Endlessly Beautiful

Newlyweds

:: Abby ::

Travis towered over the bed and our luggage, quietly separating our dirty laundry. He held my wedding dress in front of him, and after several seconds he lay it carefully on our comforter. The satin and tulle was a bit wrinkled and ruffled, in part from travel, but mostly from our wedding night. Travis had held me like I belonged to him; all of his doubt had finally melted away. Now, alone in our apartment, he was more relaxed than he’d been in the Las Vegas airport. We had returned to reality, still married, still together.

I held up my left hand, staring at my diamond ring the way Travis had revered my wedding dress just moments before. I wiggled my fingers, noticing Travis staring at me as he came into focus just beyond my hand. One side of his mouth turned up into a half-smile, and he laughed once.

“Still okay?” he asked for the third time since we’d arrived home.

“Still Mrs. Maddox,” I said, walking over to wrap my arms around his neck. I let him support all of my weight as I leaned in to him, closing my eyes as his soft lips skimmed mine. “I wish we had more time before classes resume.”

“We can skip a few days,” he whispered against my mouth.

He scanned my face with his warm, brown eyes, a day’s worth of scruff on his jaw. He was still as breathtaking as the day I’d met him, his inked skin pulled tightly over his lean, cut muscles. The tattoos covering his arms varied from artistic to tribal, but none were as precious to him as my nickname scrolled in delicate cursive across his wrist, or the phrase in Hebrew along his rib cage, spanning from under his arm to the crest of his hip. It read, I belong to my beloved, and my beloved is mine—and I was. Officially. I had even gotten a new tattoo in Vegas: Mrs. Maddox. For someone who’d never considered getting a tattoo before, I couldn’t stop staring at it … or my new husband.

I released him and stood. “I have statistics this semester. Not a class I’d want to miss.”

“You’ll do fine,” he said, turning to finish unpacking. “You solve problems the way I throw punches.”

“No,” I said. “Nothing is that beautiful.”

He looked over his shoulder, staring at me with a dozen emotions scanning across his face, finally settling on adoration. “My wife is.”