An hour later, she turned the key into the lock and stepped into the dark house. But Michael caught her arm to stop her. "What is it?" she smiled up at him.

"We're still newlyweds, you know. Even without the tons of white cloth and tux," he reminded her. Easily, he lifted her in his arms and crossed the 'threshold'—a Welcome mat that had not been washed since Amy de Luca married Jim Valenti three years ago. Michael faked a groan at her weight, and she slapped his shoulders merrily. When he headed for the bedroom, she pointed to the kitchen.

"We need to go have our wedding dinner!" So Michael took them to the kitchen and reluctantly put her down. "Sit," she commanded.

"Maria, we didn't exactly bring anything with us. We were not planning on staying here after all."

Maria lifted a finger to shush him. "It just so happens we do have a romantic, utterly delicious wedding dinner." She went to the counter and took the brown paper bag. Curiously, Michael craned his neck to watch, but she blocked his gaze. Finally, she turned around, with a plate of Saturn Rings and burgers. "Crashdown take out," she announced with a wry grin. "Where it all began." He expected her to sit with him then, but she went back to the counter and returned to him with another plate. "Let's cut the wedding cake, Michael."

His eyebrow arched at the knife she wielded. "Men in Blackberry Pie?"

Together they laughed, and Michael assumed his position behind Maria as they cut the pie into bite sized slices. She took a fork and started to shovel some into Michael's mouth. Swallowing, he stayed her hand when she made to feed him some more. "Maria," he started. "I know this wasn't how you dreamed it."

"What isn't?" she asked as her smile slowly faded.

"Your wedding."

"Well it's not everything I dreamed of," she conceded. "But at least we got one thing right."

"The threshold bit?"

"Nah. I didn't exactly fantasize of you moaning about my weight as we crossed the doorway of the De Luca residence."

"Then what?"

Her smile was bright, and it instantly suffused him with warmth. "The groom." Michael closed his eyes and chuckled. "I've made up all these fantasy weddings in my mind, you know. In the St. Patrick's Cathedral, in some fortress in Scotland, in the Colorado mountains, out in the open desert, underwater…" She laughed. "But always there was one constant. That was you."

Michael wrapped her in his arms and murmured unintelligible words into her hair. By the time they had to go upstairs to bed, he insisted on carrying her all the way up, to follow as much tradition as they could. And this time, he didn't groan.

~~

Their legs were tangled together, and he was breathing heavily as her head rested on his chest. Maria basked in the afterglow like a flower raising itself up to the sun. Michael closed his eyes and allowed his heart to slow, calm. And then he felt her drop tiny kisses on his bare skin.

"You're not tired?" he asked incredulously.

"Course I am," she drawled out.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"We've got to short a time together as it is. I'm not gonna throw it away sleeping."

He entwined his fingers with hers. "I've always wondered how a kid would like, you know, if she had your eyes. And your hair. Definitely your nose. Your lips too."

"Well Michael she would probably look like me then." She did not want to talk of this. No, she did want to have this talk. Only, she never wanted to do this with Michael, under these circumstances. It gave her a bitter numbness, an emptiness that had he not been holding her, she would have gone nuts.

"A princess."

But this was the only chance they would ever talk about this. So no matter how sick it is, how punishing it is for the two of them, she would talk about it. "Not if she had your temperament she won't be."

His laugh rumbled in his chest. She could feel it on her cheek, and it was comforting. "I wonder how you'll handle a dozen kids."

"Michael, you are crazy! We are not having twelve."

"How's eight sound?"

She extricated herself from his arms. "Two."

"Five?"

"Three, Michael. Three's enough."

"Just give me one more. Four's nice. Has a noble ring to it. Kinda like the Royal Four."

It was like cold water tossed right into her face. Suddenly, she was aware again, after the blessed hours that she had spent with it out of her mind. It hung over them like some evil face sneering, jeering. She returned to his arms and cleared her throat. "I want to have an Amy, okay? My mom's a cook, but I love her. What name would you pick? Max's?"

"Nah. I've got enough Max presence in my life, thank you. I'm not burdening a kid of mine with that name." She melded her body closer to his, and waited. "Maybe Ulysses."

Maria's laughter echoed through the still room.