Then it's my turn.
I say the words I'm supposed to say. I promise things I'm not sure I can deliver. My voice comes out steadier than I expected.
The judge nods. "You may kiss the bride."
I brace myself. This is it. The obligatory kiss. It'll be quick, perfunctory, just enough to satisfy the ceremony. He's not the type for public displays.
He doesn't keep it brief.
His hand comes up to the back of my head, fingers sliding into my carefully arranged hair. His thumb traces along my hairline.
And then he kisses me.
Not brief. Not perfunctory. Not for the crowd at all.
His mouth is warm and firm and insistent. He kisses me like he's been thinking about it, like the almost-kiss three nights ago has been living in his head the same way it's been living in mine. His other hand finds my waist, pulling me closer, and I forget aboutthe watching crowd, forget about the political theater, forget about everything except the taste of him.
When he finally pulls back, I'm not breathing.
His eyes drop to my mouth.
Sixth time.
I'm still counting. Even now, even with my lips tingling and my heart pounding, I'm still keeping track.
He looks at my mouth like he's considering another taste.
He doesn't.
But I know he thought about it.
"Breathe," he murmurs.
I take a shaky breath.
His almost-smile appears.
The judge declares us married. The crowd applauds. Somewhere in the third row my mother is sobbing with joy. And Devyn tucks my hand into the crook of his arm and leads me back down the aisle as husband and wife.
THE RECEPTION IS HELDin the grand ballroom above ground.
Crystal chandeliers. White flowers everywhere. A string quartet. Waiters with champagne and tiny foods I can't identify. And people—so many people wanting to congratulate us, all of them watching me with curiosity and calculation.
My mother finds me within minutes, pulling me into a hug so tight I can barely breathe.
"Oh, sweetheart. Oh, Bailey. I'm so happy for you. He's wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Did you see the way he looked at you during the vows? Like you were the only person in the room. That's real, baby. That's the real thing."
I hug her back, breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume.
"Thanks, Mom."
"And this place!" She gestures at the ballroom with wide eyes. "When his people called me, I thought it was a joke. My Bailey, marrying into this? But then they sent the plane tickets, first class, Bailey,first class,and I thought, well, if this is a joke, it's an expensive one."
"He sent you first class tickets?"
"And a car from the airport. With a driver who called me ma'am." She beams. "He also invited Pastor Jim, but he couldn’t make it.”
Pastor Jim’s in this world, too?He was so instrumental in helping my mom and me cope with the complex mixture of relief and grief that Mom and I battled with when my father died. I’m glad he’s here, but I just don’t know how to process it. Or maybe this...and the way Hewhay’s works is simply impossible to process, and I should just go with the flow and keep doing what’s right.
