And now we would be helping each other, and the song would connect us in our own special way. A collective sound of delight comes from our guests as the song softly plays, and with a gentle squeeze to my hand, my dad walks me down the aisle.
A shiver goes down the back of my neck as Luka comes into focus. His tux is bespoke, the lapels glossy black satin. A crisp white shirt makes the dusky hue of his skin pop. Diamond cufflinks sparkle, reminiscent of my engagement ring. His lips part as he watches me approach, eyes wide with an emotion I can’t read.
“Awestruck,” my dad whispers with a smile. “That look is called completely awestruck.”
He kisses my cheek and places my hand on Luka’s arm, and I realize that I haven’t stopped staring at the gorgeous face of my almost-husband. We must stare at each other too long, because we’re softly directed to turn inside the arch and face the pastor. Luka’s hand slides over mine with a warmth I can feel flowing through every inch of me.
“Dearly beloved…”
The ceremony starts and it really is like a dream. Words I’ve heard in romantic movies a million times are now applied to me. Words that are intended to have real meaning and conviction when they’re repeated. My heart is racing.
We turn to face each other, and Luka takes my other hand in his. The weight of my dress becomes palpable, but not because I’m scared or second-guessing—instead, my body feels weak from the intensity in Luka’s eyes as he begins to state his vows.
His tone is clear and steady and confident, and so full of conviction that I believe what he’s saying. He’s sincere.
Our fingers twine together as if we intend to never let go, and now it’s my turn to make him believe I mean each and every word.
I repeat the vows, saying them as clearly and confidently as Luka did for me. As each word comes out of my mouth, the intention with which I repeat it grows. This may have started out as a sham, but it doesn’t feel like it now…and I want nothing more than to make my life with Luka work. He cups my face in his hands at the exact moment I decide what I want for our future, his grin stealing my breath right before he kisses me softly, tenderly.Lovingly.
Everyone claps and cheers and I barely have time to pull my emotions back in before we’re ushered down the aisle as man and wife, flower petals raining down on us.
I’m Mrs. Luka Zoric in name, and if things continue like this, I will be in heart, too.
I don’t let myself overthink anything as we follow our guests up the curving, split staircase that leads to the reception upstairs. The intricate gilded iron railing is decorated in pink and cream flowers with plumes of natural greenery, and tea lights glow softly at the edges of each step. I laugh a little as I take it all in. Even the stairs are perfect.
“Take a deep breath, Brooklyn,” Luka whispers in my ear. “The hard part is over.”
I smile up at him and enjoy the depth of emotion rippling through me. Finally, we enter the second-floor ballroom, hand in hand, to loud cheers and a few whistles.
Above us, billows of organza drape from the ceiling. Perfectly arranged tables are set with lightly patterned china and cut crystal glasses rimmed in gold. Four-foot tall crystal flutes hold floral topiaries, and live cherry blossom trees stand at each end of the long table for the wedding party. The pale pink fabric napkins I picked out have our initials monogrammed on them and look amazing beneath the golden glow of the flatware.
As much as Luka left the wedding decisions to me and the planner, I also encouraged him to incorporate some personal elements of his own. I spy the first of our little personal touches as a server comes around with his favorite gold label Veuve Clicquot champagne. Another has a tray with hors d'oeuvres of my favorite Great Lakes whitefish with rosemary and cucumber on rye toast, and Luka’s requested crème fraîche and caviar tartlets. We’re handed champagne and we clink our glasses together before taking a sip.
With a quick pull of his hand on my wrist, I’m up against my husband and he’s kissing me with the sweetness of champagne on his lips. Tilting my head, I take his mouth deeper, pressing into the warmth of his body.
Luka presses a hand to my back, his fingers splaying against my bare skin. His breathing picks up, his grip on me tightening…
“Groomsmen! Gather around Luka!”
My head is swimming as Luka is peeled away by a man with a camera on a tripod. Luka insisted we hire an outside professional to take pictures so that Emzee could just enjoy herself, but as the resident photographer in the family, she couldn’t help bringing her own camera to the wedding. I’ve already spotted her snapping photos, and I’m glad. I know they’ll be way more fun, intimate, and candid than any of the posed pictures that our hired photographer will get.
Tori loops her arm through mine and spins me out of the way just in time for me to see Luka and the groomsmen pull up the legs of their pants to reveal knee-high Minnesota Wild socks, resplendent in the hockey team’s garish red and bright green team colors.Even our littlest groomsman, Tori’s adorable eight-year-old half-brother Max, is in on the tacky sock flashing.
Luka winks. I laugh. He warned me that he might add a few crazy elements to the wedding, and considering the huge smile on his face right now, I’m glad that he did. The evening flows on like a dream. Every time I see Luka across the room, each time he takes my hand, or kisses me at request of the guests, or gives me a heated, lusty glance, I melt a little more. Watching him joke with Mateo, the rift between them mended now, is the icing on the cake.
When there’s a lull, Mateo comes over to me with a glass of champagne and a smirk on his face. “Girl, you are glowing,” he tells me.
“I’m happy,” I can’t help gushing.
“Of course you are,” he says. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”
“Never,” I say, pulling him in for a tight hug. “Thank you for…just everything.”
Finally I find myself in Luka’s arms for our first dance as husband and wife.
“Well, hello, Mrs. Zoric,” he croons as he pulls me against him.
“That has a very nice ring to it, Mr. Zoric.”
