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“No.”
We drift, still dancing, toward the door, and then we slip right out the door. If anyone notices, they’re too polite to say anything.
Many Months Later
The Tobuary wedding isn’t the last wedding in this story.
Shane and I have two weddings. Of course we do.
We have one wedding for us and another one for the rest of the world.
I’ll tell you about the public one first.
Our fans scream for a crossover wedding…so we give them one, on a sound stage in Hollywood custom designed for that purpose. Everyone who’s anyone is there—January, Tobias, Brad, George, Leo, Will, Jennifer, Julia, Emma.
Anthony Fessa, however, is absent. When he called me to ask if his invitation had gotten lost, I was in the middle of having sex with Shane, and somehow I forgot to call him back. My bad.
At the wedding, Shane is Mavryx—except this time, his costume and makeup are done by the pros. And holy shit. If I thought the makeshift Mavryx was hot, the professional version has a deeply hydrating effect on my something-blue panties.
Pretty sure he digs the professionally made-up Oriana just as much, judging by the shell-shocked expression on his face when I walk down the aisle in my custom-made mostly white wedding dress, which also features panels of fabric from Oriana’s original denim-and-smocking costume.
It’s a lot of fun. A really great party. I get to dance with Leo, which is a hoot, and Tom gives me advice about how to make a marriage last.
There are some amazing photos and videos from that wedding. Some of them even go viral—like the one where Mavryx backs me up against the replica engine and growls into the well-placed mic that as soon as he gets me alone, he’s going to carry me off to the end of the universe and keep me there till he’s done with me.
Then, even more importantly, there’s our real wedding…
Everyone who matters is there. Shane’s sister and brothers and aunt. Easton and his brothers and their wives and girlfriends. Sonya and her posse. Nia and Akemi, our theater students, Nan from Rush Creek Bakery, and, best of all, my mom and her husband (fresh off a plane from Tarragona, Spain!).
When we send out invitations, I ask Shane if he wants me to send one to his dad.
At first he says no. Then, after a particularly wrenching therapy session (yep, he’s been going), he changes his mind. He hasn’t spoken to his father since his father suggested Shane should get a different manager…but he decides to give it a shot anyway. He sends him an invitation and an email. The email says that Shane wants to give his dad one more chance to show up for him. To be a dad, not a manager. It says it would mean a lot to him if his dad would, for once, support him in something that has nothing to do with acting.
The yes RSVP comes back in record time, shocking both of us.
I’m really proud of Shane for speaking his truth and asking for what he wants, and when I look out over the pews in the barn and see Shane’s dad sitting there, I get a little teary. Not as teary as I get a few minutes later—but hang on, getting to that.
I mean, we’re not expecting Shane’s father to win a Dad of the Year award anytime soon. But maybe he’s not a complete loss, either.
Even Weggers is there. He begged Hanna for an invitation. I didn’t think she was going to cave, but he was so contrite about misjudging Shane’s and my love and so adamant that their granddad would have wanted him there that no one could quite bring themselves to flat out refuse him.
All the flowers at our real wedding come from my garden. The Better Than Sex with Anyone Except Shane Cake comes from Nan’s bakery. Kane Wilder does the photography. And Shane’s assistant does the videography—because why mess with success?
I wear all white. The top and bottom halves of my dress come from the two dresses we found at the thrift store, and Sonya did an absolutely amazing job of stitching them together—you can’t tell they weren’t one garment from the very beginning.
(“See?” Reggie crows. “There’s no reason to buy new.”)
Shane wears a tux. When I step through the back door of the Hott Springs wedding barn and we see each other for the first time since late afternoon the night before, my breath catches in my chest. Tears spring to my eyes. Because there he is, so unbelievably beautiful in that crisp shirt and bow tie and sharp black jacket. My guy. Not Mavryx. Not even Shane Fucking Hott. Just the man who’s my partner in crime and my best friend, the one who can make me laugh and make me come really hard and then make me laugh again.
And it isn’t just new love and infatuation by this point. We’ve done a lot to prove it will work between us. I’ve flown down to LA, and he’s flown up to Rush Creek. We’ve traveled together when he’s on location, and we’ve Zoomed and FaceTimed when we can’t make any of those things work. And every single minute that passes, I like him more. Admire him more. Want more to spend the rest of my life at his side.
After Shane puts a solid-gold band on my finger and the minister pronounces us married, after Shane kisses the bride (and I kiss right back—maybe a little too enthusiastically if the laughter from the guests is any indication), we get on with the partying.
We eat so much food. We dance our asses off. We hug and chat with and love up all our favorite people.
And then we get in the limo and ride to the airport for our flight to Nepal. To Hotel Everest View.
It turns out that if you want to take your honeymoon at the highest point in the mountaintops and more or less at the edge of the universe, that’s your best bet.
