Dirty Letters(82)

“I do.” I smiled. “I really do. Thank you.”

I took out the smaller diamond studs I’d been wearing before he helped me put the new earrings on. They were gorgeous, dangling chandelier-style and likely cost as much as this wedding.

“Something blue.” He flashed a wicked smile before taking out a tiny Furby key chain. It was the one I’d left behind at his house during my first trip out to see him. It happened to be a royal-blue color. He’d added a little safety pin to the end. Bending down, he pinned it to the underside of my dress.

“That’s perfect.” I beamed.

“And we can use it until the battery runs out later.” He winked.

After he put the bag aside, I realized he’d skipped over “something new.”

“Isn’t one missing? Something new?”

“Yes, my love. But it’s not in the bag. It’s inside of you.”

Griffin knelt down and kissed my stomach.

The greatest reward for facing my fears was that he and I had made a little human. Four months along, I wasn’t showing enough to have to wear a maternity dress. Thankfully, the cut of the gown I’d chosen hid what small bump I had pretty well. But in only a matter of months, we would be welcoming a baby boy, who we planned to name Griffin Chester Marchese. And my life once again would be changed forever.

Was I terrified of becoming a mother? Absolutely. But I would dive headfirst into it and take everything as it came just as I had been trying to do with everything else. That approach had gotten me far. It had gotten me here to the most important day of my life.

Griffin took my hand as we walked through his garden, relishing this calm before the wedding.

“Best thing I ever did was answer your first letter, you know,” he said.

I squeezed his hand. “Best thing I ever did was send it.”

“Speaking of your first letter, I recently went through all my boxes and came across it. I’m holding it in my pocket today as my own ‘something old.’”

“Really?”

He reached inside and took it out before unfolding it.

Shock crossed his face. “My God.”

“What?”

“I never noticed this. Look at the date, Luca. Holy shit. Look at the date!”

It was today’s date—exactly twenty years ago.

My mouth hung open. “We’re getting married two decades to the day of the very first time I ever wrote you.”

“And we had no idea when we picked this date for our wedding. I’d say that’s pretty damn amazing.”

I had no recollection of what I’d written that very first time. I looked down at that fateful letter and smiled as I read it.

Dear Griffin,

You don’t know me, but my teacher gave me your name. I’m Luca. I think you’re looking for a pen pal? Would you want to be mine?

I’m seven, live in New York, love black licorice and dancing.

I would love to know what it’s like in England. Do you have black licorice there? I heard people drive on the opposite side of the road. That is so weird!

Your pen pal (?),

Luca

P.S. Mrs. Ryan showed me a list of kids, and I picked your name, Griffin Quinn. I don’t know why. Maybe because my mom watches that show Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. But you stuck out. It was just a feeling I had that you were it—my pen pal. My dad always says to trust your gut. My gut loves black licorice. And my gut tells me we’re going to be friends, Griffin. I really hope you write back.