Chapter Text
Epilogue:
That Most Presumptuous
Of All Things
“You look so handsome,” you tell Frank, smoothing his suit jacket, straightening the little cluster of white flowers in his lapel. He smiles down at you, that warmth shining in his dark eyes that you know is just for you. Even after all these years, it still gives you butterflies.
His boutonniere matches the baby’s breath braided into your hair.
All these years later, the two of you are finding yourselves at yet another destination wedding in wine country.
This time, you’re not half so annoyed about the presumptuous inconvenience.
This time, the guest list numbers two: him, and you.
No one was more surprised than you, a few months ago, when in the middle of dinner on a normal weeknight he set a river rock down in front of your plate of chicken carbonara that simply read, “ Marry me?”
You’d never meant anything more, when immediately you’d answered through your laughter, “Yes.”
The two of you decided very quickly to forgo the meaningless trappings and pageantry of the conventional wedding. Who did it concern, anyway, but just the two of you?
In half an hour, you will go to the courthouse where a Justice of the Peace will say a few words over your union, and you’ll sign a piece of paper together declaring you man and wife. This last big gesture will be undeniably sweet, but you can’t help but think it won’t really change anything between the two of you. The cement of your bond set long ago, mixed with dedication, sweat, and tears poured into this precious thing between you.
It hasn’t been all roses. No real relationship ever is.
Your fights are probably the stuff of legend in his condo building. Your first big go round, after the inevitable shouting match, you’d left his apartment in a huff, needing to regroup (so as not to commit murder). When you came back you found him sitting in the dark with his head in his hands. He’d thought you’d left for good, and you promised him that night that you would always come back for him.
It’s a promise you’ve kept.
A bit more embarrassing, your make up sex is probably legend too. Mrs. Fontaine next door always gives you a certain sly little look with a twinkle in her eye, the night after.
For such an expensive building, they’d sure skimped on the thickness of the walls.
He’s tried to break up with you, twice. Once, after seeing you holding a friend’s baby, (and maybe because you somehow managed not to drop it?) he convinced himself (without asking you) that you really did want kids and were wasting your youth on him. The second time, because he insulted you. Or rather, your art. His usually impish teasing just went a bit too far, and it had been a doozy, you had to admit. No one can deliver a cuttingly true remark like Frank, and he did make you cry, though he apologized almost immediately. Ironically, in the end, the whole thing upset him more than you, the you deserve better song and dance surfacing again that you’ve fought tooth and nail.
You did not respect his wishes either instance, refusing to take no for an answer, going after him with both barrels and a vengeance. You sent flowers to his work, bribed his dry cleaner to put love notes in his jacket pockets, and left sappy balloons tied to his car. You even threatened to finally ambush him with the boombox (you didn’t even own one, truth be told) which finally led to a sit down at your favorite sushi joint, and your inevitable victory. As it turned out–it was exactly the assurance he’d needed all along.
Both times your love just came out the other side of the fire even stronger.
Your joy is legend too, even if only in your own mind. Frank makes you laugh every day. He makes you feel desired, and loved, and mostly saves his razor-edged observations for the rest of the world outside, which the two of you watch go by with spectators’ amusement and dismay. Talking shit remains your number one pastime together. At some point, the little things each of you does that inevitably annoys the other becomes more of a running joke. Your love language includes flipping each other off regularly and playfully trading barbs. It’s hard for others to believe, but his devotion to you is thoughtful and complete. You do your best every day to return it in kind. Some days you fall short, and sometimes he does too, but on the whole you make eachother happy, and somehow five years have flown by.
“You look beautiful.” His approval fills your heart like a sunrise. You’re wearing a simple white lace dress that hits just above your knee. If you have to run from a mountain lion, you’re not going to trip over your skirts. Your shoes? Might be another matter.
“Thanks.”
“I like the heels,” he says with a smirk, as though his thoughts are aligned with yours. They often are as of late, you’ve found. Your shoes are actually the same wedge platforms you wore to a different wedding you attended together, what feels like a lifetime ago.
“I thought you hated these shoes?” you tease.
“Oh no. It will be impossible for you to run from me, when you finally come to your senses,” he says with a little smile, touching a strand of hair by your ear lightly. You shudder as it sends a thrill across your skin, and if you’re being honest, straight to your loins. Whose ridiculous suggestion was it, anyway, to forego intimacy before the wedding?
Ok, so it was yours–and Frank has been delighting in torturing you over the past month. You just might expire over the time it will take to get to the courthouse, go for a leisurely drive through the vineyards, and sit through a nice dinner at one of the wineries overlooking the fields at sunset. Sex is yet another thing between you that has somehow only gotten better with time, and to say you are looking forward to your wedding night would be an understatement.
“This was all your idea,” you remind him. “Are you…rethinking it? If you are–”
He snorts and pulls you against him, lifting you on tiptoe with an arm around your waist and kissing you so deeply you know you’ll have to re-apply your lipstick.
Ah well.
“ Woman… ” He rests his forehead against yours, and you smile, ridiculously content in this moment with him.
“Why do you want to get married, Frank?” You realize, perhaps hilariously, you never actually asked him, so delighted that you just rolled with it. You already practically live together, at his place and yours. You’re both financially independent. You’re not planning on starting a family. Your commitment to each other was already set in stone.
“I felt like we needed a challenge. We’ve been entirely too happy,” he says with that smirk that makes you roll your eyes.
“Come on.”
“And if something happens to me, I don’t want my mother or Keith to be able to pull my plug.”
You poke him in the ribs for this. For some reason, he’s convinced himself this morbid scenario is inevitable. “I already have your medical POA.”
He squirms away with a grunt of amusement before grabbing you up again, his gaze softening for you once more. “ Because , I love you, more than anything or anyone.”
You believe him too. The thing about Frank, is that he does not make this shit up. He says what he’s thinking, at the moment he thinks it–and you think your heart really might explode. “Likewise,” you assure him with a smile, tilting your head to receive another gentle kiss that curls your painted toes. “Are you ready to go?”
He nods, and maybe you are feeling some pre-wedding jitters now. Because you still think this man is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever laid eyes on, and sometimes it is still a little hard to believe that he’s all yours.
You grab your purse, he grabs the keys, and together you walk out the door towards the next big step of your life, together.