All the men go still. As if a long-running theory has just become fact.
Irving tips his head. “So, counselor, you want to tell the class what your intentions are?”
“I’m gonna lock her down.” I look down while fastening my second cufflink, buying myself a second.
Julian gives a disbelieving laugh. “What the fuck?”
“And then.” Irving points at me again.
“And then,” I’m unable to stop my grin now, “we’ll all gather for our wedding someday soon.”
Julian folds his arms and studies me for a long moment. “Hold up, now. This is you. Please don’t fuck around with her feelings.”
The question lands cleanly. I lift my gaze.
Irving watches me closely now, all humor drained from his face.
“I alluded to this yesterday and it’s taken me nearly two decades to admit it, but Sky is and always has been the love of my life.” The truth of it settles so naturally it surprises me. “She feels the same way and we’ve both been stupid idiots who have wasted far too much time.”
Silence.
Julian shakes his head as if he’s been personally inconvenienced by my late arrival to common sense. “Thank Christ. Marisol and I have listened to both of you pine in different ways for years.”
“Took long enough.” Irving lifts his glass.
Julian points straight at my chest. “Put a ring on it.”
“Intend to.” I huff out a laugh.
“Sooner rather than later,” Julian instructs.
I glance down at the crown cufflink glinting at my wrist and think of Sky. From all the years we’ve deepened our friendship to how she looked in bed last night after crying over a fake girlfriend named after a dog.
Julian notices the shift in me. “What’s going on, Zach?”
I drag a breath through my chest and answer without planning to. “I can’t believe I’m selling my company.”
Four heads turn.
Irving straightens first. “What’s next?”
I look at my friends, at the fathers, at the ridiculous prince tux hanging off my shoulders, and think about how little I care about titles compared to the woman in the chapel waiting downstairs.
“Sky,” I answer. “Whatever happens, Sky is the focus.”
A knock sounds at the door before anyone can keep going. The wedding planner slips her head inside, headset on, clipboard in hand. “Gentlemen. Guests are seated.”
Julian’s face changes in an instant. The jokes vanish. The groom face reappears.
Fred rises first and claps him on the shoulder. Jose follows with a quiet, firm hug. Irving straightens his jacket and drains the last of his drink. I pick up my own glass from the mantel and set it aside untouched.
No more delays.
We leave the suite together and move through the corridor. Footsteps echo distinctly on the stone. Somewhere below, music drifts upward through the stairwell, strings only, sweet and bright and delicately unreal.
The chapel doors stand open. Candlelight washes the pale stone walls. Flowers climb the ends of the pews in white, blush, and the faintest blue, tying the whole princess fantasy together without tipping into absurdity. Sunlight still lingers through the stained glass high above, painting the aisle with scattered color.
I take my place beside Irving and look up once. The doors at the back of the chapel open and the ceremony begins.
