Chapter Nineteen

After our secret little ceremony in the gazebo, we went back to Joan's to get changed. Luckily, Martin kept a suit in his car for occasions such as this; working in the countryside often meant he ran into mud and rain on housecalls. When we were both warm and dry, we all pitched in to cook a supper of roast chicken, potatoes, and salad from Joan's garden.

I had ordered a small wedding cake from a local baker, one that would have fed all my family, had they been able to be there. It was two tiers and white, with lovely scrollwork icing and fresh flowers on top.

"We can't let it go to waste," I said after we had finished eating supper, eyeing the cake on the kitchen counter.

"I don't eat cake," Martin answered, as if I needed reminding.

"It's your wedding cake, Marty…surely you can make an exception this once," Joan told him. "Now, let me take a picture of the two of you cutting it."

Martin rolled his eyes, but dutifully found a knife in one of the kitchen drawers. I put my hand on top of his as we cut the cake, me smiling at the camera, him not exactly smiling, but at least not scowling. I took the knife from him and cut him a tiny sliver of cake.

"Here you go—a little indulgence. Do it for me," I said, setting the plate in front of him.

"Tradition would have you feed it to each other, Marty," Joan added, smirking.

"Absolutely out of the question," he replied vehemently. I laughed, digging into my slice of cake. It was a gorgeous spice cake with cream cheese frosting, and I let out a groan of delight.

"You really should be watching your caloric intake at this stage of pregnancy, Anna," Martin told me mildly. "Contrary to popular belief, you are not really eating for two."

"So you're saying I shouldn't eat the entire cake, then?" I replied slowly, my tone mock-serious.

"Very funny."

"Leave her alone, Marty!" Joan exclaimed, exasperated. "Let her enjoy her own wedding cake, for heaven's sake."

After we had the kitchen cleaned up and the leftovers put away, Joan said to us, "I'm really sorry things worked out the way they did today…I know you were looking forward to your family being here, Anna, and to your ceremony."

Martin and I looked at each other, and I smiled. "It turned out pretty okay in the end," I said, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. "We had our version of a ceremony, anyway…and to me, it was perfect." Martin's eyes softened, and he looked as if he felt the same way.

"That's the spirit," Joan said. "No use crying over spilled milk. You made the best of a bad situation."

Soon after that, we said our goodbyes to Joan and got in Martin's car. "It's sort of our wedding night," I commented.

He thought a minute. "Yes, I suppose it is." I yawned, and he glanced at me. "We need to get you home and into bed."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "That's exactly what I was thinking," I said mischievously. I squeezed his leg.

"You know what I mean…you're exhausted, Anna."

"I am rather tired," I admitted. "But I don't want to go to bed yet…I have other plans."

We stopped to pick up my car from the side of the road where I had left it, and then we drove to my cottage. When we got inside, I immediately pulled Martin's head down for a long, slow kiss. "Hello, husband," I murmured, looking into his eyes.

"Hello, Mrs. Ellingham," he replied. The words sent a thrill through my heart. I looked at my left hand as it rested on his chest, my new wedding ring twinkling in the low light. I felt such a surge of love for this extraordinary man, this complex, brilliant, tender man…my new husband.

"I want tonight to be romantic," I told him, "even though I am enormously pregnant and we are both knackered from saving a man's life on the side of the road."

Martin looked at me, perplexed. "Anna, I'm afraid I'm…not very good at…being romantic," he said haltingly. "I don't want to disappoint you…"

"All I want you to do is go upstairs and get ready for bed. I'll do the rest," I assured him.

He blinked. "What are you going to do?" he wanted to know.

"Just trust me."

He did as he was told, and climbed the stairs to my bedroom while I made sure everything was locked up downstairs. I gathered a few candles from the sitting room, carrying them upstairs and positioning them around the room. Their light created a warm, soft glow. Martin came out of the bathroom in his pajamas, smelling warm and clean from the shower.

"Now, you sit down here and relax," I told him, plugging my phone into the speaker and turning on some soft music. "I'm going to go take a quick shower…I'll be right back."

"All right…I suppose the candles are for romantic effect?" he asked, and I smiled.

"Is it working?" I answered, and he mumbled a vague reply under his breath.

I stepped into the shower and let the hot water wash away the stress and disappointment of the day. When I was finished, I put on the lacy white nightgown I had bought for the occasion. I looked in the mirror. It still amazed me how much my body hand changed in such a few short months. My breasts were much bigger, rounder, and my belly seemed to take up three quarters of my body. I felt huge.

Martin was sitting with his back against the headboard, waiting for me, and I could hear his quick intake of breath as I walked in.

"What?" I said, feeling self-conscious in front of him for maybe the first time.

"You look..." he began.

"I know. Ginormous."

"I was going to say gorgeous," he finished softly, getting up and walking around the bed to where I was standing. He tucked a damp curl behind my ear.

"Do you really think so?" I asked dubiously.

"Of course I do!" he answered, his tone emphatic.

I smiled up at him. "Thank you, Martin. I needed to hear you say that." We kissed very slowly, his hands cupping my cheeks, and it felt different somehow; I felt a new connection to him that hadn't been there that morning. It was truly as if saying our vows to one another had tied us together completely, that our hearts were tethered to each other in a way that felt stronger than it had before.

The first few notes of Norah Jones' "Come Away With Me" came over the speaker, and I took Martin's hand. "I love this song," I said quietly. I looked into his eyes. "Dance with me?"

For a moment I thought he was going to refuse, that he would say he didn't dance, but then he pulled me close to him, his arm around my waist. He began to sway to the music, and I laid my head on his chest. "I learned at school," he said softly. "It was compulsory; they would bring girls over from the all-girls boarding school, and we all had to learn together. I absolutely hated it."

"Well, you're certainly very good at it," I told him, reveling in the feeling of his warmth surrounding me, the sound of his heart beating in my ear. It was true; he had a natural rhythm and his body moved instinctively to the music. "We should do it more often."

"Mmm."

We danced until the song was over, and then Martin tilted my chin up to look at him.

"I love you, Mrs. Ellingham," he told me. I could feel tears form in my eyes as I smiled at him. How I loved this man.

He kissed me, and we moved to the bed, getting under the covers without a word. We immediately spooned together, my back to his chest, his hand protectively on my tummy. There was no lovemaking that night, even though it was (sort of) our wedding night. We held each other close all night long, listening to the music, murmuring our love for each other and our plans for our future as husband and wife.