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Seven months later

“Does it look bad?” I asked my brother.

My brother studied my face, and, fucking straight as could be, he said, “It looks fine.”

I took him at his word, too.

That was until Drew lifted my veil twenty minutes later, and his eyes zeroed in on the hideous thing.

“It’s bad, isn’t it,” I said softly.

He shrugged. “I said for better or for worse, didn’t I?”

My mouth dropped open, and then I started laughing. Right in the middle of my wedding, with my hundred and twenty of our closest friends and family in attendance.

“Dad,” Attie whispered in affront to her father. “You’re not supposed to tell her that her pimple looks bad. She’ll take it the wrong way.”

Drew’s smile widened.

“Well, I also promised to tell the truth. Which vow would you rather I follow?” He asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

I grinned.

“Both,” I said. “You follow both.”

He winked and pulled me into his chest, placing a kiss on my nose.

My growing belly—something we only learned about last month—pressed into his taut one.

“Freakin’ crazy girl,” he said. “I don’t care about your pimple. Your face isn’t why I’m marrying you, anyhow.”

I smiled.

“Why do you want to marry me?” I questioned him.

He grinned.

“You really want to know?”

“I do,” I said.

“I love you because you make me feel happy. Because you make me sleep well at night. Because you make me laugh. Because, when I wake up beside you, you make my heart race. Things like that.”

Those were almost the exact words I’d spouted off to him twenty years ago.

“You just got bonus points,” I informed him.

He grinned and winked, knowing exactly what he’d just done…and earned.

I patted him on the hand, meaning he should let me go.

He did and I turned back to the preacher.

His eyes hit on the pimple, and I narrowed my eyes.

“Ignore it!” I barked.