"Small?" I gesture at the surrounding rooftop
White flowers everywhere—tulips, peonies, something else that I swear doesn’t bloom this time of year, but I’m not about to ask questions. As long as Katerina loves it, then that’s enough for me. String lights crisscross overhead, even though it's only three in the afternoon. A simple arch overlooking the Seattle skyline, draped in more flowers and gauzy white fabric.
There are maybe thirty chairs set up—just the team, the WAGs, and one of Katerina's ballet friends who flew in this morning.
I stare back at the camera at the very end of the aisle. It’s recording. More evidence if we need it, but more importantly, to send to my mom. I might be a shitty son who didn’t invite her tomy wedding, but I’m not a total monster. At least I’m recording it for her.
"I can't believe you pulled this off," I mutter.
"I didn't. Juliet did." Luka straightens my boutonniere—a single white tulip. "You look good, by the way."
"Thanks." I tug at my collar. "I feel like I'm going to throw up."
"I’ve never been a groom before, but I think that's normal."
"Is it?"
"Probably." He claps my shoulder. "You ready for this?"
"No," I say. “But I’m here.”
"Good. That’s all you need to be. It’s all temporary anyway. You’ll be a free man before you know it."
Before I can answer, Juliet appears out of nowhere with a clipboard in hand, headset on, looking like a tiny general ready to march into battle in full sequins and heels.
“Places,” she says, sweeping her hand toward the arch. “Music in thirty seconds. Luka, get your ass back with Katerina. You’re walking her down, and you're the best man. You’re running double duty, remember?”
“Right… shit. I forgot.” Luka runs back down the aisle, and everyone in the small thirty-seat section of friends and Hawkeyes personnel gives a light chuckle.
Thirty seconds.
My stomach flips.
The guys take their places to the side of me, the WAGS already in a line on Katerina’s side, with mismatched dresses but all the same color and small bouquets in their hands. Hunter pats my back, the next one in line after Luka. Not in order of importance, just in order of who showed up first to stand up here.
JP whispers, “Don’t pass out.”
“Why the hell would I pass out?” I mutter back.
Aleksi mutters, “I bet Penelope a hundred bucks that you cry.”
My voice cracks. “Jesus, come on… I’m not going to cry.”
“It’s fifty bucks if you tear up.” He adds.
I just gave him a side-eye look and then refocused on the back of the aisle, where Katerina and Luka will be emerging soon.
My heart is thumping so hard against my rib cage, I think it might crack it. And I have no reason why. Yes, this wedding is technically real; we’re signing papers that link us together under state law, but it’s not real all at the same time. So why the hell does it feel like it is? Why does it feel like the pressure to make this work is weighted heavily in my stomach?
Maybe it’s not like me not to give everything one hundred percent. Maybe it’s because so much is riding on Katerina for this to work. Maybe it’s because seeing her in that dress yesterday was the first glimpse of a future I never considered.
I push away that last thought. She and I don’t even know each other. I have no idea what her favorite food is, or if she cries when Bambi’s mother dies in the Disney movies, or if she even likes watching hockey.
I know nothing, except that she doesn’t like roses, per Luka’s warning the night he tricked me into the bet, and I know she grew up wealthy and is one hell of a ballerina. Apart from that, she and I are complete strangers who are about to say I do.
Just then, the music changes and everyone turns.
I follow their gaze.
