Page 259 of Wait for Him

“Years.”

“Still marrying your sister.”

His expression shifts at that. The teasing doesn't disappear completely because this is Bennet and me, and I'm pretty sure one of us would break out in hives if we got sincere for longer than thirty seconds, but I know what today means to him too. Rose is his big sister. She's spent most of her life taking care of him, worrying about him and sticking her nose in his business whether he wanted her to or not, and now he's standing here with me while she gets ready to walk down the aisle.

“I know,” he says eventually. “You're really fucking happy.”

“So fucking happy.”

He nods, looking down for a second before meeting my eyes again. “Good. She is too.”

That makes my eyes burn a little, and Bennet has the decency not to mention it. I spent too many years wondering whether Rose and I would ever get this right, and it turns out the answer was yes. It just took us an unreasonable amount of fucking time to get here.

I look toward the doors again even though I know damn well she isn't coming through them yet. “She better hurry up.”

Bennet laughs. “The ceremony starts in twenty minutes.”

“Exactly. I've already waited long enough.”

“You've waited years. You can survive twenty minutes.”

I look at him, and the bastard is grinning because he knows exactly how unhelpful that statement was. “That's not the comforting statement you think it is.”

His laugh fills the room, and I can't help joining him because he's right. I have waited a long fucking time for Rose. I can survive another twenty minutes.

I check my watch.

Nineteen.

Okay. That's better.

Rose

“Rose. Oh my God. You look beautiful.”

I immediately start crying again.

“Fuck.” I reach for the tissue Macy shoved into my hand five minutes ago and carefully dab beneath my eyes, trying not to destroy the makeup she has already fixed twice. “I look like a hog in a pretty white dress.”

The room goes quiet.

Blaire gives the girls a knowing look before crossing to me and pulling me into as much of a hug as my stomach will currently permit.

“Honey, you are a beautiful, pregnant bride.”

“I’m huge.”

“You’re pregnant,” Jade says.

“Same thing.”

“It is absolutely not the same thing.” Jenn argues.

I sniff and look at myself in the mirror again.

The dress really is beautiful. I know that objectively. I loved it when I chose it, and the poor alterations woman deserves some kind of professional medal for managing to keep up with a body that seems to change dimensions every twelve fucking hours. It hugs me everywhere it should, falls softly around my stomach, and somehow manages to make room for breasts that have become a completely separate logistical problem.

But standing here in it is different.