Epilogue Jasper's POV

Within a few short months, we were married. It didn't take my wife long to throw together her dream wedding. I considered the idea of having a wedding with her every couple of decades like Emmett and Rosalie do, but we decided that once was enough. We knew we were married, we knew we were completely and madly in love. Carlisle and Esme offered the island to us after having it renovated from Hurricane Rose and Emmett, but we passed. I wanted us to have our own place, somewhere special. I took her to Texas where I grew up. We stayed in a small rented house by the river. In the mornings, we would horseback ride and we left the evenings to the typical honeymoon proceedings.

I loved holding her body close to mine as we laid out on the dock by the river, her hand delicately gliding over the water while I pecked kisses on the other. She smiled at me adoringly and I couldn't help but kiss her begging lips. She laid her back against my chest and rested her head in the crook of the neck. My chin rested on the top of her head and my arms wrapped around her. My thumb glided over her gold band. I never thought Alice, known for her outrageous fashion statements, picked out a simple golden ring. She said that she needed no other expression of my love than her devotion.

"How are you this evening, my dear?" I asked. She turned around facing me.

"Great, except I wish you wouldn't call me my dear." She answered, her face light and her mood giddy.

I chuckled, "Why?"

"Because it sounds so old and we are as young as we feel." She giggled.

"I feel nearly 200 which in fact I am." I laughed and kissed her hand.

"I still wish for you to call me something else." She pouted which I was powerless in resisting

"What endearments am I allowed?" I asked humoring her.

"Well let me think," She placed a finger to her lip and had a thoughtful gaze. How I wish I was that finger pressing to her sweet, supple lips. I waited patiently. "Alice and Lis for every day, Darlin for when you feel like a southern gentleman, and Angel but only on very special occasions." She flashed me a sexy smile.

"And what should I call you when I feel like the 165 year old that I am? Mrs. Whitlock?

"No! No. You may only call me Mrs. Whitlock when you are completely, perfectly, and incandescently happy."

I snickered at her. My wife was a demanding one, but I only wished to comply with her wishes. "Then how are you this evening, Mrs. Alice Whitlock?" I kissed her on the forehead. "Mrs. Whitlock," I kissed her on the right cheek, "Mrs. Whitlock," I kissed her small nose to which she giggled cutely, "Mrs. Whitlock," I kissed her left cheek. I pulled back to take in her look, from her beautiful wide golden eyes, her soft pale skin which glowed brighter than the sun, her mouth which if she wanted, could make the deadliest pout and bring the strongest men to their knees, and finally her pink lips which ever since I laid eyes on them I wanted to capture them as my own, and I shall, tonight on our honeymoon. "I love you, Mrs. Whitlock," I kissed her deeply on the mouth.

"And I love you," She answered. My wife, my entirety, my hope.