On Christmas, after eating dinner with my brother, sister-in-law, and nephew, I pulled into the driveway of the house that Jay and I share in Scottsdale, Arizona. The grass outside had been mowed that afternoon and the smell, as it always does, reminded me of meth.

I unlocked the door to discover Jay standing in the living room alongside forty oversize presents. I opened them slowly, savoring each gift: a Louis Vuitton purse, a Tiffany bracelet, a pair of Prada shoes. By the time I arrived at present number thirty-nine, I was exhausted. As usual, Jay had gone too far.

I carefully removed the wrapping, unveiling a cheap black T-shirt that had been scribbled on with puff paint. It was a somewhat anticlimactic gift, considering what I’d already received. But evidently Jay had made it himself, and I guess it was a sweet gesture.

“So am I supposed to wear this or something?” I asked him.

“Jenna, look at the shirt!”

On the front, he had scrawled: “Marry Xmas.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” I said.

“Jesus Christ, do I have to spell it out for you?”

I looked at it again and realized that the word “marry” wasn’t a spelling error.

When I raised my head from the shirt and saw his face, so nervous and eager, I burst into tears.

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

The shirt was crumpled in my hand like a rag. I wiped my runny nose with it, dropped it to the ground, and stammered a choked-up “yes.”

Jay didn’t respond. He just stared at the shirt, as if I had dropped something precious. I picked up the shirt and examined it again. I can usually sniff out a diamond, but my senses had miraculously failed me because there it was —six carats— in a pouch attached to the shirt.

Inside the last box was a bottle of Perrier Jouët with two champagne glasses. And together, that night, we celebrated our engagement.

One morning, three and a half years later, I woke up. Jay was curled around me. It was strange, because, for some reason, I wasn’t seized by the impulse to push him away. In the past I’d never allowed men to cuddle with me.

He woke up, and we began our daily routine. He brought me coffee and then went to the computer to edit together a scene from my next movie, Bella Loves Jenna. I padded into the living room in my slippers and switched on the TV. We were like the stereotypical married couple. There was just one problem: we’d never taken the time to get married. We were so focused on building our company, and on flying constantly to L.A. to take meetings for various mainstream film and TV projects —nine-tenths of which never happened— that we’d kept procrastinating.

I wanted more than anything to finally have a child. With each passing month, I thought about it more and more. Every article I read about the mainstreaming of porn declared that I was going to be the one to make the industry legitimate (practically a pipe dream considering the conservative political climate), but business was the last thing on my mind. My only ambition was to be the mother I never had.

There were times in my life when I had thought, “I don’t even care if I’m with the right guy. I just want to have a baby.” But I’d thankfully come to the conclusion that it was a selfish thing to do. I didn’t want my children to have to go through a divorce or have to deal with fighting parents. They need to be as healthy as possible, because they’re going to have to go through enough shit with a porn star for a mom.

So I padded into Jay’s office and plopped down in a leather chair. He knew exactly what was on my mind.

“What day?” he asked.

So I got together with my assistant, Linda, who also happened to have become my best friend and the heart and soul of Club Jenna, and planned a wedding in two weeks. I didn’t want to get too busy to become a wife again.

I don’t do things half-assed, so we worked twenty-hour days planning the thing. With Rod, I had been so nervous and plagued with doubt before the marriage. This time, there were no butterflies and no worries.

We had the wedding in our backyard, surrounded by eighty of our closest friends and family. When we exchanged vows, I promised myself that I wouldn’t cry. I even made it to the altar without getting misty. But the minute I started my vows, I broke down completely. I wiped my eyes and looked out at our guests —at my dad, my brother, Nikki, Melissa, Joy— and they were all sobbing with me. Then I looked into Jay’s eyes, and saw such softness and love that I just knew I would be with this man forever. I saw not a husband, but the father-to-be of my children. I didn’t think I’d feel —or even deserve to feel— anything like that in my lifetime. As cheesy as it sounds, I never knew what love was until that moment.

Because we were too busy at the time to travel, we decided to have our honeymoon at the Ritz-Carlton in Phoenix, so we booked the rest of the week there. That first night, we had fantastic sex —especially compared with my first wedding, when I didn’t have sex at all— and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

When we woke up at 10 A.M., I looked into his eyes. He looked into my eyes. And we both said the same thing: “Let’s go home.”