Page 81 of The Decoy

CHAPTER TWENTY

Brody

We don’t need six months of floral arrangements, place cards, or seating charts. What we need is a marriage certificate, a judge, and the people who actually matter.

When we broke the news to Molly the next morning, she nearly fainted into her espresso.

“A courthouse marriage in three days?” Molly gasps, her voice echoing through the vaulted ceiling of our kitchen. She throws her hands up, her diamond rings catching in the light. “Ellis, darling. You’re a Renwick. Renwick’s don’t get married in a municipal building like we’re settling a traffic ticket. People spend years on a waiting list just to get our family’s florist.”

“Mom,” Ellis says calmly, sitting at the island in one of my oversized flannels, sipping her decaf tea. “We aren’t doing a spectacle right now. We want to be married before the baby gets here.”

“But what will people say?” Molly asks dramatically, clutching her chest.

“I don’t really care what people say, Mother. I’m hugely pregnant, and I just want to marry the man I love.”

Molly pauses, narrowing her eyes at me as I pour her another cup of coffee. “Brody, tell me you aren’t rushing this because of something in your football schedule. All it would take is one call to the Grants.”

“No, Molly,” I say with a quiet laugh, setting the mug in front of her. “I just really want her to be my wife.”

Molly looks at me, her dramatic posture softening into a warm smile. She lets out a long sigh. “Fine, but I’m extracting a blood oath from both of you for a full, extravagant, ridiculously expensive reception after the baby is born. I want ice sculptures. I want a six-tier cake. I want your father to cry in public so I can tape it.”

“Deal,” Ellis says instantly.

“Good,” Molly says, perking up and pulling out her phone. “Now move aside. If I only have seventy-two hours to make a courthouse hallway look like a Vogue cover, I need to threaten a few event coordinators.”

And just like that, seventy-two hours later, we not only had a freshly signed legal contract with Dylan, but we were also standing in the private garden conservatory attached to the Bergen County historical Chapel. Molly hadn’t managed the ice sculpture, but she had somehow convinced the township to shut down the entire private courtyard and blanket the stone archway with hundreds of white roses.

The area is small, warm, and packed with the only people who hold a piece of our lives. And of course, our dogs.

On Ellis’s side, Charles stands quietly in a tailored suit, his arms crossed, watching the room with a rare settled approval. Bryan stands beside him, leaning against a stone pillar, and tosses me a nod.

On my side, my mom is already dabbing her eyes with a tissue before the music has even started, her hand clutching my sister’s arm. Lauren gives me a sharp, proud wink, whispering Don’t mess up your vows, buddy.

The rest of the room is a chaotic, beautiful mess of our inner circle.

Liam and Alie try to wrangle their daughter, Sera, who is almost always full of energy and is currently chasing Saint and Presley’s kids, Remy and Rhyan, and our dogs around. Aston and Eva stand beside them. Aston leans in to whisper something in Eva’s ear that makes her cover her mouth to hide her laugh.

The judge, a soft-spoken woman, clears her throat, holding her leather-bound ledger.

Then the side door opens, and everything else in the world simply stops. Ellis chose to walk to me for this ceremony, but she’ll have her father-daughter dance at our reception after the baby is born.

Ellis walks towards me. She isn’t wearing a massive ball gown or a long train. She wears a simple, elegant off-the-shoulder silk dress that hugs every curve of her body, highlighting the gorgeous curve of her eight-month bump. Her dark hair is pinned, packed with diamond clips, and her eyes are clear, bright, and fixed entirely on me.

My chest tightens so hard I almost forget to exhale.

When she reaches the altar, I take her hand. Her fingers are warm, steady, and small in mine.

“Look at you,” I murmur, my voice rough.

“Look at us,” she whispers back, a radiant smile breaking across her face.

The judge steps forward to begin the ceremony. “We are gathered here today in the presence of family and cherished friends to join Brody and Ellis in holy matrimony.”

Molly, sitting in the front row, leans over toward my mother and whispers loudly enough for the entire front row to hear. “I gave them seventy-two hours, June, and look at this. Married! And just look at them. Your boy can command a football field and also look like a GQ model. I knew I liked him.”

A quiet ripple of laughter runs through the crowd. Charles clears his throat, but even he can’t hide the faint smirk at his lips.

“Brody,” the judge turns to me. “You both requested to keep the ceremony short, so we’ll start with your vows.”