“Lucky you.” I give him one last squeeze, then pull away. “I’m gonna go thank people for the presents. Take as long as you need, then come find me, kay?”
He catches my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles before letting me go.
For the next fifteen minutes, I float around the rest of the party, chatting to people. Normally, socialising isn’t my scene, but today, I don’t feel shy or awkward at all. I feel like I’m on top of the world. I’m just winding up a conversation with a podcast listener about her dress when I feel two warm arms wrap around my waist.
“Baby,” a low voice says in my ear.
The listener smiles and blushes, quickly scarpering, and I turn to face Joshua. He looks delicious in a white shirt, open at the collar. It’s a hot evening, and his bow tie is hanging loose around his neck. He looks like James Bond off-duty.
I push the dark hair off his forehead, smiling at his bright eyes and flushed cheeks. “Are you drunk again? Is this your wedding tradition?”
He doesn’t answer, threading a hand through my curled hair and tilting his mouth down to mine. His kiss is so deep and so fierce it takes my breath away. My stomach flips, and my toes curl in my heels as his soft lips press against me.
I finally pull back to a smattering of applause. My whole body is singing. My blood is thumping in my veins like I just ran a marathon. “Well?” I ask when I catch my breath.
“I’ll give you a nine-point-five,” he decides, stroking our cheeks together. “But only because it’s your birthday.”
I snort as he starts nuzzling down my neck. “Wow. Wedding champagne really gets you going, huh?”
He shakes his head. “Didn’t have any.”
“Sure.”
“I didn’t,” he protests, pulling back and cupping my cheeks. His eyes are soft as they rove over my face. “I’m just happy.”
My heart melts in my chest. I sometimes still can’t believe that I can do this. That I can make one person — let alone three people — so happy, just by being me. It’s a surreal feeling. “I have a present for you.”
His eyebrow raises. “Oh?”
Leaning against him, I reach into the bodice of my dress. Josh clears his throat as he watches me extract a tiny envelope from my boobs. “This may not be the most feminist thought, but sometimes I appreciate the fact that your clothes don’t have pockets,” he admits.
I give him a flat look, handing him the envelope, and he shakes out the contents. It’s a small, A5 piece of thick cream card, embossed with swirling rose-gold lettering and clouds of tiny butterflies. Our wedding invitation.
We sent them all out a couple of months ago, but I made sure to save one for him. I’ll be damned if he has a collection of other people’s wedding invites, but not mine. Josh’s face is inscrutable as he traces his finger lightly over the embossing.
“For your wall,” I say, when the silence stretches out a few seconds too long.
He meets my eyes, and the look on his face almost floors me. There’s so much love and light shining out of him, all focussed on me. He tucks the invitation carefully into the inner pocket of his jacket, then curves a hand around the back of my neck, tugging our faces together until our foreheads are touching. My eyes flutter closed. I wait for the kiss, but it doesn’t come. He just holds me there, pressing our skin together. We breathe each other’s air.
“GUYS GUYS GUYS.”
We break apart to see Zack enthusiastically jogging across the dance-floor, dragging a bemused-looking Luke by the wrist.
Josh sighs slightly. “I can’t believe I just signed myself up to a lifetime of him, too.”
“We’re a package deal, I’m afraid.” I pat his chest. “It’ll be okay.”
Zack skids to a stop next to us and pulls a pen out of the pocket of his trousers, shoving it at me. “Here, pine-nut.”
I examine the cheap plastic biro. “Thanks, honey. I love it.”
He checks his watch. “Baby, quick. We’re running out of time! You were born at five-past-ten, right?”
“Um. Yes.”
“Thank God.” He pumps his fist. “Just made it!”
“Zack,” I say slowly, “I love you, but I have no idea what you’re going on about.”
“I do,” Luke says, reaching into the pocket of his trousers and pulling out a crumpled scrap of paper. He offers it to me, his grey eyes twinkling. “Will you do the honours?”
I glance at the page, and recognition jolts through me as I take in the long list of carefully ticked bullet points. It’s my ten-year-plan.