Day 90

On the morning of his wedding reception, Jonathan Rupert Stanford was up before the sun. Outside the window was the orange glow of a streetlight; it cast its glare up through the prison-bar pattern of the shutters, painting zebra stripes on the ceiling overhead. He was sweating and his heart was racing. He had dreamed that he was alone, and that all the world had somehow gone, and left him behind. He had been alone on a long, featureless void; all that he could see was sere grey stone, with a purple-black sky above, devoid of any feature: no insect or grass or sky or even sunlight. It had been the most bitter desolation he had ever known.

His arms were empty. The bed was empty.

For a moment Jon felt a scream of panic in his head, blotting out all other thought. Was the dream true? Had Caitlyn left him? Had something gone wrong—some decision he had made, some off-hand thing he had said, some quirk in her conscience—to cause her to give up and abandon him again? Was he, once again, alone? But then his eyes fell upon a streak of yellowish light on the floor of the bathroom, light leaking out from the toilet closet, and the thought penetrated his crazed mind that she might have merely gotten up to go to the bathroom—a hypothesis supported by the rattle of a toilet bowl in use. Never mind. False alarm.

She seemed to be in there a long time; as his sweat cooled and his heart slowed, he wondered if her departure had been the reason he'd woken. He couldn't remember what the dream had been before all everything had been taken away, but he did know the rapidity of dreams; he could remember times when he'd been visited by half-hour epics in the seven minutes allotted to him by the "snooze" button. Perhaps his subconscious mind had noticed her withdrawing from his arms and worked it into the dream.

And that caused me to dream about the end of the world?

Of course it did. What else would it be?

When she came back to bed, her expression suggested she was surprised to find him awake, but she smiled and slid into his arms and kissed him nonetheless. "Good morning," she said.

"Better, now that you're here."

"I hope I didn't wake you," she said.

"It's okay," he said. "Besides, I doubt this'll be the first time."

"Mmm," she said. She snuggled into his arms, feeling how good it was to be there—his warm, strong body protecting her from harm, his arms gathering her to him. His embrace made her feel precious. And it was good to be reminded that they would have the rest of their lives together. She had doubted that, too often, over the course of their first ninety days.

She became suddenly aware of the clamminess of his skin, and how hard his heart was going. "Honey, are you okay?"

"Umm," he said, his voice vibrating in his chest. "I had kind of a bad dream."

"Oh," she said. "Why? My parents weren't that traumatic last night, were they?"

"No, it wasn't that," Jon said. "They were... They were different. For the first time I felt like they accepted me."

"Yeah."

"For the first time, I felt like they accepted you. Like they weren't just storing up things to complain about later."

"Ohh, they still have stuff to say about me," Caitlyn said with a wry smile. "They just let me ignore it now."

"Still. That's a big step."

"Yeah."

She felt his lips brush the top of her head. "You guys have come a long way."

"We have." It had not always been easy; already she'd had three arguments with her parents about whether or not they'd fallen back into their old ways, and she'd been living with Jon again ever since that fateful day. Of course, being with Jon wasn't always perfect either. But they were trying. All of them were trying. "We all have."

"Yeah."

"Then what was your nightmare about?"

"Well..." She felt him tense a little. "You had left me."

Was that his nightmare? Just that?—that I'd gone?

...But then again, hasn't that been his nightmare? And mine, too?

She kissed his chest, right above the beating heart. "But I came back."

"Yeah." His arms tightened around her, drawing her close. "Yeah."

When she awoke again, there was sunlight instead of lamplight slanting through the windows. A glance at the clock showed that it was nearly nine; they didn't need to be anywhere until the reception. Jon was still asleep, the heat of his morning wood pressed against her. That gave her an idea: she wanted him to wake up with him in her mouth.

And in this case at least, what Caitlyn wanted, Caitlyn got.

She knew the exact moment when he snapped back to consciousness—his breath caught, and his whole body tensed a little. Then she felt his hands caressing her face, stroking her hair. "Baby, you should know," he said, "I'm not going to last much longer."

She smiled up at him. "Good."

She fastened her lips around his erection and began to suck in earnest. She positioned her tongue to stroke the little underside ridge while she bobbed up and down the shaft, giving him the in-out motion she knew would stimulate him best. And when she felt his climax boil over, she brought him deep into her mouth so that he spurted to the back, and she swallowed it all as he came.

The dazed look in his eyes as he opened them was all the reward she wanted. He drew her to him and kissed her, and then tucked her head under his chin. She curled up on his chest, feeling his heart beat under her, totally content.

"Okay," he said eventually. "Now that you've done that, I really have to go to the bathroom."

When he returned, he cupped her chin with a hand. "How come you swallow sometimes and others you don't?"

It was a good question, one she had been thinking about herself. The first time she'd done fellatio on him, she had decided she never wanted to taste cum again, nor feel it in her mouth; but as time had passed, her opinion had changed. Certainly she never had a problem with the actual fellating, only with the cum at the end; certainly she began to like sucking him off more and more, especially after she realized how fun it was to be right there (right there) when he came, feeling it through lips and tongue instead of only through two layers of skin and nerve and tissue, when he was inside her down below. (It was fun to have him come there too, of course, but the simple fact was that her genitals were not designed for detailed observation.) And ever since they'd reunited, they'd been making love seemingly non-stop; she'd sucked him off almost every day, sometimes at his urging and sometimes of her own volition—but only sometimes did she swallow.

"I dunno," she said, shrugging. "I think... It has to do with my mood at the time. Sometimes you want me to, and I like to, but... I don't really like having cum in my mouth."

"Fair enough," he said. "I'm not sure I would either."

"But... If I'm really into it, and I'm doing it because I want to, then... It... It's actually kind of a turn-on for me. I, like... It's really hot to think that I'm using my body to bring you off. It's really hot to be... Part of that process, and to use every faculty I have to serve your pleasure. When I'm doing it, it's okay."

"So, let me get this straight," he said, amused. "If I ask you to do it, you don't want to swallow. But if you want to do it, you do."

"No, it's... I still don't, if it's me doing it. It's more that..." She struggled to articulate the thought. "...There's more important things than the fact that I don't want to swallow."

He was silent for a moment.

"Why? Is that... Weird?"

"No," he said, "actually, I was just thinking that maybe that's the right way to approach the whole thing. Even if it makes you uncomfortable, you should think about whether it makes your partner happy, and... Just... Go for it."

His words made her feel a little ashamed of herself. "And here it took me three months to pick up on the idea."

"It's okay," he said. "You were new to sex. There was a lot you had to get used to."

"Yeah, but... That was the attitude I was taking to the whole rest of my life," she said. " 'If it makes other people happy, then it's worth it—even if it makes me unhappy.' That's what I was doing for other people. ...But not to you." She sighed. "Heck, I was even ignoring you to do it for other people. That's lousy."

"Nonsense," he said. "You were still getting used to it. No shame in that. Besides, a lot of what I wanted to try, we ended up not liking."

"Yeah, but... I shouldn't've hesitated. I never did with anything else in my life."

Suddenly he gave a soft laugh. "God, look at us. You're arguing that I should be upset, and I'm arguing that you shouldn't. Talk about ass-backwards."

She smiled. "Yeah, I guess this is the better way to do it."

"Remember that one time we were in the Shellview library, and we were arguing about who should carry the books?"

The memory widened her smile. "You were saying that you were the boyfriend, so you should carry all of them. And I was saying that it was my research project, so I should carry all of them."

"And the librarian said, 'If that's all you have to argue about, you're in good shape.' We smiled the whole way to the car."

"It seems so long ago," she said. "Was it really... Early November?"

"Well... We've come a long way since then," he said, taking her hand in his own. He had her left hand, which had the wedding ring on it. "Things have changed. We've gotten stronger."

"And had our share of troubles," she said.

"And had those," he said, kissing her hand. "But..." He leaned in, and instinctively she tilted her head to receive his lips. "In the end..." He kissed her again, beginning to shift his weight. "I think... Our love... Is still... That strong." In between kisses he levered himself forward, so that now she lay beneath him, pinned to the bed—just the way she liked it.

"I sure hope so," she whispered, entwining her arms around his neck, "because I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend the rest of my life with."

They kissed for a long time, simply enjoying the moment; she cradled him in her arms, caressing his back as his lips began to wander over her flesh, coaxing him to lie in between her legs. She loved him; she loved how he could make her body feel. When his lips attached themselves to her nipples, she sighed and pressed herself up to meet him. She could already feel the bar of his erection against her leg, and the corresponding warmth between her own legs—a sense of slipperiness, and the beginnings of an ache begging to be filled.

His hand slipped between her legs, and breath rushed out of her at the dual stimulation. She felt the heel of his palm against her clitoris, his middle finger across her opening, its tip on the little patch of flesh between her pussy and her anus; then he began to rock his hand from side to side, and thought became a low priority. He was making her ready, preparing to make her his, and she gave him free rein over her, gave him her body to do with as he pleased.

And he did.

As he continued to fondle her, he reached up to put her hand on his member; taking his instructions, she began to stroke it. And when he had judged she was ready, he withdrew his hand from below and, to her surprise, cupped her cheek with his hand. She smelled her own arousal there, felt her own wetness against her cheek; and, in acceptance, she pressed his hand to her face with her own, turned it to kiss his palm.

She saw the light in his eyes and had an instant to wonder what it meant. Then he had her: her hands pinned by his own, pinned above her head. Suddenly she was trapped, her hips pressed to the bed by his own, her hands and arms trapped in place, her breasts exposed and proud in their silvery-wet arousal.

She saw the light in his eyes and felt a thrill of fear, chased by a thrill of excitement.

"Well, I've got you now," he said, sounding very smug. "What, precisely, am I going to do with you?"

She recognized the play-acting in his voice and responded to it. She knew how a proper woman was supposed to react. "You may have captured my body, you vile man, but you shall never have my spirit."

He gave her a leer that was actually rather convincing. "It's not your spirit I want, missy." And, without letting go of her hands, he dove at her breasts again.

It was the same as before; it was so much better. Her whole body felt ramped up; her heart thundered in her ears. Before she could at least squirm in reaction or something; now she was trapped, almost completely immobile, and her only option was to suffer through it—as if feeling every sensation doubled could be counted as 'suffering.' Her breasts felt twice as sensitive as normal; she could feel his lips, the bumps of his tongue against her nipples, the faint pulling sensation as he sucked, even the warm rush of breath through his nose against her skin.

He tried to move her wrists together, and she struggled, only partially in play. But Jon was stronger than her (of course he was), and suddenly she was pinioned by only one hand. Now he had one free—and where should it go but between her legs.

"The young miss seems to like it," observed Jon in his reedy 'villain' voice.

She had to think to find an appropriate response for that one; it was hard, with pleasure coursing through her this way. "Have you no mercy, you beast? My body may have yielded to you, but in my heart I will resist you until the end."

"Oh, go ahead and resist then," he said, with that thin grin, "it makes it more fun."

She did—for all the good it did her. Though she bucked against him, he held fast; he did outweigh her by a fourth or so. And—purely by coincidence, of course—every movement brought her clit into sharp contact with his hand, sending shocks and tingles through her body. By the time she had given up, she was panting even harder than before—and only partially from the exertion.

"Hmmm," said her 'assailant.' "I think you're ready for what I've got in mind."

Martyred to the last, she gave a dramatic sigh. "Do as you please, you uncouth ruffian. But know that every moment of pleasure my body experiences will only sanctify me in the eyes of the Lord."

"Well then," he sniggered, "you ought to be pleased: your holiness is the most important thing on my mind."

Her surprise at that remark—it was the last thing she would have expected his 'character' to say—must have shown in her eyes, for he chortled again and then reached down to position himself at her entrance. There was a moment of fumbling as she felt the head of his cock brushing against her labia; and then he was sinking into her, in and in, caressing her with every vein and ridge, until finally he had bottomed out inside her and there was no more to give.

"Feeling holy yet?" he said.

"Ha," she returned, "it would take more than that to sanctify me."

"Got a high opinion of yourself, dontcha," he mumbled offhand.

It was almost too much; she felt a laugh bubble up and had to force it back down. "I'm worth far more than a scoundrel like you," she retorted, her game face back on. Why does he have to talk? Why can't he just fuck me?

He affected offense. "Why, now. That's an unkind thing for a woman to say. Guess I'll have to convince you."

"And how, precisely, do you plan to do that?" she said.

He withdrew and pushed back in, just one. She gasped, feeling the thrust all the way up her body, from her hips to her bobbing breasts to the flex of her arms.

"A man has his ways," he said.

Each thrust was exquisite torture; she felt sensitive, so sensitive, and every movement was magnified. She felt the ridge around the head of his cock pressing against her inside walls with every thrust and withdrawal, felt his balls brushing against her ass; he had moved up her body, and every thrust brought her clit into contact with the base of his cock. He was resting his weight on her, mostly, pressing her into the bed; she could feel the rigid tension in his arms from holding himself up. Unable to brace herself, her whole body moved with each thrust, absorbing the shock; she felt her breasts swinging free, her nipples brushing up and down against his chest with every thrust. His face was there, right there, eyes crimped in concentration. And through it all was the glorious sensation of his cock inside her, his body against hers, his strength holding her down, her body bearing up to him, pressing up to him, welcoming him, wanting more, urging him on despite her own immobility. She wanted this. She wanted him.

Suddenly she was cumming—she didn't even know how it happened, only that it had: she felt the power overwhelm her, and then it was bursting through her, and for one transcendent moment she felt with perfect clarity every ridge and vein of him, every inch of his skin pressed against hers—the stiffness of his nipples, his ribs pressing down on her, his breath on her face, the bristle of his public hair tangled in her own—before she was gone; her body spased and contracted around him, clenching at his cock with marvelous strength, exhausting itself against his body, and she was plummeting over the edge, falling, lost to her pleasure, gone.

When she could feel again, she opened her eyes to find his face still hovering above her; the hard intrusion down below was still present. "Well, now," he snickered. "Looks like someone's gotten a mite holier. Now it's my turn."

It was in-character for her to just lie there and take it, and she barely felt able to move anyway. Besides, he must have been close; it was only a minute or so of him rutting away at her, which was just fine because that was about how long it took for her to come back to earth. Lying there, trying to keep an exhausted smile from her face, she felt him pushing into her, penetrating her, caressing himself against her pussy, using her exquisite embrace to bring himself to his pleasure; felt him stiffen, heard the little groan; felt him push his way as deep as he could; felt the sudden warmth inside her, the pulsing sensation, the way his cock throbbed as it squirted inside her, the change from burst to slow gush as the last of his cum dribbled out into her. She wished she were more awake to enjoy it.

Then he collapsed against her, spent.

For a long time all there was was their breathing, the sound of their exhaustion. She broke it first. "Baby?"

He knew from that word that she had broken character, that the long charade was over. "Yeah?"

"I love you. I love you so much."

"I love you too," he whispered, and released her hands so that she could hug him.

Then, still joined, they fell asleep again.

The reception, they had decided, was going to be mostly for fun.

True, people were allowed to dress up, but only if they felt like it, and the Stanfords had emphasized in the invitations that no presents were required or, in fact, allowed (unless someone should happen to feel really moved by the Spirit, they wrote, at which point it would be only polite to accept this kind and Christian gesture). The food, though catered by the hotel providing the hall, was as cheap as Jon felt they could get away with, and the DJ was a friend of Caitlyn's from Shellview State who had offered a significant you're-my-friend discount. (Actually, she had offered to do it for free, wanting the exposure and experience, but Caitlyn had insisted on some sort of fee.) As formal occasions went, this was going to be about as informal as one could get; as Jon and Caitlyn saw it, it was more important to get together the people they loved, and have fun with them, than anything else.

The two of them were not ashamed to be part of the entertainment. Octapella had whipped up a fifteen-minute set, and Caitlyn would perform a duet with Meredith that the two had used on several previous occasions. As they saw it, this party was as much for their friends' benefit—perhaps more so—than their own.

The two of them arrived somewhat early, certain that things would be going frantically wrong, and were pleasantly surprised to find that nothing could be further from the case. Christa and Meredith were there, the former coordinating things with her usual efficiency, both surprised to see them there. "We called around ten-ish, but you didn't answer," Meredith said. "So we just came and did as best we could."

"Ten," Caitlyn said. When she glanced at Jon, he knew she was thinking the same thing he was.

"We were, umm..." said Jon. "Occupied."

"Naturally," said Meredith. "But so occupied that you couldn't hear the phone ring?"

"Well, actually, we'd just about worn ourselves out by that point," Caitlyn said. "We were, umm... Exploring new options."

"Oh?" said Christa, curious. "Did that, umm, other possibility finally get worked out?"

"It did," Caitlyn said, beaming. Jon found himself smiling too. He still had his reservations, but he had to admit it was thrilling while it lasted.

"What other possibility?" Meredith said.

"Well... I wanted him to dominate me," Caitlyn said. Jon felt his eyebrows make the customary climb: he hadn't thought she'd say it this publicly.

"What?" Meredith said. "How come I never heard about this?"

"I thought I told you," Christa said, startled.

Jon, grinning, left them to take a circuit around the room. Everything seemed to be coming together as they'd planned: the configuration of tables, the food, the flowers, just about everything. Of course, he might not recognize an error if he saw it; while he'd been somewhat involved, most of the details were in Caitlyn's head, or Meredith's, or Christa's. Feeling confident everything was in good hands, he went outside to begin moving the harp into position.

Eventually, guests began to arrive, some quite early, and the four of them withdrew to get their party clothes on. Caitlyn had spent the entire time chatting with the other girls, and seemed surprised (if pleased) that Jon had at least gone through the trouble of deploying the harp. "Sorry, I got a little distracted."

"Did you have a nice talk," Jon asked, smiling.

"Yeah, we, umm. We talked about a lot of things."

He saw her blush, and his smile widened. "Trading ideas?"

"Umm," she said, blushing even further. "Maybe."

They got dressed, wearing (by choice) the same thing they'd worn to their actual wedding almost three months ago. Caitlyn, looking at her husband, admired how the tuxedo brought out his height and the breadth of his shoulder; Jon, admiring his wife, noted how the dress highlighted her figure, the richness of her hair, the pale color of her eyes. Both thought to themselves, I must be the luckiest person alive.

As they drove back, Caitlyn finally broached the topic of what they'd done that morning. "So, um... How was it for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well... You were saying that you were worried," she said. "You were saying that... You exerting power over me wasn't something you liked the idea of."

"Yeah," said Jon. "Caitlyn, power begs use. I don't... I mean, now I know I can hold you down and have my way with you in bed. What about when I start wanting to do that outside of bed?"

She reached to the steering wheel and placed her hand on his. "Jon. What did we do today in bed that I didn't want you to do?"

"Well... Nothing, really."

"Exactly. I wanted it, and you knew I wanted it. After that, we just had fun. And it was fun, wasn't it?"

He thought back to his off-hand comment about holiness and how she'd almost broken character. "Yeah, it was... It was kind of fun." And then: "I was surprised at how hard you came."

"Yeah, I... I don't think I've ever come that hard in my life. But, don't you see? It's because I was so turned on."

He gave her a roll of his eyes without taking them from the road.

"And... Jon, I trust you. I know you'd never push me to do something I wouldn't want to. And that's why I can enjoy that kind of play. Because I know that, no matter what, you still have my best interests at heart."

"I have pushed you to do something you wouldn't want to," he said. "Remember?"

She remembered. "Well, first off: that's why we ought to have a safe word. Obviously we didn't have time to set one up today, but we will. Second off: Jon, you didn't push me into anything. You told me you wanted to try something, and I decided to let you."

"You said you wouldn't like it."

"I said I might not like it," she corrected him. Okay, so I was 95% sure of that. But I love you enough to have tried it anyway. "Heck, you said you might not like it, Jon. That's why we tried it. In the end, we both didn't like it, and that was that. If it hadn't been for the other issues we were facing, we would've just shrugged and laughed it off."

"Are you sure? I thought you said you thought it was... Wrong."

She realized she probably hadn't told him the whole story. "Jon, I thought it was wrong for us. It didn't hurt, and it wasn't uncomfortable, but I didn't... It didn't feel bad, but it didn't feel good either. And don't think there's any way we could... Make it feel good."

He nodded. "At which point it isn't something we're really sharing, it's just... One way. And I don't like that any more than you do," he added before she could say anything.

"And, I mean, that doesn't say anything about anybody else. Maybe others can do... Sodomy... In a loving and Christ-like manner, in a way that strengthens their love. If they can, good for them; it's not my place to complain. It's only my place to say that, unless we can make it into that, unless it's something that strengthens our love instead of detracts from it, then I don't think we should do it."

"And if we could?" he said. "If it made us stronger?"

She gave him an eye-roll. "Well, I did say, didn't I?" She wondered what such a transformation might entail. Yes, it was dirty. But wasn't that exactly the point?—that they trusted each other enough to indulge in something so sinfully wanton? And if I like feeling his cum inside me in the front, imagine how I'd feel walking around being stretched in the back!

And suddenly she had her angle.

Another thought swam at the periphery of her consciousness, circling; she made a grab at it, but missed. What was it? Something about angles. Angles as in sex? No, that wasn't it... She realized Jon was still looking at her, and forced herself to concentrate.

"In any case," she said, "even if we're playing around with domination, it's still consensual. The whole thing is consensual. That's why we have a safe word."

"But what about the rest of life?" he said. "I'm glad you trust me to not hurt you, but the simple fact is that I'm not sure I trust myself."

She gave him a concerned glance. "What, do you really have that little willpower?"

"It's not about willpower," he said, "it's just the way life works. We get frustrated with each other; you know that. But I think that, if we let ourselves 'play' like this, it will only encourage me to one day force you to do things my way—and not necessarily in bed; in fact, probably outside of it. And I just don't want to step in that particular direction."

That was fair enough, as she was concerned. "Well, then, why can't we have a safe word for that, too? Some... I dunno. We'll set up something where, if we invoke it, we have to drop whatever we're doing and whatever we're feeling and compromise. If I think you're turning into my parents."

"Or if I think you're turning into your parents."

"Exactly. Since, God only knows, that's what we're both scared of."

He smiled. "Let's do it. Let's find something and have it be our safe word. Let's make sure we can always step back out of the moment and take a good look around."

"Because that way, we can tie each other up to our heart's content," she said, beaming.

He gave her another ostentatious eye-roll, then stopped the car in the parking space and leaned over to kiss her.

Back at the room they'd hired, Meredith and Brandon were adding their own little touch to the proceedings. "You know how you're supposed to tink the wineglasses when you want the bride and groom to kiss?" Brandon said. "Well, the hotel staff said to please not, because that makes the wineglasses break. Shoddy glassware, I guess; we didn't have any problems at ours. But, there it was. And by coincidence, we were looking around in a shop and saw that they were selling these..." He held up what he was setting copies of at each table: a little silver ribbon, with bow-tied ribbons in the wedding colors Caitlyn had chosen. "So, we thought..."

Jon glanced at Caitlyn, and she saw that her thoughts were mirrored in his head. "Save us one of these," he said.

Brandon smiled. "Souvenir?"

"No, we're going to use it," Jon said, grinning. He turned to Caitlyn. "What do you think we should call it? The Compromise Bell?"

Distantly, she saw Brandon look both amused and impressed at the same time, but her thoughts were full of that circling idea, which had suddenly snapped into full focus. "No, that's not it at all. It's not about compromise. It's about angle."

Both Jon and Brandon were looking at her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... Look, Jon, look at what we were talking about in the car. I want you to tie me up to the bed, you want to do my ass."

Brandon guffawed. "Jeez, and here Meredith and I were thinking you two would be even more plain-vanilla than we are!"

"We could have arguments about this. We did have arguments about this. But now, instead of fighting some more, we're looking for ways to compromise."

"Yeah, exactly, so," said Jon. "The Compromise Bell."

"Yes, but... That's the wrong angle," she said. "Look, in any argument, you can look at it one way, which is, I have to do what?? She wants me to tie her up? He wants me to let me put his thing where? Or, you can look at it another way, which is, How can I further please my partner? What can I, out of love for my partner, do to make them even happier?"

Jon nodded. "You can be stingy or you can be giving."

"And it's all about the angle," Caitlyn said. "They're flip sides of the same coin. Clouds and silver lining. Instead of being grudging and refusing, you're looking for ways to let me be submissive to you while still keeping that behavior out-of-bounds for normal life. And instead of asking why you want to have anal sex with me, I'm looking for a way to take pleasure in it too. Because I don't want this to be something that pushes us apart. I don't want it to be something we fight over. And neither do you."

Jon nodded. "Instead of trying to get our own way, we're trying to find a way to give the other person their way. To want what they want."

Brandon summed it up for them: "Anything that pushes people apart can also draw them together."

"And so that's what I think the bell should be for," Caitlyn said. "The Unity Bell. Not just to remind us to compromise, but to remind us to look at the situation from different angles until we can turn it into something we agree on. Because there's always something we agree on. Let's always start there."

Brandon turned to look across the room. "Honey?" he called to Meredith. "Do we have any extras of these back home?"

As more and more guests began to arrive, the Stanfords found themselves drawn, both together and separately, into varying conversations. Many of Jon's relatives were present, with only one or two cousins absent due to educational commitments out of state, and all of Caitlyn's family was here. Many of their friends were here as well; they took particular pleasure in seeing Zach and Christa still talking to Pastor Pendleton and his wife long after the Stanfords had wandered off, and in seeing Stephanie Leyton playing with Laurelyn Chambers. The most pressing issue, though, was to introduce their parents to each other, because, despite the year-and-three-quarters their children had been together, they had never met.

Jon and Caitlyn had discussed, with a certain amount of trepidation, what they might do if things went sour. Glenn and Regina Stanford had certainly heard their share of horror stories from Jon (and a few from Caitlyn as well), and Linda and Sam Delaney had taken it upon themselves to vilify anything Jon was related to or involved in. While both sets of parents knew that peace had been declared and cooperation would be ideal, old habits die hard. And, indeed, the first few minutes were somewhat uncomfortable. Nobody had any idea what to say. But after a while, once politeness had been established, the walls began to come down.

"Is that Caitlyn's harp?" Mr. Stanford said.

"Yes, that is," Mr. Delaney said.

"We've never heard her play before," Mrs. Stanford said. "Though Jon vouches for her skill."

"She is indeed very good," said Mrs. Delaney.

"She's very talented all around," Mrs. Stanford said. "You've raised a daughter you can be proud of."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Delaney. "Heaven knows we tried."

"You should be proud of your son," Mr. Delaney said. "It, um. It couldn't have been easy, putting up with what he's experienced since he started dating our daughter. But he has persevered."

"Well, the same could be said for Caitlyn," said Mrs. Stanford. "We've never seen her exhibit anything but patience and kindness, no matter what the circumstances she was under."

"Well, that's 'cause I only show my annoyance to Jon," Caitlyn said, now beginning to blush at the praise.

"Look, you guys just keep complimenting each other," Jon said, smiling. "We'll keep circulating. And I think one or both of us is supposed to start making music soon."

"Thanks for the praise, but you'll change your mind after you actually hear me playing," Caitlyn said, laughing.

Of course, that wasn't true; she did okay. (Actually, to judge by the clapping, she did quite well.) But Caitlyn attributed that more to the environs: to working with Meredith, who was an excellent musician; to being here in this place, surrounded by the people she loved; to being happier, more at peace with herself, than she'd ever been in her life. And then Jon got up with Octapella and ran their set, and that worked too; obviously, it was a different kind of music, but still well-received.

Finally, one of the hotel staff asked that the guests be seated for dinner, and Meredith (who had been asked to do so) stood to open the toasting. She had been somewhat embarrassed to be chosen for this, and her statement was short and sweet.

"Someone once told me that, if your marriage is merely formalizing what everyone knew already, you're in good shape. I'm happy to say that, in the case of Jon and Caitlyn Stanford, that's the absolute truth.

"The first time I saw them being together was, actually, at my own wedding the summer before last; they'd driven down to Mount Hill together, and had rarely parted company throughout the night. Once school began again, my friends and I were able to see them together a little more frequently, and we were able to confirm what we thought we'd seen even though it was only their first date: that the two of them were deeply in love, and—even more than that—ready to be in love together. We all agreed that, if these two played their cards right, and didn't mess things up, they'd eventually find themselves married too. The love between them was that strong, and that obvious.

"Well, here we are," said Meredith, smiling.

"Unfortunately, a marriage is not all joy and laughter, though it certainly has its share of those. It also requires patience, love, selflessness... All the higher virtues. And Jon and Caitlyn have already undergone their own share of difficulties in the first ninety days of their union. But they are still here, stronger and—at a glance—more in love than ever. They have grown not only in love, but in wisdom. And, were we able to return here after ninety years, I have no doubt that we would find them loyal and in love still.

"To Jon and Caitlyn Stanford." Meredith raised her glass. "May your years be happy and fruitful. May the best of your past be the worst of your future."

There was a general chorus of agreement, and a clinking of glasses; and then, seemingly organic out of the process, the sound of someone tinkling one of the "smooch bells" (as Zach had called them), a sentiment which was immediately echoed by just about everyone in the room. Jon looked at Caitlyn and saw her blushing, felt his own face burning as well. How can this be? We've seen a lot more of each other, and done a lot more to each other, than just this.

Of course, that wasn't in public.

But she rolled her eyes and leaned towards him, and he kissed her long and deep, and the crowd went wild.

Even after they pulled apart, one bell went on ringing. And Jon looked out and saw Meredith hurrying over to Laurelyn Chambers, currently in the care of her grandparents and swinging a bell with happy abandon. There was laughter, and Reverend Pendleton intoned, "And a child shall lead them!"

Then, after more toasts and more smooching and more food, the DJ kicked her gear into motion, and announced the first dance of the married couple.

Jon smiled at his wife. "Shall we?"

Caitlyn giggled at her husband. "I thought our first dance as a married couple was in your bed, ninety days ago."

Jon rolled his eyes. "Maybe, but we've changed since then, and learned, and grown. Maybe we said the vows three months ago, but in some ways it is a new start."

Caitlyn thought about that, and then nodded. "At the very least, it's the beginning of 'happily ever after.' "

"Yeah."

"Though it's not going to be that easy," Caitlyn said. "We've had a taste of that. 'Happily ever after' isn't perfect. You have to learn to be more loving. I have to learn to be more self-protective. There will be fights and conflicts and times when we need to use the Unity Bell."

"I know," said Jon. "But there's no one on earth I'd rather be at one with than you."

Caitlyn smiled at her husband—a great, beaming smile of love. "I feel the same way."

Jon smiled at his wife. "Shall we?"

"And, presenting..." said the DJ into her mike. "The happy couple, Jonathan and Caitlyn Stanford!"

Jon gave her his arm, and Caitlyn took it. And together, they walked onto the floor, and into their ever after.

The End