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Lydia lets out a girl growl. “Hey, Bolt Jolt. For a wedding gift, can’t you just give me a couple of hours of brainwashed Laurel again?”

Emma impales her with a scowl while bending to straighten out her train. “You want to keep both your nipples, sister?”

“Heeeyyy,” I chide. “We all know marriage is about compromise. Brainwashing, not doable. But lots of double-shot cosmos for my beautiful mother-in-law…”

“And thus, the reason why I’m proud to call you brother.” Foley smirks, lifting his fist to bump with mine. “I’ll even get the first round.”

“From the open bar?” ’Dia volleys though descends into a new moan as Laurel barks for her again. If any of us needed any moment to confirm that the woman is thoroughly free from Faline’s spell, this is definitely that time. Ever since our astounding “night at the ballet” five months ago, we’d been hoping that would be the case. There will always be some uncertainty about the limits and duration of the “black hole” we banished the bitch to that night, but with Faline effectively sealed away—and Mis and Ira free from her enslavement—it seems that the Garand Cult was also wiped from the planet. The process took about a week in total, though Laurel does notice there are sections from her year beneath Faline’s rule that she’s forgotten altogether. Though the memory gaps continue to disturb her, we’re all in agreement that it’s probably a good thing.

The more we all forget and move on, the better.

The resolve is foremost in my mind as I step in behind Foley and Lydia and offer my arm for my own stunning woman to take. As she does, I’m frozen solid for a long second. My legs can’t move. My heart can’t beat. With all due respect to the bride, my Emmalina is easily the most breathtaking woman here. Her silver-toned matron of honor dress is a flawless fit across her luscious figure, and the color plays up every sparkle of the turquoise magic in her dancing gaze. There’s a joyous blush on her high cheeks and a love-filled smile lifting the stunning curves of her lips.

She’ll never stop taking my breath away.

Never ever stop captivating my spirit and soul.

Always and forever, she’ll turn every cell in my body into raw electricity.

Yeah, even now.

I’m still swooning like a sap from an Austen novel when a chorus of kid-style whoops fill the air from behind us, lilting with the distinct exuberance of an animated little boy and his two adoring sisters.

“Ho-lee shit! Ho-lee shit! Ho-lee shit!”

I snicker. Emma moans. With their parts in the ceremony officially finished, the kids dart past us. Lux tosses his little tuxedo jacket at Emma. Mis and Ira, in their fluffy white chiffon dresses, are already scraping the bows out of their curls.

“Yesssss,” Lydia exclaims. “I knew my Luxie wouldn’t let me down!”

“Emmalina Paisley.” Laurel’s back, more flustered than ever. Todd accompanies her this time, already rolling his eyes. “Your—Your children and those words—”

“Talk to your other child, maternal unit.” Emma raises a fast and determined talk-to-the-hand. “When ‘Luxie’ and Dee Dee join forces, I’m not to be blamed.”

“Speaking of things we can blame each other for later…” Foley addresses me as soon as we get to the head table, where our wives give each other more gushing hugs, tears, and permissions to sample the custom-imprinted wedding candies in the shell-shaped crystal bowls on the table. “You ready to hit the bar, dude?”

“I can already hear that first cosmo calling Laurel’s name.”

As Lydia tugs her sister toward the ladies’ room, we make our way over to the bar, tucked in an alcove off the comfortable living room area that separates the dance floor from the venue’s dock. As soon as we’re clustered together, nursing lowballs of Macallan, Foley turns until he can hitch an elbow back on the bar and survey the entire scene while appearing like the two of us are casually shooting the shit.

“Damn,” he drawls after savoring his first sip of the top-shelf booze. “I guess I really went and did it.”

“Welcome to the club, my friend.” A couple of beats pass, in which I let him bask in contentment, before getting out my really big harpoon. “So now it’s time to get busy, buddy.”

“Eh?” He arches a brow. “On what?”

“My kids need baby cousins, dude.” I smack my hands together. “Chop, chop.”

“Fuck you.”

I chuckle hard, relishing one of the rare moments that I’ve managed to roast his weenie, before waving a placating hand. “I’d rather my wife do those honors, thank you very much. And seriously, you take all the time on the baby-making that you want. Atticus’s twins are more than enough entertainment for Mis and Ira—though I’m not sure those boys will be so cool about things once they realize they’re the ones always getting dusted by Thanos and getting saved by ‘Captain Marvel’ and ‘Wasp.’”

“Goddesses after my own heart already.” He chuffs. “So things are going well with Atticus still? He really does want to start making money in the right ways?”

I nod before explaining, “Fatherhood changes a guy. And once I showed the man that his business model is ridiculous with all the overhead from dodging the authorities, he began to see that he’s working harder, not smarter.”

Foley pushes out his glass, openly toasting me. “And who said Reece Richards couldn’t be a superhero without a sexy cape?”

“We’re not going there about the cape again, man.”