Taking the opportunity, Smooth winks. “But you do fancy me?”
“Bigfoot!” Short yells. “Come control your fuckin’ man. We want to get married today and can’t do that with a dead officiant.”
Bigfoot yells back, “Just enjoying the show back here, Brother. But I’d be mighty pleased if you didn’t kill my road captain. Might need him on the way back.” He thinks for a moment, then adds, “Just maim him if you need to.”
“Now you’re talking.” Saint takes a knife out of his sheath on his belt.
Holding up both his hands in defeat, Smooth chuckles, then heaves a heavy sigh. “Seeing as you’re determined to go through with it, I’ll get you wed. Just need to ask if anyone knows any impediment that…”
“For fuck’s sake,” Short roars. “Take it as they don’t, else I’ll have to fuckin’ kill them.”
A change comes over Smooth, and his mirth disappears as he starts to take the ceremony seriously.
“Do you, Jeremiah ‘Saint’ Henley, take Phillipa Owens to be your ride and die? The one you’ll forsake all others for, in this life and the next? Even during those times of the month whenshe becomes totally unreasonable, won’t give it up, and her bitch side comes out.”
“I’m going to kill you myself,” Pippa warns.
“I fuckin’ take her faults and all.” Saint, barely suppressing a chuckle, leans in and gives Pippa a kiss.
“Not so fucking’ soon. You’re not married yet. Keep your mouths to yourself.” Smooth glares at them. “Now, Phillipa Owens, do you take Jeremiah ‘Saint’ Henley as your ride and die? Do you promise not to arrest him? Do you?—”
“I do,” Pippa spits out. “Take the rest as read and get on with it.”
Smooth looks sly. “Not yet, I’ve got to do the other couple first.”
I should add that during all this, the wedding audience, which is usually sombre and respectful at weddings, is rolling in the aisles, laughing. Nervously, I eye the poorly chosen officiant, worried about what he’s going to say when he turns to my soon-to-be-husband and me.
But before he proceeds, Smooth turns away, his shoulders shaking so I suspect he’s trying to get himself back under control.
Then, with a straight face, he finally swings back around. “Was that a double blink, Brother?”
“No, it was fuckin’ not.” Short’s vibrating, barely holding onto his temper. “Get on with it, or you fuckin’ die.”
Smooth shrugs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Now, where were we? Oh yes.”
I hold my breath, anxious about what is coming.
After clearing his throat, Smooth resumes. “Do you, Beauregard ‘Short’ Ranger?—”
“Beauregard?” someone calls out. “Thought your name was Ranger.”
“How did we not know this?” another voice shouts.
“Fuck, Beauregard? We’re going to have some fun with this.”
Short turns around, offering the whole assembly both middle fingers.
And, of course, Smooth has to start all over again, this time with emphasis that gets the congregation roaring. “Do you,Beauregard‘Short’ Ranger…” He spoils it by snorting, but recovers fast. “Take the beautiful Bronwyn Custer as your beloved wife? Your ride and die, in sickness and in health. And, knowing she’s a nurse and probably knows a hundred ways to kill you without leaving a trace of evidence.”
“And she’s got friends who’d help her dispose of the body.” I recognise it’s Words who’s shouted it out.
“What he said,” Smooth continues, acknowledging the interruption but moving on. When Short stays quiet, he prompts, “Well, do you, Short? Or are you reconsidering?”
“You’re giving me time to answer?” Short drawls. “Well, I fuckin’ do. She’s my ride and die forever.”
I brace for whatever Smooth’s going to throw at me. He doesn’t disappoint.
“Do you, Bronwyn Foster, takeBeauregard‘Short’ Ranger as your shackle for life? And do you promise, when he annoys you too much, you find a painless way of killing him?”
