For once, Dad’s penchant for being a self-centered asshole is paying off. I don’t have to hear it from Joey or Grace to know that he asked to walk her down the aisle. He always wants to be the star of any event, and this is the closest to stardom at a wedding he can get without actually getting married himself. This public snub of Nelson is the proverbial cherry on the sundae.
The soprano starts singing “Amazing Grace.” Grace starts her march, her steps leisurely and nonchalant.Atta girl.
My brothers and cousins glance at each other, while Andreas and Catalina squeeze their eyes shut, much to my satisfaction. My sisters-in-law seem frozen in shock. Aunt Akiko is staring at Grace like this is the most wonderful wedding ever. Dad doesn’t seem fazed at all, and Joey is busy recording the moment on his phone.
I smirk. Yep. This is definitely Grace telling me what she thinks about the theme I mentioned to Madison. My bride’s defiance is amusing, and I respect her for having a spine and this much chutzpah.
When Grace and Dad reach me, he hands her to me and says, “Be good to my girl or else.”
I give him a look. “You’remyfather, not hers.”
“Not anymore. I walked her down the aisle, and now she’s mine.”
For God’s sake.“Go away, Dad. You’re making the officiant wait.”
“Fine.” He tugs on the lapels of his tux, gives the audience a wave and struts off.
The officiant is a judge who’s a good friend of Grandmother’s. He begins, not showing any reaction to this highly unorthodox wedding.
“This is the best omen for our life together,” I whisper to Grace, my eyes trained straight ahead.
“I did what you wanted. Didn’t Madison tell you?”
“She tells me everything.” Actually, she overshared the details of the wedding, including how much everything cost. I eventually had to tell her I don’t care about the money. Even if Andreas hadn’t offered to pay, I wouldn’t care how much Grace decided to spend. It isn’t that much to give her the wedding of her dreams.
“I’m sure.”
What’s up with the sarcasm?Grace is getting the ceremony she wanted and has made a public statement about her feelings. Shouldn’t she be satisfied?
The officiant is looking at me expectantly. I chafe at the idea of reading a line in someone’s script like a puppet. A perverse urge to say, “I don’t,” is on the tip of my tongue until I glance in Grace’s direction. She’s pale, her hands tight around the bouquet.
She’s nervous.She expects me to do something to turn her into the butt of a joke.
Suddenly the subversive urge dies. I say, “I do,” with the solemnity the occasion requires.
Her grip on the bouquet relaxes. “I do,” Grace says softly when it’s her turn.
We exchange the rings. The specially designed wedding band has three stones—one pearl, one clear diamond and then a third stone, pink for her and blue for me. They represent the new life we’ve created, and she and I, bound as family. The placement of the stones and setting make these rings unique and interesting, more than mere bands.
The officiant rambles a bit more about our wonderfully bright future and then intones, “You may kiss the bride.”
I lift the veil over her head. She looks up at me. Her eyes are unreadable, but they shine beautifully under the gorgeous California sun. Although she made the wedding as funereal as possible, her makeup is perfectly done, highlighting her high cheekbones, wide eyes and soft lips.
“Wife,” I whisper, then claim her mouth.
On cue, the waterworks start, accompanied by a loud wail. “It’s obvious Huxley and Grace aren’t meant to be! They married to a funeral song! She’s in black! She wants Huxley todiiiiie!”
The smile on Grace’s face doesn’t falter. But the moment is shattered.
My arm around Grace, I turn to Vivienne, who’s now crying in earnest, not caring that her makeup is a mess. Karie is looking the other way, refusing to police her out-of-control child.Who the hell invited these parasites again?
“‘Amazing Grace’ is what many couples in Japan use for their wedding, and I always wanted an international wedding, which Grace lovingly agreed to with an open mind.” My voice carries over the guests.
Grace’s startled gaze bores into my cheek. I look at her and nod.Yeah, it’s true.
I continue: “And black wedding gowns are considered ultra-chic in some elite circles in Asia. So stop insulting my wife and this beautiful ceremony with your narrow-minded bigotry. But then, I might be expecting too much from a woman who thinks almond chicken is authentically Chinese.”
Grace chokes back a small laugh. “You’re making it hard for me to hold on to my grudge and hate you,” she whispers.
