I whirl around and glare at him. “Hardy har har.”
He takes me in from my hair to my feet, and his eyes soften when they land on my shoes. “A wedding dress and biker boots.” He shakes his head. “You were so made for my brother.” He holds out his arm and nods for me to take it.
“Thank you.” I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As you should.” He flashes that Daniels’ crooked grin. “You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.” A hint of color touches his cheeks. “Definitely the fairest in the land.”
“Aww . . .” Hot tears burn my eyes. “No, no, no!” I stomp my foot. “You’re going to make me cry, and it took Eve thirty minutes to get these fake eyelashes on straight.” I pretend I’m checking my eyelashes and not actually soaking up the beginning stages of tears.
He chuckles as we move from the bride’s room into the reception area of the church. It wasn’t our idea to get married in a house of God, but Blake wanted a traditional wedding to honor our parents’ beliefs and customs.
At first I thought it was absurd. I mean we already live together and have a baby, but I love how committed Blake is to ensuring our parents are proud and comfortable with our situation.
That’s also the reason I’m wearing a white dress. The Lord God above knows I sure don’t deserve it, but Blake insisted I deserve to wear white more than any other bride because I never had the option to do it the other way.
“Your choices were taken away from you, Mouse. I want you to have them back. You want to wear white; you fucking do it and own it. Throw a big fat middle finger to the past, and take control of your future.”
I went shopping with Axelle, Raven, Eve, and Gia the weekend after Jack was born and fell in love with a corset-style wedding dress with a black lace overlay on the bodice. Everything about it screamed rock n’ roll, and without even checking the price tag, I agreed to buy it.
Standing outside the double doors that enter into the chapel, I fuss with my hair. Blake loves it down, so I had Eve style it in long, loose curls that hang around my shoulders, and instead of a veil, I opted for a thick black fabric that wears like a headband and ties at the nape of my neck.
The church wedding coordinator presses her eye between the doors that lead into the sanctuary. “It’s almost time, you two, ready?”
Brae looks down at me, grinning. “You ready—”
“Wait!” I hold my finger up to the lady and turn to face Brae head on. “I forgot to say thank you for doing this. My dad . . . his wheel chair . . . I just . . .”
“I’m honored.” He squeezes my hand and tucks it back into the bend of his arm. “Now let’s do this. Last time I was left in charge of you I fucked it up, and my brother swore wedgies and loogie drops to my forehead if I fucked it up again.”
“Well, we can’t have that.” With my blood-red rose bouquet held to my waist, I squeeze my future brother-in-law’s arm. “I’m ready.”
*
Blake
Standing up here in front of all these people, wearing a damn monkey suit couldn’t feel any more awkward. Over two hundred of our friends and family sit facing me while I wait for Brae to walk Layla down the aisle.
I keep my shoulders back, arms loose, hands clasped in front of me. The small string quartet plays a familiar wedding song, but as I stand here getting ready to make my woman my wife, the melody sounds new, as if it were created just for us.
My eyes scan the room, passing over all the gazes set on me, to settle on my dad. Over the last six months, he’s endured rigorous amounts of chemotherapy and radiation. His once strong body is now almost half its size, his skin pale and almost hanging off his bones in some places just like the starched fabric of his dress blues. The small bit of hair that’s finally growing back on his chemo-ravaged scalp is completely white.
But his eyes shine with a ferocity I’ve never seen in him before. His posture is that of man ten times his size and weight, and he gazes up at me with the pride of a father who has spent his entire life hero-worshipping a son. Our eyes lock. He nods and it’s so small, but it communicates support and love.
My mom has her hands wrapped around one of his in her lap, and she smiles in a way that seems to say, I knew you’d be okay.
Layla’s mom and dad are sitting together in the front row on the opposite side from my parents. They were older when they had Layla and now look more like great-grandparents. We were able to fly them in town and arranged for a nurse to accompany them. When I called Layla’s dad back before I proposed, I told him I’d make sure he was there to give his daughter away. He didn’t believe I could make it happen, but now he gets it. I’d do anything, pay any amount, cross to the ends of the world and beyond if it meant making my woman happy.