Page 171 of Offside Angle

New Zealand is a perfectly reasonable place to get married if, at one point, you seriously considered moving here because your fiancé murdered his father and you weren’t entirely sure whether that made you a bad person, an accomplice, or just catastrophically in love.

Personally, I’m going with the third one.

“Cole!” Elias calls from across the room. “Come on, everyone’s waiting to see the happy little groom.”

“Shut up and help me!”

I’m currently losing a personal war against my tie, which has somehow transformed from a harmless strip of fabric into an attempted murder weapon. Every time I think I’ve got the knot right, it twists sideways again and tightens around my throat like it has opinions about the marriage.

Elias laughs his way over and bats my hands aside. “Move.”

“I know how to tie a tie.”

“Clearly.”

“Rude.”

He ignores me and fixes it himself, fingers careful as he straightens the knot and smooths the front of my shirt. When he’s satisfied, he leans back to inspect me, and his face immediately crumples.

“Oh no,” I say.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, already getting that watery-eyed pout.

I slap him lightly on the chest. “No. Absolutely not. We are not crying today.”

“I’m not crying.”

“You are literally crying.”

“So are you.”

I blink rapidly.

Traitorous fucking eyes.

Before either of us can make the situation worse, someone knocks on the door.

“Come in!” Elias calls. Then, louder, “Unless your name is Petrov!”

The door opens anyway, but thankfully the man standing there is Mats, not my future husband.

He’s holding Santi’s hand with one hand and my sister’s with the other.

I stare at them.

Mats has the nerve to show up to my wedding sun-kissed, emotionally stable, and openly in love with Santi, which feels attention-seeking and somehow personally homophobic against me.

Santi, because he has no respect for the gravity of the moment, immediately lifts his camera and takes a picture of me and Elias standing there with matching wet eyes.

“Pretty,” he says.

“Lemme see,” Lena says, already leaning across Mats to look at the screen like she and Santi have been best friends since kindergarten instead of people who, under normal circumstances, should probably have a much stranger relationship.

I point at all three of them. “You’re banned from my wedding. Immediately. Get out.”

Elias starts laughing hard enough that he has to wipe under his eyes again. Mats is very obviously trying not to smile, Santi looks delighted with himself, and Lena sticks her tongue out at me like we’re twelve and she didn’t just help kick off a teddy-bear avalanche at the most emotionally devastating game of my life.

Another knock comes at the door, sharper this time, and Damian doesn’t bother waiting for permission before stepping inside.