James Patrick Page, the man you referred to as your husband, you were in the garden when you felt slender arms wrap around your waist, you felt your back press against Jimmy as he rested his head on your shoulder, gently squeezing your waist.

You turned around to face him, his ever dazzling dark eyes, not dark brown, but a dark green colour, his eyes were enchanting, glistening with adoration as your face fell into his view, his arms still around you. His lips formed a smile. His black mop of long wavey curls were messy from waking.