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“I’ll take that.”
“Where is Livy anyway?” Brighton asks.
I look around and don’t see her. I slide my phone from my pocket and dial her. “Livy, you good? Well, come on then.”
I hang up, swipe to my music app, and press play on Ray LaMontagne’s ‘I Was Born to Love You’ as Livy steps through the doors in a knee-length white dress. One shoulder is bare, the other starts a flowy sheer train behind her.
She walks to me in fuck-me heels with a wide smile on her face. She stops in front of me, and I grab her face and kiss her deeply. “Fuck, Pix, you’re stunning.”
“What’s this?” Pop says.
While Emberleigh says, “Are you serious?”
“I told you they were engaged,” Willa says to Exton none too quietly.
George pipes in. “Stop kissing the bride. I haven’t even done anything yet.”
“Better do it fast,” I say and lean in for another kiss, pulling Livy into my body.
“Dearly beloved,” George starts. “We are gathered here today to celebrate—”
“This thing called life,” Eli and Bright say at the same time.
“You didn’t tell me they’d be trouble,” George says, stopping his speech and looking at me expectantly.
“Of course, they’re trouble. They’re my family.”
“Dearly beloved,” George starts.
“We are gathered here today,” Braxton and Emberleigh fake using microphones.
“To celebrate this thing,” Brighton and Eli continue.
“Called life,” Willa and Exton embellish.
“Dude, you can keep trying, but it’s not going to get better,” I say, staring at my almost wife… if George will ever get on with it.
“Fine. They keep messing up the lyrics anyway.” He drops his head as if we’ve stolen his thunder. I think, anyway. He’s in my periphery. All I can see is Livy.
“That matters if you’re putting together a Prince tribute band. If you’re trying to get me hitched, it so does not.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he starts again.
“And Kyle,” Livy says, getting a laugh from Willa.
“And Kyle,” George says as Kyle runs from the house and skids to a stop with his nose near my hip.
“We’re here to celebrate love and the joining of Layton and Livy in marriage. If anyone here can think of any reason these—”
“No one say a word.” I look around my back deck. “Seriously, this has taken too long already.”
“I know the feeling,” Exton says. “Pop wanted to go on and on.”
“I did not,” Pop retorts. “It was short and sweet and—”
I cut off their chatter. “Olivia Morgan, I take you as my wife. In good times, please let there be many. And bad times, let there be few, and all the times in between. I promise to love you and cherish you and tickle you and slap your butt.”
“TMI,” Braxton coughs into his hand.
