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She’s earned the right.
She’s the one who’s held me together my whole life.
Just like she’s holding me together now, her arm tucked lovingly in mine, keeping me stable as I wait for the magic moment in the music that tells me it’s my turn.
When it comes, we walk out together.
I get to see August for the first time since we woke up together, before we were swept away by our respective parties to get ready for the big day—and for the rest of our lives.
He waits by the altar, tall and straight and handsome in his tux. The perfect cut of it can’t hide the powerful body underneath.
His militant posture reminds me how much he likes to control me in bed, even while he lets me drag him around with my whims everywhere else. His cummerbund and the neckband are the same deep vivid pink as the accents on my dress and the decor, and so is his pocket square.
His hair is picture perfect—except for that one wild strand, arcing over his brow.
But he’s smiling like the sun.
Gone is the forbidding man who refused to acknowledge my existence.
In his place, there’s a man who’s grown into someone warm and wonderful.
Someone who used to hide his kindness and now wears it openly for all to see and love just as much as I do.
That intensity almost makes it hard to hold his eyes as Gran escorts me up the aisle to his side, but I can’t look away.
As Grandma guides me to my place, I feel so right.
No more nerves.
But I have to stifle a giggle as Grandma Jackie pats his arm, leans in, and whispers to him.
“Don’t you dare fuck this up, young man.”
I choke back a sound. I don’t think she’s ever said fuck before in her life.
August’s eyes widen, and he stares after her as she struts over to the rest of the bridal party and takes her place with a smug look.
“You heard her,” I whisper, grinning. “Don’t screw it up.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he whispers back, his lips twitching. “Also, when I agreed to the punk theme,” he says through his teeth, “I didn’t think you’d make me wear a pink cummerbund.”
I reach up to flick that unruly strand of hair. “The bride and groom should match.”
“Everybody ready?” the priest whispers.
We both nod so quickly we look like those little dashboard dolls, only to catch each other’s eyes and realize what we’re doing.
We grin while the priest begins.
Before, we’d talked about writing custom vows. But in the end, we agreed not to because the letters we write to each other are for us alone.
Not to share with the world.
It started with the letter where he confessed his feelings.
Then it turned into me missing him at the office one day and leaving him a little letter written on a bit of sketch paper with a smile and a heart from Kiki, waiting in his office.
Him reminding me he had to go in early for an investor meeting and couldn’t stay in bed with me, so I found a note on my pillow reminding me not to burn the kitchen down while I was warming up the breakfast he’d made—and he loved me, don’t burn the kitchen down (again), don’t slip off the deck and drown; oh, and be naked when he came home.
