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I’ll be a cliché today and walk down an aisle of silk cloth laid over a meadow of flowers.
We head out into the open autumn sun with half the town watching. All of my friends plus his friends and family, gathered neatly in chairs to either side.
Up by the altar, next to the arch of flowers, it’s him.
Holt Silverton, looking finer than ever.
Alaska, Blake, Warren, Doc, and Leo stand behind him, his men of honor, while Felicity and Sierra and a few of my other friends are there as bridesmaids.
Honestly, they’re just pretty blurs of color eclipsed by the bright light of one man.
Holt looks like a natural lady-killer, clean-cut and perfectly groomed in his tux.
Underneath that fine-tailored wool, that tightly trimmed beard and combed hair, there’s a wild man who’s ready to take on anything.
Including me and my ridiculous heart.
He’s my Zorro. He’s my Rhett Butler. He’s my Lone Ranger.
He’s my everything, and the moment those whiskey-fire eyes lock with mine, I forget everything else.
There’s music somewhere. Ms. Wilma walking me down the aisle when my feet can’t remember how.
Everyone turning their heads to watch, soft approving murmurs, warm encouragement as I pass by.
They’re all just background noise when all I hear is the beat of my heart growing louder and louder the closer I get to Holt.
There’s a heat between us that sizzles the closer we are to each other.
It’s nearly burning by the time I stop in front of him, and Ms. Wilma gently hands me off to take her place in the front chairs.
There’s a hushed, pure silence.
Reverence for this moment when we stand here looking at each other, mere seconds away from being man and wife in the eyes of all.
Don’t cry, don’t cry.
I’ve said it so many times, fighting with everything in me.
Only now I don’t bother.
Not when I’m so happy I can’t stop the tears as I look up at him and smile.
“Hi, you,” I whisper.
Holt’s eyes flash, his smile so warm, so tender, it captures my heart more than anything.
“Hey,” he answers, reaching up to stroke my cheek with his thumb, wiping away the tracks of my tears. “Ready to get married?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be!”
He grins. “Never thought wild horses would drag us here, huh?”
“Kicking and screaming all the way,” I tease, laughing.
But there’s no kicking. No screaming. No second guesses.
No protest, no hesitation, no doubt.
The priest begins reading off the litany that leads us to our vows.
I know.
I know one thing as sure as I know the stars will come out and the heavens will turn and the constellations will come and go with the seasons.
I flipping love Holt Silverton.
And I want to be with him for the rest of our lives.
I feel like I’m floating on a dream as that ring slips on my finger, then his, and then it’s all echoes.
With this ring, I thee wed.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
I do.
“…I do.”
Just like that.
A few simple words and it’s real, and suddenly everyone is shouting and cheering, and the dazed bubble around me bursts. Reality swoops in on us with my pulse pounding and my entire body buzzing with joy and—
And Holt pulls me close. His hands drift to the small of my back, downright possessive, hotter than that ring of his I can feel through the thin silk, imprinting against my skin.
He’s kissing me now.
Oh my God.
My. Husband. Is. Kissing. Me!
And I’m kissing him back with a force that moves the world.
Because as long as I have Holt, I have everything.
I have my world, my sky, my stars.
I’ll never let anything take him away.
* * *
No matter what the rom-com movies say, nobody has a clue how exhausting a wedding and reception really are until they’ve lived through their own.
Or planned someone else’s.
I think Sierra might faint soon.
I’m feeling pretty burned out myself by the time we’re through speeches, toasts, cake, dancing, tossing the bouquet right into Felicity’s clenched hands, and being whirled through everyone who wants to congratulate us, tease us, or give Holt ginormous heaps of crap.
He doesn’t know what to do with it when Blake and the guys tease him relentlessly.
Honestly, it’s adorable.
But I remember one night months ago when Holt told me about how he always felt shut out from his older brother and his friends. Now they’re good friends.
Being part of something big with them and getting accepted into their pack must be kinda jarring in a good way, I guess.
It’s almost evening before we steal away.
We’re supposed to be escaping to our honeymoon.
Everyone pretends to not notice we’re sneaking off behind their backs, piling into Holt’s truck—rickety as it is—in our fancy duds, the whole vehicle tricked out in ribbons and flowers that just make it look even shabbier.
Before we hit the road, we’ve got one more stop.
I get to watch in my wedding dress while Holt and Alaska, both of them in tuxes, break ground with a shovelful of dirt each on the site that will be a new road leading to Ursa.
