in their lush, lovely fragrance.

I don’t tear my gaze away from Will as I glide my hand across Hector’s head, then feel his rough sandpaper tongue, warm and wet along my palm.

“Juliet,” Will says quietly. “Hi.”

My heart clutches. The same words he said on that first date, on our do-over when I walked across the café and he watched me, every step of the way.

I play my part, my smile wobbling as I try not to cry. “Hi, Will.”

“I’m not going to offer you a handshake,” he says, quoting himself.

My vision blurs with tears.

“Because, this time,” he says, “I’m exactly sure what I should offer you.” Slowly, his gaze never leaving mine, he sinks to one knee.

Tears spill down my cheeks. I lift my hands to my face, heart racing, my fingertips wet as more tears slip from my eyes.

“Viola Juliet Wilmot,” Will says quietly, “just over a year ago, I hatched a harebrained scheme with you based on the belief that the love you wanted was the last thing I would ever have. I’ve learned a lot since then: that you are the most generous heart and you have a beautiful gift for loving people in a way that makes them feel loved so damn well, that I am imperfect and so are you, but we fit perfectly, in a way I never knew was possible.

“I know we started off determined that romantic love would be the last thing we’d ever share, and as terrible as it is now, the thought of ever being in your presence and doing anything but loving you with everything I am, I will never regret how we began. Because if we hadn’t, I would have never been brave enough, never tried, never had the chance to learn that I could love you and that you could love me, and that would have been a tragedy.”

I step closer, my dress drifting over his bent knee, and I clasp his dear, handsome face. I’ve given up trying not to cry. I just stand over him, loving him, listening to him, letting my tears run free. Hector’s doggy tail wags in the air as he sniffs at Will’s shoulder, then nuzzles my hip, his happy dog pants the only sound in the silence that holds between us like a bated breath.

The wind dances through the air, ruffling Will’s sun-kissed copper hair, swaying my dress as I stare down at him. I don’t rush this moment; I don’t speak a word or fill his quiet. I stroke his cheek and wait.

Will swallows thickly as tears fill his eyes, too, and when he speaks, his voice is rough, jagged with emotion. “I don’t often have the right words, let alone the perfect ones that you deserve. But I do have this—a heart for loving that’s all yours, for always, if you’ll have me. If you’ll…” He sighs heavily, his hand clasping mine, pressed hard to his cheek. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a carved wood box. Carefully, he eases it open, revealing a sunshine-gold band, a dazzling, starry diamond. “Juliet, will you marry me?”

I nod, smiling so wide, my tearstained cheeks ache. “Nothing would make me happier. Yes, Will.” I laugh through tears, bending toward him as he slips it on my finger. I watch him tug at a clasp that widens the band, making it slip easily over my often swollen knuckle. Then he folds the clasp back until it clicks and the ring rests snug at the base of my finger. I stare down at my beautiful ring, beautiful to not just my eyes but my heart, then at Will, laughing, crying, doubled over with joy. “I get to marry you!”

He bolts upright, sweeps me fiercely into his arms, and whoops so loudly, his chickens beside the house startle with a noisy squawk and rustling feathers as they dash away. Hector barks and takes off in a run of tight, happy circles around us as I throw my arms around Will’s neck and kiss him with every ounce of love I have.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for ten months,” he mutters as he peers down at me.

My eyes widen as he gently eases me back to the ground. “Ten months?”

His eyes glow in the sun as he nods, his gaze holding mine as he says simply, “Yes. I haven’t been waiting to know when I wanted to marry you. I’ve been waiting to ask. I wanted it to be the perfect moment. The perfect words…”

I stroke my hand softly up his arm, shaking my head.

“It was perfect,” I tell him. “This moment, those words.” With my other arm still wrapped around his neck, I draw him down for a long, loving kiss and whisper, “Because this moment is ours, and those words were yours, straight from your heart. Nothing could be more perfect.”

He smiles softly, then leans in, kissing me again. “You said yes.”

“Of course I did, you goofball. Have you seen yourself? You’re a tangerine vision of tall, towering virility. How could I say no?”

He glares playfully down at me. “Oh, real funny.”

“I love that you wore it,” I whisper, holding his eyes. “I love everything about this. I love how happy I am with you, Will. I know we won’t always be happy, that hard seasons and hurts will come, but…I’m so glad I’ll face them with you. And when life softens and warms and blooms again, we’ll have made it through, right where we belong. Together.”

He presses his forehead to mine and holds me, and for a moment it’s nothing but warm summer wind rushing through the grass and the sweet perfume of a canopy of flowers, the thud of Hector’s pounding feet in the dirt, and our soft, steady breaths.

But then a roar of applause, hoots, and whistles erupts behind Will, startling us.

We both turn and glance over Will’s shoulder. A laugh leaves me like a burst of champagne, at long last fizzy and free.

All across his parents’ back porch stand Will’s siblings, his niece and nephew and Rowan leaning on the railing, hands like binoculars around their eyes. My parents stand shoulder to shoulder with his, our mothers clutching each other and clearly crying. There’s Kate and Christopher, Sula and Margo, Toni and Hamza, Nick and Bianca, and for some inexplicable reason, Jamie and Bea.

I gape at them all. After the wedding last night, only my parents were staying at Will’s parents’ for the night. Everyone else got rooms at the bed-and-breakfast in town that Will’s sister Imogen and her husband opened up earlier this year. “What on earth are they all doing there?” I ask. “Did you tell them?”

“No. But I have been standing out here for two hours, throwing sticks with Hector while you slept, so they were bound to notice and figure it out.” Will sighs. “The perils of small-town living. Word travels fast .”

I smile, resting my head against his chest as I wave at them all. They all wave back, my sisters jumping up and down, Jamie whistling with two fingers set at his mouth, Christopher applauding over his head so loud it sounds like thunder clapping across the field.

“I love it.” I peer up at him. “I love you.”

Our eyes hold each other’s. Will smiles and tenderly cups my face. “I’m real glad, baby. I love you. So damn much.”

“We’re going to get married ,” I tell him.

He grins down at me. “Yeah we are.” He steals one more kiss, then says, “Not that they haven’t already figured it out, but what do you say we go tell them anyway?”

I beam a smile up at him so bright, it puts the sun to shame. And then I slip my arm inside his. “I’d say that sounds perfect.”