Chapter Twenty-Seven All the Stars
Hilltop Home’s lobby glistens like a winter wonderland.
I worry Mrs. Y crocheted herself into a coma when I spot the white bridal runner leading between rows of chairs lined with red Lumberjacks’ Tushy Cushy stadium pads and draped with sparkling white yarn doilies.
“Who?” I ask, pointing to the rows of red vinyl pads.
“Coach and a couple of guys from the team came over this morning with all the overstock from last season’s Tushy Cushy night. Is it tacky?”
“No. Actually. They’re red and white, and those are our colors. Those were always going to be our colors.”
“And they’re damn comfy. You can take them away over my lumbago’d ass.” Lester says, sitting defiantly.
King nods as cars pull in. “Most of the team is here. Ian and Farrah are back in Steve’s room.
The orchestra sent over the concert master, principal second, first viola, and first cello, so we have a string quartet to play us in and out.
Uh... All the dogs have been given complimentary bowties or bandanas by Pet Village, and Fia is snapping away.
Bryce is in a tux that could cover a limousine, and sitting next to the “altar.” Jasper Wainwright and his cameraman are unloading. .. Should I tell them to go?”
“No. The more I look around... The more perfect this is.”
I’ve been to a lot of weddings—always a bridesmaid, never the bride. They didn’t have this amazing feel. Everyone here is working together, everyone here is happy, excited, part of something bigger than themselves. Everyone here wants to be here, is honored to be here, celebrating with us.
All of the friends here are King’s trophies—and all these people now hold me dear because of him. After years of carefully managing my peace by keeping people out, I have an abundance of joy and contentment by letting them in.
Neither of our biological families will be attending tonight, by our choice.
“It’s like Friendsgiving. This is the wedding you enjoy and relax at.
The stressful one will be in June... And you know what?
It’s not going to be that stressful. I’ll already be Mrs. Silverbow, married to the best guy ever, and we’ll just be showing off our dance moves.
” That’s one thing we’ll be skipping tonight.
There won’t be a big reception, just champagne and a simple three-tiered cake made by Cakes by Claire. ”
“We have to change.”
I look at King, startled. “No. We don’t. This is perfect. We’re... We’re perfect, not to brag, but together, with all of our flaws and all of the ways we lift each other up—we’re perfect, babe.”
“No. Oh, honey, that’s so sweet. But I meant I need to get into my kilt. You need to put on your dress.”
“Oh! Oh, yes. Mrs. Felice is letting Marina and me use her room. We’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll be waiting up front—the green guy in the kilt.”
“Clan Fenclan is present!” Ian Fenclan enters, arms thrown wide, resplendent in leathers, furs, and a kilt showing off the most muscular calves I’ve ever seen.
“I’ll be the younger green guy in a kilt,” King chuckles, kisses my cheek, and gives me a little nudge in the direction of my “dressing room.”
Kevin leads Chip and Daisy down the white runner.
The little tulle bags tied to their collars have had their bottoms snipped open in several places so that red rose petals fall with every happy step.
They strain to get to the reception desk, which is currently draped in a white satin tablecloth and a huge spray of white and red roses, ivy, and eucalyptus.
Pastor Fortnum stands behind it, beaming.
I stand in front of it, smoothing my suit jacket and trying not to tug at my kilt like some toddler. “I’m getting married,” I croak.
“Cold feet?” Bryce asks, sticking out one of his size thirty shoes.
“Yes. No! No, I’m afraid she’s going to realize that I still don’t have a plan or a career aside from hockey, and run away screaming.”
“She’s not marrying your career, she’s marrying you, idiot.” Bryce slaps my back hard enough that I glare.
“Don’t give me that chest impact stuff,” I mumble.
“I’m a yeti. I would have been fine.”
“Yeah, but if you hadn’t, the rest of us wouldn’t. Be careful, brother.”
Bryce’s hand turns gentle, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s a promise. Brother.”
The string quartet starts a united trill, and Marina appears in a siren red dress, walking past the back rows of chairs that fill the lobby.
The front rows are filled with our close friends and teammates, but the back is filled with the supernatural community of Pine Ridge—Mr. Minegold, the Fenclans and Wickstaffs, Jan Stilz and his wife, Alban and Harper and their kids.
.. So many people I thought were just fans. They’re friends. They’ve become family.
“I like that dress. It suits her,” Bryce compliments Marina, giving Kev a pat on the back as he stands next to us, still holding the dogs.
Kevin looks like he can’t breathe, mouth open, eyes popped. I nudge him to make sure he’s still with us. “We have damn fine wives. All three of us,” he finally manages to croak as Fia slinks around the chairs, capturing everything with her camera.
I’d like to reply, but then Ingrid enters, and it’s my turn to lose the ability to speak.
She’s gorgeous. The dress is white and long, and it looks like lace over some other soft, shimmery material.
Her hair is half up, half down, with a little sparkling circlet in it so she looks .
.. regal. Divine. A queen and a goddess, and she’s walking towards me with a wide smile, her arm tucked under Coach Torrey’s.
The aisle is short, but it seems like a million years until she’s here, and Pastor Fortnum asks, “Who presents this woman to be married?”
“I, Coach Torrey, friend of the bride and groom, present this woman to be married.”
Ingrid steps ahead of him, and I seize her hand, feeling air rush back into my lungs. “Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi,” she giggles back.
“And marriage is no small thing to be entered into lightly. Ingrid and King have asked Ian Fenclan to remind the assembled of the duties of marriage.”
Ian steps up and addresses the assembled guests like the formidable chieftain he is, standing like a mountain of wisdom and tusks as he speaks in a rumbling, solemn voice.
“I, Ian Fenclan, ally of the Silverbow Clan, and brother in honorable combat and in peace, am charged with reading The Duties of Marriage.” He unrolls a long, tattered scroll, but it’s for show.
He knows the words. He’s lived them, married to Farrah for decades.
“To all those who would wed or who have entered into that honorable union, mark these words.
Husbands, you are to provide for and protect always.
No harm shall ever come to your bride while breath ye draw.
Your strength is now hers, your speed, your skill, and all worldly goods with her shall ye share.
Whatever she lacks, ‘tis your duty to help her gain, until this world is no more, and then ye shall renew these vows in the hereafter.” His eyes rake over mine with steely warning, before they gentle and settle on Ingrid.
“Wives, you are to be all your husband’s glory and honor, his greatest treasure and blessing, his strength, hope, and comfort.
Raise up sons and daughters with him. Turn his loneliness to mirth, and his dwelling into a haven where he is ever content to be at your side.
He will never need want for another, for your love will always sustain him, as long as breath ye draw.
Your strength is now his, your speed, your skill, and all worldly goods with him shall ye share.
Whatever he lacks, ‘tis your duty to help him gain, until this world is no more, and then ye shall renew these vows in the hereafter. These are the chief duties of marriage, but God grant ye provision that you live long enough to discover millions more and the joy behind each one.”
To my surprise, the big, burly hockey players lining the groom’s side are snuffling and sobbing. I was worried they’d be cheering like we made a fourth-period comeback.
“That was beautiful, thank you, Ian. Now, Mrs. Yerchenko would like to read our text for today, which is taken from First Corinthians."
Mrs. Y totters up, and Ingrid and I smile as she nudges the pastor out of the way, heaves a deep breath that makes her chins wobble, and smacks her hand down on the altar.
“Listen! ‘Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered.’” She gives the two of us a severe look that softens as she continues.
“‘It keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.’” She clears her throat.
“I’ve seen you two grow from single people, people who didn’t know what it was like to share your lives with another, people who didn’t know what it meant to be in love—into this couple that I would bet my pension on being together until death do you part.
You two love each other in the big ways, but also in the small ways.
You don’t know this yet, but life only has a handful of big events, but a billion little ones.
I’ve watched you love each other through the little ones, like taking dogs to the park, remembering to get each other a soda, and learning each stage of a recovery.
Visiting in-laws. Moving house.” She stops, tears shining in her eyes, and reaches out a gnarled hand to touch each of our cheeks.
“Seeing you fall in love has done this old heart good. I can’t wait to watch it grow. ”
“Thank you,” Ingrid sniffles.
Bryce lets out a decidedly animalistic bellow into a handkerchief.