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“You ready?” Griff asks. “Palms sweating?”
I’m cool and ready to bounce. “Nope. Just impatient.”
Since I’ve got a few minutes before the ceremony, I decide to share my plan. I want their approval, especially since I realize this will affect them, too.
“So…I want to give Harlow peace. She’s been through a rough couple of months.”
“What do you have in mind? Extended honeymoon?” Griff winces as if the thought of what we might do on said newlywed getaway is painful to consider.
“Not exactly, no.” I blow out a nervous breath. “I don’t know all the details, but I think you were right. Your parents might be part of her problem.”
“Told you,” Maxon returns.
“I had no doubt.” Griff shakes his head, his face tight with loathing.
Relief that they’re listening winds through me, and I warm to my subject. “Since I don’t know if she’ll truly be able to feel peace until they’re gone from her life, my plan is to make them go away.”
Maxon grins. “If Harlow doesn’t already love you madly, she will after this, I suspect. My mother will jump if you offer her money. My dad is playing a shell game with the bulk of their wealth, and I think she’s panicking that she will wind up virtually penniless when the ink dries on their decree.”
“And aww…her boy toy will go away and use his penis to bilk some other woman old enough to be his mother out of her divorce settlement.” Griff rolls his eyes. “What a shame.”
The younger Reed brother really doesn’t like his mother. No doubt, there’s one hell of a story there.
“Dad is less motivated by money,” Maxon spits. “He loves it, but he’s far more interested in pussy. And avoiding public humiliation. Hey!” His eyes light up. “I could tell you a few stories you could threaten to spill to the press. Anonymously, of course, so it doesn’t come back to you. It’s verifiable information. Throw in a hooker or two, and he’ll probably go quietly. Most of Harlow’s life he said he didn’t have use for a ‘splittail.’”
I haven’t even met this man and I seriously want to punch his face. I want to make him feel the pain Harlow has felt, which he clearly never bothered to care about.
“Lay it on me. I’m happy to use whatever you can tell me.”
Maxon’s grin is full of glee as he fills me in on Barclay’s sexual exploits with secretaries, employees…and the daughters of some of his best friends. He has to talk fast because it’s a lot, but by the time Trace sticks his head in the door with a thumbs-up, I’ve heard enough to nail this bastard to the wall. And I can’t wait.
I head out to the makeshift altar—a huge arch wreathed in a burst of colorful tropical flowers. The ocean roars at my back, and there’s a simple white runner between two rows of chairs on the front lawn, overlooking the beach. About twenty people are gathered to witness the ceremony to be presided over by a guy who really does look like my uncle Ano. My family fills one side of the seating. Harlow’s side is virtually empty, so I don’t have to guess who her parents are. They’re sitting in the front row three chairs apart, looking somewhere between uncomfortable and disdainful. Assholes. Everyone else—even my agent, Cliff, who never celebrates anything—looks excited to be witnessing our happiness unfold.
I feel at peace. I know the next year won’t be easy but I’m all about seizing opportunities. Harlowwillbe mine for the rest of our lives.
As soon as I’m in place with Trace at my side, the piped-in music stops and Keeley walks up the aisle, bouquet in hand, beaming. She sets her flowers aside and grabs the mic that’s been arranged up front. Her beautiful, almost haunting voice fills the air around me with a vaguely familiar tune. I know I’ve heard it on the radio, but I can’t place it. I wish like hell I could when Keeley sings of today being the first words of a lifelong love letter. When she belts out the lyrics “I choose you…” I start humming along with the Sara Bareilles tune.
Harlow’s friend Kiaria strolls up the aisle in an azure dress that clings to her arms just off the shoulder and molds to her delicate curves. Britta proceeds down the aisle next in a similar dress in a complementing shade of blue.
Keeley finishes the song, then falls into place near the rest of the bridal party, mic still in hand. We left Maxon’s bride in charge of the music and so far she’s chosen fantastically well.
When the next song starts, I know right away it’s “I Will Follow You Into the Dark” by Death Cab for Cutie. It’s an unusual choice, but Keeley’s delivery of the lyrics is emotional, her voice caressing every note and wrapping it in something special before she moves on to the next. I look across the lawn, back toward the house, breath held as I wait for Harlow.
It seems to take an eternity, but I finally see her come toward me in a flowing white dress that hugs her slender waist and ruffles at the shoulders before crossing in a gentleVabove her cleavage. A flower at her hip where the fabric gathers gives way to waves of white chiffon waterfalling down to pool around her feet. The diamonds I gave her glitter and sparkle at her neck, making her look every bit as feminine as the white lily tucked behind her ear, bright against her raven hair. I nearly choke at how beautiful she looks. How radiant. I’ve cried very few times in my life—my father’s funeral, my first Super Bowl win…and today. Seeing Harlow come toward me, willing to give me potentially the rest of her life, hits me square in the chest.
“You should see your face,” Trace leans in and whispers. “You love that woman.”
I don’t answer, just smile. Yeah, I do and I don’t care who knows it. And as Harlow comes closer, I see her glowing, her gaze fixed on mine. The windows to her soul look wide open. Tears perch on her lash line, threatening to spill, but the happy curl of her lips makes her expression infinitely sweet. I’d love to freeze this moment in time, so ripe with hope, and stay forever.
The song ends after the first verse when Maxon and Griff deliver their sister into my hands and I curl my fingers around hers. The men join Trace, and the officiant in the vest with the loud Hawaiian shirt underneath welcomes everyone to the beginning of our lifelong union of happiness.
Harlow glances my way again, and our gazes connect. The ground staggers beneath my feet, and I turn dizzy, a little sweaty. She can read me, so she squeezes my hands and raises her shoulders as she inhales before slowly letting the air leave her, encouraging me to follow along. After a few breaths, it helps and I feel calm flow over me again. I’m going to speak my damn vows today. Nothing will stop me.
The ceremony is everything I imagined, and it seems as if I’ve barely had time to blink before we’re sliding rings on each other’s fingers and being pronounced man and wife. Harlow smiles up at me before she leans closer and her eyes slide shut. I wrap my arms around my wife—it feels awesome to call her that—and kiss her with all my heart, silently telling her that it’s the first day of the rest of our lives together.
When we break apart, I raise our clasped hands above our heads with a whoop. Our guests cheer—except for her parents. I ignore them as we race back down the aisle and head toward the massive tent set up on the other side of the wide yard.
Inside the reception site, a champagne waterfall flows, the cake is ready to cut, the deejay is already grinding out celebratory tunes. I hold my wife close before the rest of the wedding party arrives. “Hello, Mrs. Weston.”
