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Brad’s smiled widened. “Actually I do. Up my sleeve. In my pants. In this tux.”
I couldn’t read between the lines. I needed it spelled out. “What have you got, Brad?”
“I’m an ordained minister.”
“What! When?” Mason and I spoke at the same time.
“Remember when Jimmy got married a few years back?”
His question was returned with blank faces. Jimmy was his high school friend, but I had no clue the guy was even married.
“Anyways, Jimmy had to get married a few years back. He needed a shotgun wedding.” Brad patted his chest. “It took an hour to get legally ordained online.”
My mouth slipped ajar. I could hug him but it was too late, Mason had jump-hugged him first. “For once, I thank God for your crazy antics.”
Brad was so shell-shocked into surprise, his arms stayed glued to his side. “You’re welcome.”
Mason cleared his throat, without looking at any of us, obviously embarrassed. “I’ll make sure everything else is running smoothly. Got to check on the waitstaff and the guests … and the girls.” His voice trailed off as he continued listing who he needed to check in with.
“Well, that was awkward,” Brad said.
“You liked it. I could tell,” I joked.
“So, should I print something out and read it or just wing the whole thing.”
He asked the question as though he hadn’t already made a solid decision.
He slipped an arm over my shoulders. “Ready to get married?”
After flattening out my disheveled hair, I nodded. I was still in disbelief that Brad, of all people, would be the one officiating the wedding.
Becky:
The dress was a slinky stretch slip white gown with baguette-encrusted halter straps that led to a low back. The gown hugged my hips and accentuated my slim figure. It was simple, yet flattering and perfectly me.
When Mason had set me up with one of the wedding planners to look for a dress, I’d felt like Cinderella. They’d picked me up from the Brisken estate in a limo, whisked me away for high tea at the Peninsula to discuss my perfect wedding dress and then off to designer bridal boutiques to pick the dress of my dreams.
The lights flashing from the photographers could not have caught a more perfect picture.
As I peered at myself through the floor-length mirror with my two girls beside me, holding my hands, my throat closed up and I blinked back tears, afraid to ruin my makeup.
I couldn’t believe that this was my life now. I’d come from nothing, hadn’t known my father and had lived with my deadbeat mother until she went to jail, I was in and out of foster care. Just thinking of my life before and my life now had the first tear falling down my cheek.
“Becky, your makeup.” Linda, one of the wedding planners, approached with a pressed compact, ready to touch up my cheeks but I raised a hand to stop her.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you are, but your makeup is not.” Her voice was stern, her eyebrows narrowed.
Mary squeezed my hand and in the next second she tugged me forward, placing both of her tiny hands on my cheeks. “Why are you crying? Aren’t you happy?”
“Mary, careful of Becky’s makeup.”
I didn’t appreciate the tone in Linda’s voice and I shot her a look. “Can you please give me and my girls a few minutes?”
There must have been something on my face that told this woman there was only one correct answer to my question, because without another word, Linda and her team of five—yes five—were out the door.
My attention was back on Mary as soon as the doors shut and I bent down and rested my elbows on my knees to get into her line of sight. “I am happy. These are happy tears. I promise you.” I turned my attention to Sarah who had this blinding smile that lit up my insides. I cupped her cheek. “You just don’t understand. From someone who didn’t have much of a family before to having you girls …” My words got stuck in my throat from all the emotions running through me.
