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Eight Weeks: Epilogue


“I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings”—paper rings by Taylor Swift


Three Years Later


“You cannot say a word to Lily before I found a way to tell my friends without hurting their feelings,” Aaron says just as we enter our apartment.

It’s a super fancy apartment complex with a lot, and more importantly, huge rooms. The apartment is way too big for Aaron and me, but since we might never move out, it could make for a great space to raise kids together. Not yet, but sometime in the future.

With two extra bedrooms apart from ours, of course, a total of four bathrooms, an enormous living and dining space plus kitchen and balcony, I’d say we don’t even have to buy a house. Unless, of course, Aaron still wants to design a house for us to live in. I’d be okay with that, too. But a bonus for the apartment complex is, the other guys live here too.

Not in our apartment, obviously, but we’re neighbors.

No, seriously, Colin and Lily live right across from us. It takes us a good three steps until we can reach the other’s apartment door. Grey and Miles aren’t on our floor as it’s only two apartments on each, but they’re in the building as well. As so are some other of the NYR players. Yup, we moved right into an apartment complex that’s basically owned by jocks because it’s the most fancy and closest building to the arena.

I don’t mind it though. It sure as hell gets annoying when one comes knocking on the door—or just barges in because all three of my husband’s friends have a spare key—while Aaron and I are busy doing other things, but it’s manageable.

Oh, yes. You heard me right. Husband.

Aaron and I just kind of eloped. Without telling a single soul. Not even my parents know.

It started off as a joke, a simple: “You know, I think we should elope”, when Aaron came home from early practice. Little did I know an hour later I’d find myself signing a marriage certificate. Some part of me wishes I would’ve gotten my big wedding venue plans with him, but then again, I did when I turned twenty-one.

“You think they’ll cry?” What I found out in three years of living with a jock and constantly having other’s around me, they’re dramatic as fuck.

Aaron snorts a laugh. “Probably.”

He holds his hand out for me and I take it only to be pulled right into his embrace. My favorite place on earth; his arms.

When it finally draws on me that Aaron and I really got married. Like, this is real. Not us stupidly talking about it and making up unrealistic plans for our wedding, a shiver runs down my spine. A shiver that’s so much more than just a shiver. It’s excitement. Happiness. Accomplishing a long-anticipated dream. Maybe a little anxiety for the future, too.

“You don’t think this was a little too early?” The words leave my mouth before I could stop myself, my fingers playing with themselves, picking on the skin around my nails as I wait for a response.

Aaron must have noticed because in seconds he has laid his hand over mine, interlocking our fingers. “Love, we’ve been together for three years and exactly two months,” he says like it explains everything. He chuckles at my lack of reaction. “I wanted to drag you down that aisle when we were eight, Sofia.”

“Yes, but that’s… you know. It’s not valid because we were children and that was just plain stupid.”

I can feel him shake his head. “Alright, let me say it in clearer words then; I do not think we got married too early.”

My head bobs up and down, taking in his words. God, it was a stupid question to begin with, I now realize. He was the one to suggest it, of course he doesn’t think it was too early.

“Does your manager know you got married?” He should know, right? Because I’m pretty sure once the media finds out, there will be a wave of interview requests coming in for Aaron.

To be honest, I still don’t understand why some people care so much about someone else’s private life, but sure, why not, I guess? I don’t mind the media. It only bothers me when I can’t even walk down the streets with Aaron without having our photo taken every step we take. But I suppose that comes with his job.

It’s been three years since Aaron started playing for the pros, and to this day, people coming up to us and asking for his autograph or a picture with him still seems odd. I’m okay with it, obviously, it’s just strange anyway.

Knowing strangers all over the world have pictures of my husband on their phones, doesn’t sit right with me, but I am adjusting and learning to live with it. It just takes me a little while.

People know he’s in a relationship. Though, it doesn’t stop a good number of women from fliting with him or slide into his DMs with nudes, but Aaron ignores all of them.

There have been tons of interviews online in which he talks about how we met and stuff like that. It’s weird having almost my entire life with him out in the open world, but Aaron never told anything I wasn’t okay with people knowing. He always makes sure he gets my permission to share first.

“Not yet. I should probably give him a heads-up though, huh?” Aaron picks me up, my legs wrapping around his hips before he walks us right into the open kitchen and sits me down on the kitchen island, standing between my legs. “But I think for now, I’ll just keep you as my wife in private and not tell anyone.”

His lips press against my neck, leaving soft kisses on my skin, my head leaning back immediately.

“We’ll go on a private honeymoon, masking it as a normal vacation, once the season ends in a few weeks,” he says, then begins to kiss down my neck at the same time as his hands sneak underneath my shirt. “We’ll go wherever you want for a whole month. Just you and me.”

“Aaron…” I moan, sliding my hands down his back. Bringing them around to sneak underneath his shirt and catching a feeling of the muscles he’s always trying to hide.

“How does that sound, Mrs. Marsh?” His lips find mine, the tips of his finger tracing along my bra to find to the back.

Mrs. Marsh. God, I could get used to that. Not could, have to. I did just marry the guy I’ve loved from the second our eyes met.

I don’t have to answer Aaron, he knows I love his idea. A month just with him? None of his friends walking in on us? Yes. Sounds like heaven.

As soon as he hooks his fingers into my bra to unclasp it, a groan leaves me because I can hear the sound of a key jiggling in our lock. Aaron must hear it too because he removes his hands from my body, plants an apologetic kiss to my lips and stares at the door to see which one of his friends decided to interrupt us this time.

Only that it isn’t his friends and rather the daughter of one of them.

“Uncle Ron?” Brooke yells out as soon as the door is opened, as usual forgetting to close it behind her when she steps inside.

“What can I help you with?” Aaron asks, making his way over to her.

I go to close the door, only barely resisting the urge to bang my head against it while doing so.

She giggles when he picks her up and throws her over his shoulder before carrying her into the living room. He throws her on the couch, and she starts to laugh harder than before. Brooklyn then crawls into his lap when Aaron sits down beside her.

His hands instantly go around her body, holding her steady to keep her from falling.

He then turns around, his eyes finding mine. “Come here, love.”

“Yes, Sofia. Come here.”

And so I do, walk over to Aaron and Brooke, and take a seat on the couch with them.

Once I’m seated, Aaron repeats his question from earlier. “Tell me, little princess, what can I do for you?”

“You know how it’s my birthday this year?” Brooklyn starts, her eyes shining brighter than the sun as she looks at Aaron.

“No, no. Your birthday was last year, I’m pretty sure.”

Brooke giggles, scrunching up her nose. “But uncle Ron, I turn eight this year. Last year I turned seven.” Mind you, her birthday is in September and it’s currently March.

“Yeah, no. I’m sure your birthday isn’t until next year. You keep growing up and we cannot let this happen.”

Watching Aaron interact with Brooke has always made me question what he would be like with his own children. He’s the best uncle, though I might be a little biased, and imagining what he would be like as a father sure brings dangerous thoughts to my head.

I do not want children yet. It’s a little too early for my liking, but a woman can dream, right? Besides, I have my books for that part. Anything I want and cannot have, I’m sure there is a book for it somewhere out there that I can read. And if there isn’t, I’ll just write it myself.

That’s not entirely true. I do think I might be a little too young to have a child, but Aaron and I had this talk a couple of months ago and we decided that if it happens, it happens. Meaning, we won’t excessively try to get me pregnant, but we’re not not trying either.

Whatever Brooklyn has said about her birthday next; I didn’t hear because I was too in my head with picturing Aaron as a father. But I do hear her say, “Did you know Emory looks exactly like my mom?”

“Did she tell you that?” Aaron asks in return.

Brooke shakes her head. “Daddy did. We had a talk.” She sighs very heavily, leaning back in my husband’s arms like she’s trying to show him how boring the conversation was.

Someone knocks at the door, but before I get the chance to get up and open it, Brooke has jumped off Aaron’s lap and storms toward it. “It’s my dad. I have to leave now for my dance class. But I’ll come visit again!” And out the door she is, this time closing it behind her. Or maybe Miles did it for her.

I lay down, my head resting on Aaron’s thighs. “You think someone is going to come march in if we tried again?”

Aaron looks down at me, bringing a hand to my head, lifting it enough to quickly remove the bow from the back of it only to allow me to lie back down.

“Probably. Colin saw us coming back home, so there’s a high chance he’s running some errands and then shows up here to watch whatever stupid game is on TV.” He runs a hand right through my hair, then gently starts giving my scalp a rub that’s almost as good as having sex, while the other finds a cozy spot on one of my boobs.

Such a boobs-guy.

“I vote for exchanging the locks and—”

Aaron covers my mouth with his hand, or rather my face. “Shut up and get naked, wife. I’ll hang up a ‘do not disturb’ sign if I have to. We have a whole ass playlist to fuck through.” He pushes me off his legs and off the couch, slapping his hand to my ass once I stand.

“And they say romance is dead.”

Holding eye contact, I reach my arms underneath my shirt, unclasping my bra. Then, as Aaron would say it, I use my magical-woman powers to take it off in seconds from right underneath my top, pulling the bra out from under my shirt and tossing it on top of my husband’s head.

He pulls it off and gets up. The bra then falls to the floor as he lets go of it, only to lift me up instead and throwing me right over his shoulder. Aaron slaps his hand to my ass, again, chuckling when I gasp instead of yelp.

It doesn’t take him long until he has me in our bedroom, standing in front of our bed with his hands all over me.

“I love you,” he whispers after kissing behind my ear, moving down my neck.

Over the last three years, Aaron has said these three words at least once a day, if he felt extra romantic, a couple more times, and still, they never fail to make me weak in the knees.

“You only say that so you can get in my pants.”

“Obviously.” He pushes my top up, lifting it over my head before throwing it somewhere across the room. “But I’d get there without the perks of being in love with my wife.”

If someone had told me five years ago that Aaron Marsh has kept his promise, fell in love with me, and we ended up getting married, I would have laughed right into that person’s face.

But as it turns out, miracles can happen if you hold on to the thought for a little while longer. Even when it gets ridiculous.


The End


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