I glanced at the ceiling; our nookie window was closed. But, that was okay. There were nights and nights and days and nights of nookie ahead of us. I threaded my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck.
“Do you—” I cleared my throat. “Do you still want to marry me?”
“Oh god, yes.” He kissed me again, unhurried, measured, for a full minute. Upon separating we both sighed.
“You need to know, about that morning when you asked me to marry you, I wasn’t scared so much as surprised. I—” I held him tighter, spoke to his lips. “I haven’t thought about getting married, spending my life with someone, not since I was fifteen.”
He nuzzled my neck. “Like having kids?”
“Like having kids.”
Haltingly, he pulled away—but not completely; Nico wrapped a possessive arm around my waist and led me to the couch. He sat first then pulled me to his lap; my knees were on either side of him, my arms draped over his shoulders. A twinkly, content gaze caressed my face.
He looked happy, and I realized that I was also happy. I smiled. It was a stupid, blissful smile. I was in goofy-love.
“So . . . what now?” I nipped his juicy bottom lip.
“Now?” Nico tugged me closer until our chests were flush; he brushed his lips against mine. “Now we have a lot to discuss.”
“Discuss?”
“Yes. Lots of discussions.”
“And touching? Lots of touching too?”
“Yes. Lots of that. Discussions and touching.”
“And stroking?”
He grinned, his eyes now smoldering lethally. “Rest assured, there will be touching of all kinds. A virtual cornucopia of touching. A touching feast.”
“Good. Then what?”
“Then we get married, then a lot more touching and maybe less discussions for a while.”
“I have four-and-a-half minutes left before I have to leave. Do you want to start now?”
“Yes. First, you need to learn how to pronounce my last name—”
“Okay. That seems fair.”
“—since it’ll be your last name soon.”
“What? No. I’m not changing my last name. Not going to happen.”
“Ne parleremo più tardi[35].”
Aaand my honorary Italian lady parts stood at attention.
“Ah! Nico!” I sucked in a sharp breath, “You’re not allowed—”
“Okay, okay. No more Italian.” He petted me, his hands under the suit shirt. His movements were deliberate, a fondling stroke from my back to my bottom; then he squeezed. “For now.”
I glowered at him, attempted to repress my rioting lady parts. “So what’s the next item on the list?”
“We need to discuss our arrangement.”
“We have an arrangement?”
“Yes. We have an arrangement. Our Friends Without Benefits arrangement.”
“Oookay. I thought that we were—I thought—I mean we’ve—”
“We haven’t officially ended the arrangement.”
“But we are getting married.”
“Yes. We are. Therefore, I think we should officially end our Friends Without Benefits arrangement and replace it with a new Friends With Benefits arrangement.”
“A Friends With Benefits arrangement?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm . . .” I eyeballed him. “What kind of benefits?”
“All benefits. A full, from A to Z, benefits arrangement. In sickness and in health. Nothing held back.” As though to emphasize his point he kissed my chest.
“So . . . you’ll let me borrow your T-shirts?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“And you’ll make me more mixtapes about us?”
He lifted a single brow; eye-twinkle-twinkle-little-star alert. “You finally caught on to that, did you? You wicked creature . . .”
I couldn’t suppress my grin, but continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “And I’ll knit you scarves.”
“Okay. I like scarves. Can you make me one with Space Invaders?”
“Of course. I’m a really good knitter.”
“I know.”
“And you’ll learn how to crochet?”
He nodded once. “I’m already learning.”
“And how to knit?”
“Don’t push it.”
“Apple fritters?”
He wagged his eyebrows; his eyes dancing beneath. “Definitely.”
“And we’ll take trips together, and visit your family—”
“We’ll visit your family.”
I rolled my lips between my teeth, paused. Before I could respond I had to gather a deep breath. “Yeah . . .”
“We’ll visit your dad and go to his wedding.”