Better Late Than Never: Epilogue: Morning, first Sunday in December.
Mr. and Mrs. Francis Gage awoke to a tropical symphony of gentle waves rolling onto white sand, occasionally accented by the screeching of the seagulls that swooped and reeled above the skylights of their luxury bungalow on the tiny Caribbean paradise of St. Tomas.
Sydney was snuggled against her husband in the bungalow's bed, her head pillowed on his chest, one leg flung across both of his. Gage lay on his back, his arms encircling his new bride in a gesture both tender and protective. Both of them were as naked as the day they were born.
"Good morning, Mrs. Gage." His rumbling baritone seemed to rise directly from his chest to her ear without ever having to pass through his mouth.
"Do that again," Sydney requested, smiling up at him and then immediately laying her ear against his pecs again.
"Good morning, Mrs. Gage," he repeated, only this time he deliberately lowered his voice an octave or two, causing a childlike giggle to erupt from Sydney's throat. He couldn't help laughing himself, which sounded to Sydney like an avalanche tumbling through his chest.
"I realize you are thoroughly enjoying your new toy, Syd, but I am eventually going to have to at least change positions, if not get out of bed altogether. I mean, nature is calling even as we speak," Gage said.
"Oh, sorry," she apologized, sitting up to allow him to leave the bed and pad down the tiny hallway to the bathroom.
As she watched him walk away in all his masculine glory, it occurred to her that even though last night was the first time they had ever seen each other naked, she hadn't once felt embarrassed or shy around him and he appeared to be completely at ease with her as well. Ah, the magic that can be wrought by a simple gold band, she thought to herself as she watched her rose gold engagement ring and matching wedding band glitter in the morning sunlight.
When Gage came back into the bedroom, he threw open the French doors that led to the private deck along the ocean side of the bungalow and stepped out onto the wooden surface and into the shade of the two enormous palm trees that grew on either side of the bungalow. Privacy was afforded primarily through distance; theirs was the only house for at least two miles in any direction, but there were also several gates that blocked access to the beach from the only road between the nearest village and the ocean.
He closed his eyes and let the salty breeze dance over him. It reminded him of the way Sydney's hair felt last night as it caressed his bare body, sweeping a tantalizing trail across his chest one minute, falling in a silky curtain around his shoulders the next. It wasn't the only fantasy that had come to life in their marriage bed, but it counted as one of his favorites.
Still enjoying his memories of their first night as man and wife, Gage felt the familiar tingle crawl up the back of his neck and knew that Sydney was trying to sneak up on him in her bare feet. Just as she was about to cup her hands on his backside, he spun around and grabbed her arms with both hands.
"Gotcha!" he yelled and began tickling her unmercifully as her uncontrollable laughter floated out to sea on the wind.
"Stop! Stop! Not fair!" she shrieked, sorry now that she had revealed her ticklish spot to him in a moment of utter weakness last night. At last, he relented and gathered her into his arms, delighting in the feel of her breasts brushing rhythmically against his chest as she struggled to control her breathing. They wouldn't be out on the deck much longer; he was sure of it.
Calmer now, Sydney stood silently next to him, her arms around his waist, looking out to sea. In the distance, a sailboat skimmed the horizon and she wondered about the sailors: Who were they? Where were they going? Where had they been? Did they have binoculars?
She laced her fingers with his and tugged him back toward their king-size bed, which was covered with the softest, whitest sheets she'd ever slept on and a cozy comforter in the same blinding color. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she kissed his fingers and then his palm, the inside of his wrist and on and on until he was kneeling before her as she nuzzled the soft spot just below his Adam's apple.
Gage had no idea where she had learned the art of seduction, but at the moment he didn't care if she'd taken lessons from the Mayflower Madam herself. He was in his own private heaven and she was the head angel in charge.
She continued her exquisite ministrations, kissing her way up his throat, across his chin and then veering left to tease his earlobe with her tongue.
"Oh, Syd, what you do to me," he whispered as an involuntary shiver sent a hot tingle rippling through him. He reached for her, but she deflected his hands and instructed him to keep them to himself unless she told him otherwise.
"Close your eyes," Sydney directed after she had him lie down on the bed. "Last night was almost exclusively about me and my pleasure -- and I thank you for that-- but this morning, it's all about what I can do for you." As she spoke, she was drawing random patterns across his chest and his washboard abs with a feather light touch that she couldn't help noticing was having the very effect she hoped it would.
He opened his eyes and looked into the face of the most loving, kind, honest, generous woman he would ever have the honor to know.
"First of all, last night was very definitely my pleasure in more ways than one – actually, I think it was three at last count – and I thank you for that. As for this morning, my lady fair, I am all yours; do with me what you will." And with that, he closed his eyes again and surrendered himself to her completely.
-----
The rest of their honeymoon was spent in almost identical fashion. As Gage put it, they had the rest of their lives to wear clothes and spend time with other people. This week, his preference was for them spend every day with nothing on but the radio.
The singular exception was when they took time to eat, for they had to occasionally leave the bungalow and drive to the local farmers market to buy food to cook for themselves, or sometimes they would ride rented bicycles to one of the beach-side restaurants nearby. Throughout the week, Sydney noticed, Gage had spent a lot less time thinking about food than he usually did.
When it was time to leave, they packed what few clothes they had brought and took one last walk on the beach.
"When we get home, the first thank-you card I'm writing is to Mark Cuban for letting us stay in his private paradise," Sydney announced as they walked hand in hand and let the warm ocean lap at their ankles.
"Absolutely," Gage agreed. "This was probably the best wedding present anybody ever got, not just us."
"Oh, I don't know. Our portrait from Mr. Rhyme is pretty spectacular, too, and we get to look at that every day."
"Yeah, you're right. I wonder where he hung it?" Gage inquired, referring to the offer that the photographer had made to hang the portrait for them in Sydney's house while they were away.
A few days before the wedding, Gage had moved all of his things out of his bachelor pad and into Sydney's two bedroom house and then stayed at Walker's ranch until the ceremony, which was held in the Walkers' enormous backyard. Walker and Alex had offered to host the event when Gage and Sydney were having trouble finding a church on only a few weeks' notice.
With help from Alex and Erica – and a few hints and well-placed phone calls from Mr. Rhyme to his wealth of contacts in the wedding industry – Sydney and Gage were able to complete a year's worth of tasks in very short order, making the wedding and the western-style barbeque reception a raging success. Naturally, Mr. Rhyme took all the pictures.
The portrait became known affectionately as "First Kiss," mostly because Mr. Rhyme insisted that all great works of art have names. It was displayed proudly in the front window of Rhyme's studio until the day of the wedding, when it was placed on an easel next to the cake table where it drew 'oohs' and 'aahs' and the occasional, 'Why don't you kiss me like that anymore?' all day long.
"I wonder, too," Sydney said as they reluctantly turned back and headed for the bungalow. "I told him to do whatever he thought was best, so I know he'll find a way to do it justice."
-----
"Yes, I am." Gage insisted.
"No, you're not," Sydney argued.
"Yes, I am, Mrs. Gage, and that's the end of it," Gage countered.
"What is the big deal? Why is it so important for you to carry me across the threshold?" Sydney demanded as she opened the front door of her house that was now their home. Their voices were firm, but they were both smiling.
"Because it's tradition and because…" Gage hesitated, running his hand through his hair, his signature gesture of discomfort.
"Because why?"
"Because I forgot when we first got to St. Tomas, that's why," Gage confessed. "I was so excited about making love with you that I just forgot all about it."
Sydney smiled like she did every time she was reminded of their wedding night. She couldn't very well deny him after an admission like that. After all, like he said, it was tradition.
"Well, OK, if it's that important to you, go ahead," she acquiesced, sliding her arms around his neck as he scooped her off her feet and carried her through the front door, which he kicked shut. Still holding her, he trekked through the living room, down the hall and into their bedroom.
"Hey, partner, we've crossed more than one threshold. Enough with the tradition alrea…" Sydney's protest was silenced by a deliberate kiss from her husband, as he laid her on the bed and gently situated himself on top of her.
"Was this part of the plan all along?" she quizzed him.
"Nope, just thought of it on my way in. Do you have a problem with that?" he asked as he continued to place tiny kisses on her eyelids, her nose, her throat. He heard her breath catch and felt her arch her back, pressing herself into him, as he grazed his teeth ever so lightly over the base of her neck and then kissed the soft spot at the center of her collar bone.
"Uh…no. I mean, yes…wait, what was the question again?" she whispered, her mind unable to comprehend anything but the delicious sensations emanating from her very center all the way to the tips of her eyelashes. She shoved him off of her only long enough to shed her sweater and then quickly pulled him back over her like a living blanket.
He released the clasp on her bra with one hand, then with the other slid it off her shoulders and tossed it aside.
"Too many clothes," he mumbled, kissing her again while they worked at removing the rest of each other's garments, until at last there was nothing between them but sweat.
"Welcome home, Gage," his wife said softly, referring to a lot more than the house. "Welcome home."
-----
In their ardent haste, the couple had not noticed the pair of portraits hanging on the wall behind them, opposite the bed. On the left, "First Kiss", complete with an ornate wooden frame and a brass nameplate bearing its title. On the right, of equal size and with a matching frame, was a portrait of Gage and Sydney dressed in all their wedding finery, arms around each other, eyes closed, kissing. The brass nameplate read "Forever Bliss."
The End.