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TWENTY-SIX
Everything happened perfectly.
Rocco smiled when he saw me—the biggest, teariest-eyed grin I’d ever seen from him.
He swept me into his arms when I reached him, and planted a kiss on my lips long before the preacher said we could kiss.
Laughter went through the crowd, and I turned to look out at everyone just as June arrived.
Tea grabbed her and yanked her into the empty seat between her and Ebony. Their men sat in front of them, and didn’t seem annoyed by the distance between them. I supposed they’d been told to deal with it.
June didn’t look happy at all, but Tea and Ebony spoke rapidly to her. I trusted them to prevent her from causing a scene, and focused on Rocco as we promised each other our hearts.
In sickness and health…
In pleasure and pain…
In love, and loss…
In sadness and joy…
We would be there for each other, no matter what the future held for us.
We would be a team.
That was what both marriage and mating were about, wasn’t it? Working together? Seeing things from each other’s point of view?
Rocco and I would make decisions together, and do what was best for both of us. It would take us time to figure that out exactly, but we’d get there.
Of that, I had no doubt.
He kissed me again when he was told to, and cheers went through the crowd. Afterward, we slipped away with everyone else to the area that had been turned into a foresty dance club.
The night passed by in a blur of hugs, congratulations, dancing, and delicious desserts (which Rocco shoved into my mouth every time he thought I might be even slightly hungry).
June sat at a table at the back of the room, looking somewhere between pissed and disappointed.
As the party came to an end, I finally slipped away from Rocco long enough to sit beside her for a moment.
“Hey, Jay,” I said, leaning back in my chair.
“Aren’t you the picture of bridal bliss?” she drawled.
I smacked her lightly on the arm. “How drunk are you?”
“Not drunk. If I drink, I won’t be able to make an escape.” She shook her keys toward me. “I’ve been downing root beer like an alcoholic, though. Who has root beer at a wedding?”
I shrugged. “People who can’t get drunk on alcohol?”
She sighed, brushing a chunk of her long, red hair out of her eyes. “This was a mistake, Delly.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I shrugged lightly. “Either way, I’m happy. And that’s what matters to me.”
Her expression darkened. “What does it feel like? The happiness?”
My slight smile faded, and I studied her. “Are you okay?”
“No,” she said honestly.
