"Like us," he agrees, squeezing my hand.
The fairy lights twinkle behind us as we leave the park, but I don't look back. I'm too busy looking forward, at the man beside me and the life we're going to build together. It might be loud and chaotic and completely unconventional, but it will be ours.
And that, I think as the emerald catches the streetlight, is all I've ever wanted.
The engagement bliss lasts exactly forty-eight hours before Ursak drops the wedding bomb.
"Cathedral," he announces over breakfast, spreading butter on his toast with the precision of a surgeon. "Saint Augustine's. Downtown."
I nearly choke on my coffee. "The cathedral? That massive Gothic thing that seats like eight hundred people?"
"Seven hundred and fifty, actually." He takes a methodical bite. "I researched the capacity."
Of course he did."Ursak, we know maybe fifty people combined. What are we going to do with seven hundred and fifty seats?"
His eyes light up with an enthusiasm that immediately makes me nervous. "My family will travel from the homeland for the ceremony. Extended family. Clan members. Academic colleagues from the orc universities."
"How extended are we talking?"
"Well, there's my mother's side, the Irontonge clan proper. Forty-three adults, not counting the younglings. Then father's people, the Stormhammer lineage. Another thirty-seven. My university cohort from Gorthak?—"
"Ursak."
"—and naturally, the linguistic department heads who mentored me, plus their families, and the traditional wedding musicians, and?—"
"How many people?"
He pauses, toast halfway to his mouth. "Perhaps, one hundred and sixty? Give or take."
I blink at him. "Give or take?"
"Travel is difficult from the homeland. Some may not make the journey."
"Right. And you want to hold this massive orcish family reunion in the most formal Catholic cathedral in the city."
"It will be magnificent," he says, and the pure joy in his voice makes my protests die in my throat. "You deserve to be celebrated properly, Maya. A bride of your beauty and intelligence should be showcased in a setting worthy of her."
My heart melts a little. "You want to show me off to your family."
"I want the world to know that Maya Ruiz chose me."
Damn him and his romantic declarations.
"Fine," I hear myself saying. "Cathedral it is."
…
What follows are three months of wedding planning that make my freelance deadline stress look like a spa vacation.
The first crisis arrives during our initial meeting with Father McKenna, the cathedral's wedding coordinator. He's a sweet elderly priest who clearly expected a nice, quiet ceremony between a linguistics professor and a writer. His face when Ursak mentions the guest count is priceless.
"One hundred and sixty orcs," Father McKenna repeats slowly, like he's testing how the words feel in his mouth.
"Approximately," Ursak confirms. "Though traditionally, orcish wedding parties include ceremonial drummers."
"Drummers."
"Twelve, typically. They'll need space near the altar for the ritual rhythm sequences."
