Red. All I see is red. I close my eyes and still, the backs of my eyelids only show me red.
I stand next to Theo at the altar and attempt to focus on what the pastor is saying…then…the fucking red again.
A flush moves up Vi’s neck. The urge I have to kiss the heat beneath her skin is so powerful, I actually glimpse over to Liam to make sure that I haven’t moved from my position as best man. In my mind, I’m crawling over the top of every one of these arseholes in the church and covering Vi with my entire body. The urge I have to club her over the head like a caveman and shout out “mine” is…problematic.
And probably a bit psychotic.
Her brother Gareth cuts me a homicidal look as if he can read my thoughts. My eyes twitch nervously, but I still can’t bring myself to tear my gaze away from Vi. She’s dressed in red. Just as I requested…back when life was still bearable. I silently chastise her fucking git of a brother for letting her out of his sight in that get up. I don’t care how famous of a footballer he is, he’s a fucking moron. Her red dress is short and flowy with a dangerously low neckline. It’s held up by two floss-like straps that look like all you’d have to do is blow on them and her dress would go slithering to the ground. Gareth’s hatred toward me must be immense for him to allow her to wear that bloody dress just to torture me.
The past week without Vi has consisted of a lot of angry grunting and snarling. Namely at Theo because he’s my brother and he’s got it coming for the years of suffrage he has inflicted on me. However, Theo—being the older and apparently smarter brother—must have figured out my mood stabilizer was Marisa because every time I’d growl at him, he’d just silently pass me the baby.
God I’m a transparent softie.
The corner of my mouth turns up as I eye Marisa still sitting in her white linen-covered Bumbo seat nestled safely inside a wagon drenched with yards and yards of white tulle and taffeta. Leslie and Theo keep grinning down proudly at her, only halfway listening to the sermon. I think all of us are amazed at how long she’s lasting up here. The plan was for her to come down the aisle with Finley and me. Then, the minute she started to fuss, Finley was going to whisk her over to Brody, who got a hefty lesson from me on how to soothe Marisa.
I chuckle softly to myself at what an odd wedding party we must look like up here. Leslie’s side consists of Finley, Frank, and Brody. Theo’s side is me, Liam, and Daphney. Jaci no K probably developed a new vein in her forehead when Leslie informed her of their nontraditional plans. And Frank about sent her completely over the edge when he told her he was wearing a dress as well.
The cheeky bugger.
I look down and fiddle with my leather cuffs, begging myself to stop looking at Vi. God, she makes me weak. Everything about her makes me liquefy to a puddle on the ground in her presence. Why did she have to bring her fucking brother? I groan inwardly and Leslie’s eyes flash to mine as she glances past Theo right in my direction. I swallow awkwardly and calm myself down just as the pastor asks me for the rings.
My hands tremor as I reach inside my suit coat and hand him the rings that are to represent Theo and Leslie as one. A symbol of their eternal love that has no beginning and no end. Just as Theo goes to reach for Leslie’s hand, Marisa lets out a mighty cry. Finley jumps to action, but Leslie stops her in her tracks, bends over in her beautiful wedding gown, and picks up my niece. Theo’s eyes are watching her affectionately the entire time, devouring every flicker of her movement. She tucks Marisa against her stomach so she’s facing out and resumes her position at the altar. Family complete now, Leslie beams at my brother with the happiest, most content, albeit wobbly with emotion, serene smile I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
My eyes prick as I glance down to Marisa who’s managed to tuck a piece of her lacy dress into her mouth for a good chew. She looks up happily, clearly much more content to be standing up here in Mummy’s arms and looking at Daddy than down in that bloody wagon by herself.
The pastor attempts to resume, but Theo coughs loudly and looks down, pulling his glasses off his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. I want to reach out and offer a reassuring pat on his shoulder, but I refrain. As if sensing my support, he glances back at me, giving me a glimpse of something I’m not all together sure he wanted me to see.
His weakness.
My brother’s crumbling, love-spilling-over-the-top vulnerability is exposed on every raw flicker of his face. He smiles at me knowingly and nods, a moment of thoughtfulness exchanged between us. He then looks back to his wife and daughter and readies himself to solidify his happily ever after.