“You look pretty good yourself.”
“I’m the luckiest man alive.”
“Correct assessment.”
The officiant cleared his throat gently. “Should we begin?”
Michael’s eyes never left mine. “Please.”
The ceremony was simple—traditional vows with a few modifications we’d written ourselves. Promises about choosing each other daily. About loving through hard things.
When Michael said “I do,” his voice broke. When I said it back, mine did too.
The rings were the same ones from Vegas. His grandmother’s ring that fit perfectly, his simple gold band.
We’d survived wearing these rings. It seemed wrong to replace them now.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant said, grinning. “Again. You may kiss your bride—also again.”
Michael pulled me close and kissed me while everyone we loved cheered and the ocean crashed behind us and the world felt gentle in a way I’d forgotten was possible.
When we finally broke apart, I turned to see our families—my parents crying happy tears, Michael’s grandfather looking pleased like he’d been waiting for this day.
And there, in the back row, were Pauline and Jack.
They were close—too close for two people who supposedly couldn’t stand being in the same room. My eyes zeroed on Jack’s hand which rested on Pauline’s knee, and my mouth fell open. She was leaning into him, whispering something that made the corner of his mouth twitch upward.
Then, like they’d forgotten they were at a wedding with witnesses, Jack turned his head and kissed her.
I made a sound. Possibly a squeak. Definitely something undignified.
Pauline pulled back first, her cheeks flushing when she realized I was staring. Jack just looked at me with that infuriating calm he’d perfected over years of being my impossible older brother.
“What—” I started. “When did they?—”
“Claudette.” Michael’s hand found my elbow.
“Did you know about this?”
“Not today.”
“But they’re—look at them! They’re together and I have questions. I need details. All of them.”
“And you’ll get them.” Michael was already steering me toward the reception tent. “Tomorrow. Or next week. After we’ve had cake and champagne and you’ve thrown a bouquet at someone’s head.”
I glanced back. Pauline was smiling, flashing me a guilty look.
“Fine,” I conceded. “But I’m cornering her first thing tomorrow.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
The reception was chaos in the best way.
People talking over each other, the caterer we had hired pulling off miracles with seafood and wine. Someone had set up speakers playing music I’d specifically requested—only slow dancing required because my balance still wasn’t perfect and I didn’t want to spend my wedding reception worrying about falling.
Augustus found me first, pulling me into a warm hug.
He handed me an envelope. “This is for you and Michael. Don’t open it until you’re on the plane.”
