What is the truth? You’re not being coerced or forced. You’re entering a contractual relationship. A business arrangement. You’re allowed to sign contracts.
So convincing, Kayla.
Dad appears at my side, solid and sturdy, wearing that look of faith in me that always makes me want to deserve it. I slip my arm through his, not sure if I’m feeling guilty or butterflies.
After all, it’s my wedding day.
“My girl,” he says, kissing my cheek. “I’m so relieved you’re not marrying Aldridge I forgot to ask how you’re doing.”
“Don’t you mean you forgot to ask if Iknowwhat I’m doing?”
“No one knows what they’re doing when they get married.”
I chuckle, but as we walk slowly across the grass, I can’t stop feeling like I’m Daddy’s Little Girl.
“Am I crazy for marrying a guy I’ve known for such a short time?”
“Your Grandpa Tag proposed to your grandma on their second date.” He grins. “Of course you’re crazy. You’re a Carville.”
I laugh and lean my head on his shoulder for just a moment.
We walk slowly across the grass. I keep my eyes forward until I find Sean, standing at the mound, his dark vest crisp against the fading sunset.
In a deliciously tailored navy suit that can barely contain his physique and his long hair slicked back but fighting to fall forward, he is the ultimate eye candy.
But it’s the look on his face that makes my breath catch. He’s gone still, except for the small parting of his lips. There’s nothing showy to his reaction. He’s not crying for effect or for some videographer.
Yet he looks reverent.
Exactly how I’d want the man I love to look at me in a wedding dress.
Rusty, Fletch, and Sean’s brother, Patty, stand behind him in their own formalwear. Standing just off-center with notes and a Bible, Tripp nods as I reach the mound. (He got officially licensed two days ago.)
My dad kisses my cheek before he takes his place.
Then Sean reaches out.
And I take his hand.
His thumb brushes mine, like he’s telling me it’s okay. We’re in this together. But there’s a hint of something more to his touch. Or at least that’s how it feels, considering his eyes haven’t left my face since I stepped onto the grass.
I know, because mine haven’t left his, either.
But that’s what you do during your wedding. You let everything else fade into the background, because all that exists are the two of you.
Right?
Soon, we’re saying vows, Tripp is asking if anyone has any objections, my dad is eyeing my brothers like he’ll ground them if they so much as clear their throats.
It’s nice. Lovely, even.
More than I expected.
And then, Tripp pronounces us man and wife.
“You may now kiss the bride,” he says.
Whoa.
