“Oh,” I whisper.
“Yes.Oh.” He chuckles. “Is that answer satisfactory enough for you, my angel?”
His angel?
My goodness, the man wants me dead.
“Yes,” I squeak. “Much good. Very satisfactory.”
“Perfect!” he exclaims, startling me as he lurches to standing. “Those are my vows, then. I’ll expect yours by sunset, if you don’t mind.”
My eyes widen. “Sunset?” I wince, peering out the kitchen window at a rapidly setting sun. “Isn’t that kind of right now?”
His eyes follow mine, and he inspects the sunset with me. “So it is,” he muses. “Well, after the ceremony, then. Unless you would like to share them during? You seem more like a private vows kind of woman, but you can do as you wish. I will cherish them at either time.”
I cannot keep up. “Ceremony?” I ask. “Today? Didn’t we, uh,justget engaged?”
“Yes,” he confirms. “And now, we’re going to get married.”
He pulls me out of my seat, spinning me under his arm and into an anxiety-inducing dip before settling me safely on my feet. “Do you wish to change first, my love, or are you happy in your current attire?”
My current attire being a pale pink dress with princess puff sleeves and a corseted waist that hits me mid-calf, making it the perfect length for feeling like a princess but still allowing me to move. Of all the things I own, it is undoubtedly the most beautiful. I’d begged Stone to pull over before we got here so that I could change into it and be wearing something pretty when Archie first laid eyes on me. I hadn’t thought he’d noticed it, but now that he’s mentioned it, I find myself worried that hedidnotice it and didn’t say anything on account of how heabhorsit.
My teeth worry my cheek as I pluck at the soft fabric, working through my suitcase in my head.
“To be clear,” Archie interrupts my mental recounting of my wardrobe, “I think this dress is absolutely enchanting, and I would be honored to marry you as you wear it. I simply asked as a courtesy to you, because I know the appeal of an outfit often directly correlates to its discomfort levels, and I do not wish foryou to be uncomfortable on our wedding day. I myself plan to change before we go.”
Oh. “I don’t need to change,” I answer, then eye his outfit. “Will you change into something red?” I ask, hope springing. “The blue looks nice on you, but…” But red is the color his character in CubeCraft wears, and it’s the color Archie wears to cons. It’s the color I always think of him in, and while his blue sweater looksnice, it’s no red.
Archie smiles, pokes my nose, then lets his hand slide over to my cheek, where he runs a fingertip along my skin. “I’ll wear red if it means you’ll stay this pretty pink for me.”
I think I can manage that. “I’m not in a fanfic, right?” I ask, just to be sure. “This is real life? We’re real-life getting married for real-life… uh… convenience? Because you want to? And I am apparently actually definitely an insane fangirl who thinks that makes sense, because my brain runs on insane fangirl logic and not, say, actual-real-life logic?” My heart gallops in my chest, and my skin vibrates with excess energy.
“Correct,” Archie confirms with a heart-stalling grin. “And, please, for my sake, do not let any real-life logic trickle in. It’s so…” He shudders. “Icky.”
“Icky,” I echo weakly.
“Icky.” He nods, scrunching his nose under his caramel brown eyes. “Fangirl logic only. And fangirls, my love,do notget cold feet. So let’s get you some slippers and be on our way, yes?”
Then, for the second time in as many days, a Pine man wraps his arm around my shoulders, spins me, and marches me toward a pretty, shiny, brand-new life.
Chapter Six
?
Archie
Standing on Stryker’s doorstep in my very best red sweater vest next to my beautifully-slippered bride, I beam.
I am possibly having an aneurysm. Or a heart attack. Or some other such medically life-changing occurrence.
I’m going to vomit, and then I’m going to pass out, andthenI’m going to cry. Or maybe I will do all three at once.
In an effort to make this not-often-felt feeling last as long as it may, I hesitate in front of Stryker and Millie’s door, staring at the hues of pink-stained wood—the result of a particularly brilliant prank I perpetrated last autumn wherein their previously boringbrowndoor got a makeover. They never did restain it, which I take to mean that they agree with my design choices. As they should. Pink is the superior color for doors everywhere.
“Did you change your mind?” Sarelia asks, stealing my attention from the shades of pink before me. I turn toward her to allow my eyes to rest on the prettier, softer pinks beside me.
Sarelia’s rosy skin shimmers in the golden sun, inviting kisses and soft touches I just stop myself from giving. The satisfaction of her blushes under my touch will be nothing if not preceded by the agony of withholding such joy from myself. Discipline is, after all, the root of happiness.
