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*
Kaleb would be lying if he said he had never thought of marrying Sahara prior to the adoption of their daughter.
Marriage in itself seems overly sentimental and a useless gesture, when a legal contract of reproductive rights does well enough for Psy. Changelings mate, of course; there are those that marry in the legal sense, but generally that is for the benefit of a non-changeling partner. Really, the concept and practice of weddings seems a holdover in the human world, promoted by popular fiction and movies.
However, when he sits at Sahara’s side during Ivy and Vasic’s wedding, Kaleb can’t help but notice how very pleasing the process seems. Sahara herself continually wipes her eyes of tears, though she insists they are happy.
“Of course they’re happy tears,” she says for the fifth time, one of her delicate hands resting on his knee as they sit at their assigned table during the reception. The orchard, full of green and white blossoms, has been transformed, with an area for dancing cleared out underneath a canopy of branches. In the setting sunlight, everything gleams, the world alight with spring.
“I am only reassuring myself,” Kaleb says, watching out of the corner of his eye as Lucas Hunter and Sascha Duncan begin to dance, joining Ivy and Vasic and Dorian Christiansen and Ashaya Aleine. It is a slow song, the strumming of the guitar filling the clean air.
“Having fun?” she asks.
Kaleb looks at her, wetting his lips. Sahara is beautiful, as she always is; her dark hair falls in loose curls around her shoulders, the sleeves of her sapphire-blue dress sheer over her arms. He wants to wrap her in his arms and hide away with her in their home forever, keep her always for himself. But he has watched her over the past six months and seen her strength, her aptitude for advocacy and politicking; she is too needed and bright to hoard just for himself, as much as the deep void in him wants to do so.
“I am pleased for them,” he says after a moment.
She laughs and rubs his knee. “How much more fun can I convince you to have?”
Is this the kind of fun we need to find a private and secure room for? he asks mentally, cocking an eyebrow.
“Not yet,” she says, rising to her feet. She leans over him, her hands resting on his shoulders. He imagines he can feel the gentle warmth of her skin through his suit jacket, though that is fanciful. “Want to dance?”
“Here?” he asks, startled.
She smiles, her eyes bright as oceans in the dying spring light. “Judd is dancing, if it makes you feel cooler.”
“Coolness has nothing to do with it,” he says stonily. It sounds ridiculous even when he says it out loud.
Giggling, she strokes her fingers through his hair. “I want to dance with you,” she says softly, and he is putty in her strong slender hands.
As they turn about the small grassy dance floor, Sahara nestled to his chest, Kaleb breathes in the ocean and floral scent of her hair and watches Ivy and Vasic as they dance together. The white wedding dress is arresting, and would look beautiful on Sahara.
He wonders who would come to a wedding of theirs, if they were to have one.
*
Truly, the issue of marriage doesn’t come up seriously until they begin the process of adopting their daughter.
It is always easier with a legally-bound couple, the agency says before they figure out just who this mysterious couple is. The handicaps are removed at length, but it does make Kaleb wonder. While their mental and psychic bond is visible and obvious, they never filed a reproduction contract – because there is something galling to him still about passing on his genes, no matter how fiercely Sahara defends him – and their financial holdings are separate from one another’s. The Kyriakuses kept all of Sahara’s inheritance in a bank account under her name, which only she can access; he doesn’t blame them. For all Leon calls him son, Kaleb is still sure that Anthony thinks their relationship is doomed eventually.
(It’s all relative; Kaleb can’t fathom what Nikita and Anthony even do in their secret cabin in the woods.)
Of course, all of his holdings are Sahara’s; he has her as a secondary holder on all accounts, and the house he built for her belongs to her. But the adoption brings into stark relief how much they are separate on paper; for really, because they are not legally bound to each other, they both cannot adopt their daughter.
Besides, Kaleb thinks as he drinks his morning nutrient water, shirtless in the kitchen Sahara has made into a warm and welcoming place, he wants to belong to her in every single way. Even the smallest, most bureaucratic of belongings is important to him.
Sahara yawns as she slinks into the kitchen, wearing one of his grey t-shirts and nothing else. The hem of the shirt hits the tops of her knees. Her hair, braided for sleep, drapes over her left breast.
“Your body clock continues to drive a wedge between us,” she says with a sleepy smile, sitting at the island.
He leans over and kisses her good morning before sliding over the mug of hot chocolate he kept hot for her. It’s been one of the coldest Octobers in years, but the house near the gorge remains comfortable and warm.
“Any word from the agency?” she asks, sipping at her drink. Her eyes are wide and hopeful.
Kaleb conjures the picture of their daughter – and he cannot but help to call her theirs, for she has to be – in his mind. Just under a year old, an E-Psy abandoned by presumably Silent Voices parents upon the discovery of her designation, she is all dark curly hair and bright blue eyes, and smiles at him every time he visits. The adoption agency in New York City is dragging its feet concerning their official paperwork. He knows Sahara wants to bring her home as soon as possible; he does, too.
He does not know what kind of father he will be. But he knows Sahara will be an excellent mother. And he will try. He has all the parenting manuals already read and downloaded into his corner of the Net.
“Not yet. I will have Silver inquire more forcefully,” he says, leaning on the island.
Sahara’s smile dims, but she reaches out to run her fingers through his hair. “She’s our baby, you know. She’s meant to be ours.”
Kaleb catches her hand in his and brings her palm to his mouth. “She will be,” he says quietly, right against her skin.
When she cups his cheek and leans over the island counter to kiss him, he accepts the affection gladly. It soothes the darker parts of him that just wish to damn the rules and take the child.
“You would think running the world would get us perks,” she says with a laugh, sensing his darkness rising. And just like that, she diffuses the angriest side of him into something manageable.
“Just a lot of headaches. And Aden Kai,” he says.
“You are secretly best friends. Don’t even lie about it,” she teases, turning her attentions back to her hot chocolate.
Kaleb lets her think it.
*
“The adoption agency is dragging its feet,” Kaleb says to Judd as they take one of their usual walks through neutral territory in the Sierras. There is already snow on the ground in the higher elevations. He settles more comfortably into his synth-leather jacket.
Judd glances at him, mouth turned down into a frown. “Why?”
“Sahara and I have no legally-binding agreement between each other signifying we are a couple. And apparently my word, my money, and my absolute control over the Net isn’t enough of a guarantee,” Kaleb says flatly.
Chuckling, Judd claps a hand on Kaleb’s shoulder. “It’s hard out there for an autocrat.”
“Bureaucracy is an enemy to all, truly.”
“Well, you could get married,” Judd offers, trudging lightly over a fallen tree.
Kaleb’s mouth twitches. “Strange that you should mention that option.”
Turning back to face Kaleb, Judd grins widely. The late October sun is weak but enough to sharpen the gleeful expression on his friend’s face. “Did you get a ring?”
Blinking, Kaleb says nothing. He hadn’t thought of it.
“Right,” Judd says, walking over. “We’ll go now.”
Sometimes, having friends was incredibly helpful.
*
In the end, he asks her because he can’t think of a reason not to, and it isn’t practical at all.
“Do you remember Ivy and Vasic’s wedding?” he asks as she slips near the cusp of sleep, pillowed right onto his chest. He can hear the soft whuffs of their dog, Judd, as he sleeps on the floor near the foot of the bed. The cool November darkness feels as if it could cut glass, but under the quilts and blankets and with each other, they are warm enough.
Sahara shifts and nods against his t-shirt-clad chest. “It was beautiful,” she murmurs sleepily.
“Would you like that?”
Abruptly, every muscle in her body is at attention. She scrambles up to a sitting position and perches herself atop him. Her hair cascades around her shoulders and breasts and her eyes are fixed gleaming points in the dark room.
“Would I like what?” she asks hesitantly.
A wedding. he says telepathically, focused on her wholly. His hands rise to her waist, holding her securely.
She cocks her head, resting her hands flat on his chest. “You want to get married?” she asks, voice hushed.
He blinks, suddenly quite caught off-guard. Emotion remains a difficult notion to express in words. “I want – well – “
“Kaleb?” she whispers.
He wraps her arms around her and pulls her to lay on top of him, nose to nose. He likes the sensation of her stretched over him, of being her only support and hold.
“There are many reasons to do so,” he says quietly. “It will make the adoption of our daughter smoother. It will make our joint holdings a possibility. It will make inheritances a simpler process.”
She is very quiet, but he can feel her smile. “Very sensible.”
Taking a deep breath, he kisses her softly, his hands tangling in her hair.
But it is also because I want to belong to you in every way. And I want you to belong to me in every way, he says through their golden-dark bond, the words reverberating in his mind and hers.
Her smile deepens against his mouth and she curls her fingers into his t-shirt.
Will you marry me? he asks. Even his mental voice is hesitant.
Happiness shimmers through their bond, soothing his most torturous worries. She kisses him until she cannot breathe, twining her limbs around his. Her dancer’s flexibility is nearly perfect. Around him, she is warm and beautiful and full of life, and he wants to mark her indelibly.
“Yes,” she whispers against his lips. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
It takes no effort at all to teleport the custom-made ring, all sapphires and diamonds in a gold band, from his desk drawer downstairs to their warm bed. When he slips it onto her hand, tears leak from the corners of her eyes and she laughs, a contradiction and a blessing.
“Wow,” she says. “You did this all on your own?”
“I have excellent taste,” he says, drawing her down to their sheets and peeling the t-shirt from her torso.
“Did Judd help?”
“Maybe a little.”
She laughs and kisses him, her hands pressing all over his chest and back. He finds her joy irresistible; some of it is his own, as well.
*
For the paperwork, there is no fuss.
“We can have a party whenever,” Sahara says with a flutter of her hand. “I just want to be married.”
Kaleb finds that very flattering.
They pour over the paperwork in his office before faxing it to Silver for filing. They will appear before a legal magistrate in two days, but this way, they can have the paperwork ready to go over to the adoption agency without delay.
“You’re hyphenating?” Sahara asks, peering over his shoulder as he types. The smell of her soap against her skin distracts him endlessly.
He glances up at her, taking in her loose green sweater and jeans. Today, she has no meetings; today, she will continue to prepare the nursery and play with their dog, who is currently at his feet under his desk.
“Of course we’re hyphenating. Our child will be both of ours.”
“You don’t have to, though,” she says with a soft smile.
He pulls her into his lap and kisses her soundly. “You and I should mark each other on paper as we are marked in reality.”
She grins and twines her arms around his neck. He takes her braid in hand and plays with the curling ends. “You are a secret romantic, aren’t you?”
Only for you, he says, and kisses her once more.
*
“We still have to have a party,” Sahara reminds him later as they lay on his office floor, sweaty and sated.
Kaleb twines his fingers into her loosened hair and lets a small smile curl his mouth. He thinks their beach would be perfect.
Time enough for that, later.
*