“Good grief. We’re not even married and you’ve already got our daughter married! Hmmm. To Sean Savich. We’ll have to speak to Savich and Sherlock about some sort of nuptial contract, what do you think?”

He laughed, took her hand, and felt a bolt of happiness fill him, deep and bright. He turned back once more to see the lily atop Michael’s grave lightly waving in the salty breeze.