Page 176 of Offside Angle

Damian clears his throat, giving both of us just enough time to recover before this ceremony turns into collective emotional collapse. “Rings.”

He looks expectantly toward the front row. Nothing happens.

Damian waits.

Still nothing.

Then he closes his eyes for a moment like a man reaching the final limit of his patience. “Pup.”

Elias startles so hard he nearly drops whatever he’s holding. “Right. Sorry.”

He scrambles up from his seat with the rings clutched in one hand and hurries toward us, still sniffling as he goes. By the time he reaches the front, his eyes are wet all over again, and the second he looks at me I know exactly what’s coming.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, voice wobbling.

“Oh my God, shut up, curls,” I whine, except there’s absolutely no heat behind it because my face is already doing that horrible emotional thing where I can feel everything trying to crumple at once.

Elias laughs through another sniffle, hands the rings over, and retreats toward his seat beside Mats while wiping under his eyes the entire way. Damian watches him go with the expression of a man who knew exactly what would happen and resents being proven right before turning his attention back to us.

Viktor reaches for my hand again. His fingers are steady.

Mine, unfortunately, have abandoned professionalism entirely.

When it’s my turn, I nearly drop his ring before I even get it to his hand. Viktor catches my fingers gently, guides them into place, and the corner of his mouth keeps twitching like he’s trying very hard not to laugh at me in front of everybody. I finally manage to slide the ring onto his finger, although it takes both of us to accomplish what should have been an extremely simple task.

“Don’t,” I mutter when his smirk gets worse.

“I said nothing.”

“You were thinking it.”

His eyes give him away.

Then he takes my ring. Unlike me, Viktor does not almost launch it into Lake Wakatipu. He slides it onto my finger with slow, careful certainty, and when the cool metal settles against my skin, I stare down at it longer than I mean to.

His hand.

My hand.

Matching rings.

Oh.

We’re really doing this.

Damian, apparently sensing that allowing me more than ten seconds to process that information could derail the rest of the ceremony, clears his throat.

“By the power vested in me by several questionable decisions and the country of New Zealand,” he says, dry enough that a few people immediately start laughing, “I now pronounce you married. You may—”

I grab Viktor by the lapels and kiss him.

Whatever Damian was going to say disappears beneath the sound of the entire terrace erupting around us. Everyone starts cheering at once, someone whistles loudly enough that it probably reaches the other side of the lake, and petals are already flying through the air while I’m still kissing my husband like there is any chance in hell I’m stopping voluntarily.

Viktor is the one who eventually pulls back, although only far enough that his mouth is still brushing mine. His hands stay firm around my waist, and when he speaks, his voice drops into that low Russian that has been destroying my ability to function for years. “My husband.”

Every useful bone in my body immediately gives up.

I make a noise that should never be heard outside the privacy of our home and tighten both hands in his jacket just to make sure my knees don’t embarrass me in front of the mountains.