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The first and only wedding I attended in a funeral home was my own, but it was perfect for us. After all, death had brought us together long before love ever did.
There were white lilies in black vases and a polished coffin in the middle of it all—at least, there were no bodies in the coffin, I think.
Irene was my bridesmaid, and Enzo was both the best man and the officiant.
“You look like you’re planning a murder.”
I turned to find Ryden standing in the doorway, his black suit unbuttoned and his tie hanging loose around his neck. He looked unfairly handsome.
It had been six months since he had asked me to marry him, and I had said yes. We had finally found the time to tie the knot.
“Not today.”
“Are you nervous?” he asked, running a finger along my arm.
“I’m not. I trust my judgment.”
“You’re marrying me in a funeral home. I’d say you have questionable judgment.”
“You agreed to the venue.”
“I love you. I will agree to marry you even in a graveyard.”
He kissed me, until Irene knocked on the door.
“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” she said, smiling. “Anyway, we’re ready. Enzo will suffocate in the terrible black polyester thing if you don’t move your asses now.” She pushed Ryden out. “Go, Ryden.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Ryden said, walking out.
Irene pulled me into a hug, laughing, sobbing. She was a mess—more than I was.
“You’re doing this,” she said, adjusting the strap of my red dress. “I’m so happy you’re doing this.” She kissed my cheek.
“Don’t make me cry now.”
She sniffed, taking my hand in hers. We walked out.
Ryden stood in the middle of the empty chairs, a few of them occupied by colorful urns filled with ashes. Fucking Enzo. Of all the things he could have used as wedding decorations, he’d chosen human remains. But I smiled anyway. Nothing could stop me from smiling.
As I walked toward Ryden, he watched me with eyes that told me more than words ever could.
My heart raced. I couldn’t believe we were here now, after all this time.
Irene offered my hand to Ryden. Enzo offered Ryden’s hand to me.
Ryden squeezed my fingers. I squeezed back.
“Now that we’ve gathered in front of our esteemed guests, including Trish—Patricia in that ugly yellow urn,” Enzo said, gesturing grandly toward the urn at the front. “Share your vows.”
“I can’t promise you an ordinary life,” Ryden said. “You already know that. I can’t promise there won’t be bad days, or that the past will stop following us. But I can promise that you’ll never have to face any of it alone. I’ll choose you on the good days, and on the terrible days.” He smiled. “I will always, always choose you. Over myself, even.”
“That was almost romantic.”
“I’m saving the really romantic stuff for later.”
“God help me.”
He grinned. Bright and beautiful.
