"Ná bí ach ag análú," Fionn whispered on a smile as he put Lydia's hand in mine and stepped aside.
Just breathe.
"Thanks for meeting me," Lydia said softly, a little shyly, her face radiant with love. I swallowed back a grin, turning to face her fully.
We said our vows as the sun set behind us, and when we were pronounced husband and wife, I took her face in my hands and kissed her with the overwhelming amount of love and passion I felt in my heart.
The small group of family and friends in attendance clapped and tossed flower petals at us as we walked back up the short aisle hand in hand, laughing with the pure joy of the moment.
Later, we danced under the stars, hundreds of candles in mason jars hanging from the trees and set on a few tables, casting the outside party area in a romantic glow. In the distance, the horses roamed the pasture, including Maribel who I'd bought back for Lydia when we'd moved into the house.
A few couples away on the outside dance floor, Eileen laughed as Fionn dipped her. Lydia smiled as she watched them for a moment and then looked at me, her expression soft. "She dances because of you," she whispered. My breath caught. Suddenly, right there, all the sacrifices, all the pain, it all seemed to make sense, and I felt filled with peace.
She dances because of you.
I smiled down at my beautiful bride, the woman I loved to utter distraction. "Did I ever tell you I received my first kiss right over there?" I asked, nodding to the stable. "A different summer, long ago."
She pulled back and laughed softly, smoothing a lock of hair that had fallen forward on my forehead. "What a coincidence. So did I."
I chuckled. "That same girl is going to be my last kiss," I whispered, kissing her lips. "And every kiss in between."
She smiled against my mouth. "She better be."
I spun her around and she laughed. Pulling her close again, I planted a small kiss on the side of her neck, inhaling her scent. "I haven't toasted you yet," I said, glancing at our guests laughing and conversing as some drank champagne and others, tall pints of Guinness.
Lydia hesitated before drawing back slightly and taking my face in her hands. "I won't be partaking in champagne for a while," she said, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.
My eyes moved over her half-nervous, half-hopeful expression, understanding dawning. "You're—"
She nodded, smiling tremulously. "I think it happened at that bed and breakfast in Trim."
We'd recently spent three months traveling all over Ireland on an early honeymoon, touring old castles and monasteries, awe-inspiring natural attractions like the Cliffs of Moher, drinking in pubs, and falling in love more deeply than I'd even known possible.
As for me, I'd not only fallen in love more deeply with Lydia, but with my homeland, with the wild and ruggedly beautiful scenery. I’d felt filled with pride to show the woman I loved the splendor and history of the Emerald Isle and to call myself Irish born.
Our last week there, we'd visited the town where I'd been raised and stayed at a small bed and breakfast. It'd rained constantly and we'd spent lots of time holed up at the cozy inn, whispering words of love in the intimacy of our bed, making love over and over as it bucketed down outside the windows.
I swallowed heavily, my heart squeezing with happiness. "You're having a baby," I breathed, a smile breaking over my face.
"Is it too soon?" she asked.
"God, no," I said, pulling her close. It felt like I'd waited a lifetime for this moment. My mind whirled with the ways our lives would change, and the ways they wouldn't. "Do you still want to teach?" I asked. Her position at a local community college started in the fall, the reason we hadn't planned our trip to Ireland after our wedding.
Lydia smiled. "It's just two days a week. I still want to work at your office, too." She looked away for a moment. "And you can teach him or her Gaelic." She smiled, looking as if this thought pleased her very much.
I raised a brow. "We might keep secrets from you."
She laughed. "Then I better speed up my own lessons."
That night, after the cake had been cut, after the celebration had ended, and when the last guests had left, I kneeled down in front of my wife, kissing her flat belly over the white silk of her nightgown, already loving the tiny life inside her. The life we'd created in love, in hope, in forgiveness.
As Lydia pulled down the shoulder straps of her gown, the thin piece of material slid to the floor, allowing me to kiss other parts. And here, on my knees before the woman I loved, I realized Father Donoghue had been right—it was a very beguiling place to be. I smiled against her skin. For I now knew that being on your knees didn't have to mean groveling, it could also mean worship.
"With my body, I thee worship," I murmured, a line from our vows. I kissed her inner thigh and she moaned and sunk to her knees, bringing her mouth to mine.
"I'm going to spend my life worshipping you," I promised her again, sliding my lips down her neck.
She brought her hands to my shoulders, leaning back and allowing me more access. "And I'm going to spend my life worshipping you," she whispered. "Now take off your clothes so I can do it properly."
I laughed, doing as she asked.
Eight months later, our daughter, Catriona Grace, named after our mothers, came screaming into the world, displaying a fierce Irish temper, my black hair, and her mother's beauty. Fionn patted me on the back, a gleam in his eye, and told me my comeuppance for all the trouble I'd put him through had just arrived in a perfect eight-pound package. I had a feeling he was right, but I was too happy to care.