The Wedding Crush

Chapter Twenty-Three

Stefano

The afternoon of the wedding, I’m a little on the tipsy side.

Nerves.

Not because of my brother’s impending nuptials. No, more than ever, I now understand his rush down the aisle. Heck, I’d be right there with him today if I thought that’s what Avery wanted. Funny enough, the past two weeks I’ve seen some major milestones in my life. I’ve professed my undying love, proposed marriage, and discovered I’m fathering a child, yet I’m cool as a cucumber about those things.

It’s the entrance dance.

I manage a major conglomerate of companies. I run board meetings with billionaires and high-profile clients. How have I developed stage fright over a pairs entrance dance in front of a mere fifty-two people?

To say it’s ridiculous is an understatement.

Mother Nature is working her magic. It’s the last day of September, and the sun is low in a picturesque, summery, bright aqua blue sky. It’s warm and cozy. The main lawn is set up with chairs and a rustic wooden arch draped in lavender and white flowers, and baby’s breath. Freaking baby’s breath!

To boot, the entire scene overlooks the vineyard’s panoramic view of Napa Valley’s lush landscape and mountainous horizons worth celebrating.

That’s not even the half of it.

Business-wise, today is a huge deal for our vineyard and winery. Major bridal magazine correspondents are here to features us. Lifestyles of the Rich and Wedded is filming an episode. Our lodging partners are booked, winery subscriptions are up, and our wedding packages are selling out.

Everything is falling into place, and all I can focus on are the four eight-counts I’ve got to pull off to make it to the end of the aisle.

I don’t want to embarrass Avery.

Shit.

Behind us, the deejay whispers to Marcello and Monica, “You’re up,” amplifying my mounting panic.

Showtime.

A minute later, the upbeat chorus of Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love” spring into the air. Sparkly lavender bridesmaid dress and all, Monica struts to the center of the aisle like it’s a catwalk.

The guests jolt to their feet, swaying, clapping, and singing along.

I’ve got to say, Monica’s twerking game is wildly accurate. A fact Marcello clearly appreciates as he licks his lips. He’s all shoulders and swerving head movements as he circles her, nodding to the beat.

By the time, he takes her hand, and they split the arch, the music changes.

Mike and Seneca take us back with Donna Summer’s “Last Dance,” straight Seventies mode. Beyond her long, thick natural hair cascading down her back, their tactic is limited to playing the crowd. No match for Monica’s strut-twerk, I think, when Avery nudges me with her shoulder.

“Almost ready to show them how to do this?” Avery smiles up at me. I’m lost in her sparkly brown eyes widening with amusement.

I’m sure she can tell I’m nervous.

She sees me.

Honestly, I think she saw through my walls even before I knew I’d put them up.

“I’m getting there,” I say, after a beat.

Like she always seems to know how to calm me, she slips her hand in mine, sending cool relief spiraling down my back. She steadies me. In a world where I’d found myself adrift, she anchors me.

Leaning in, I press my lips to her forehead. For a beat, I linger, letting her sweet floral scent band around me.

At the end of the aisle, Valerie responds to Everett’s stellar pining and courting acting skills that ended with him on one knee, with an exuberant yes.

As they bow and curtsy, Chiara appears, arm in arm with Jameson at my side.

“Watch and learn,” she says.

Then the music plays.

They take the aisle with Earth, Wind Fire’s nostalgic and apt “September,” instantly reviving the crowd. Even though, in my opinion, their montage of hip thrusts and Hustle steps won’t likely take the medal, it’s a soul classic. Between Frankie Beverly and Maze, and Earth, Wind Fire, it’s almost offensive to our ancestors not to honor this song with dancing and singing.

Jameson twirls and spins Chiara until they’re almost to the arch.

“We’ve got this. Ready?” Avery asks as we take our places.

I suck in a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs. As I slowly release it through my nose, I steel myself for the next thirty seconds.

“Always, when I’m with you.”

Avery fists the fabric of her dress.

Then the music starts.

Out the gate, Avery and I are an explosion of bouncing, hard-hitting beats to “Let’s Get Married” by Jagged Edge. In sync, we pop, lock, and break, throwing in everything from the Dougie and the Running Man to Krumping, the Jerk, and the Cabbage Patch.

How, in a diamond-encrusted, off-the-shoulder lavender maid of honor gown Avery commands the spotlight, I don’t know. But she top rocks. She back rocks. She power moves with the best of them. And the fast footwork in heels?

Amazing.

“Let’s get married!” The deejay goads the guests to sing along.

Before the first eight-count ends, it’s officially a party.

Dante and Enzo walk out from the right of arch, dancing along with the guests as he makes his way to the arch. The rest of the wedding party is following our moves. Even as Dylan’s four-year-old daughter, Danielle, peppers the aisle with flower petals and Ace holds the satin pillow with the rings tied to it like a champ, the deejay looks like he wants Enzo to hurry up and officiate this ceremony, so we can get to the reception.

“Ayyy…” The deejay hypes us up on the mic. “All right, ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a hand to our wedding party. Then stay on your feet. It’s the time we’ve all been waiting for…”

At his cue, a guest seated in the back steps out from the rows of chairs with a violin. It’s not a string quartet or an orchestra, just a single instrument. But as she lifts it to her chin and gently glides the bow against it, I don’t hear the music.

I feel every word of “I Will Always Love You.”

While every pair of eyes is trained on Morgan in her white dress gracefully marching toward Dante, I can’t take mine off Avery.

Sometimes, I still don’t know how I got so lucky.

Two months ago, my confidence wasn’t simply knocked. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to explore new sexual, let alone romantic relationships. Then the woman who I thought was Morgan’s overprotective, Rubik’s cube, mind-boggling best friend burst into my life like a rainbow cannonball. I thought she was too young, too immature, and I wasn’t ready to start again. I was listening to ridiculous, problematic podcasts try to learn what this woman taught me in a matter of weeks.

No two loves are the same, so there’s no comparing where we’ve been with where we’re going together. There’s no best time to fall in love. No prescribed number of days or years because it can’t be measured in time, only timing and readiness.

My heart lurches.

I look out at our mothers, friends, and family—and the Gossip Set—aware and watching, and I can’t imagine a future without Avery and Ace, and the blessing growing inside her.

Because of them I have purpose and passion. There’s no best time to fall in love.

They’re my silver lining.

With Ace’s tiny hand in hers, we stand on either side of her best friend and my brother, staring at each other as they promise to love and honor one another as long as they both shall live. As they kiss, and the guests erupt in elated cheers, my eyes water.

“We did it!” They raise their connected hands victoriously as they jump the broom then walk toward the two-handed saw.

Tears prick my eyes, and I know I’m ready to share this with Avery.

So, when she glances over at me, I mouth, I love you.

Through the celebratory recessional, and both Avery’s maid of honor and my best man speeches, I tell her again. After the food and cake have been served, and the best California-grown wine is flowing and the Electric Slide packs the dance floor, I remind her with my kisses. Even once the bouquet is tossed and we lift sparklers into the air, forming a tunnel for Dante and Morgan to pass through on the way to their honeymoon, when the guests taper off and the taillights fade down the vineyard drive, I’m certain.

I’ll never tell Avery as many times as she should hear those words to fill the void years of heartache left behind.

But I know I want to try.

With a sleepy Ace on my shoulder, I lead her back to the dance floor for the last song of the night. As she rests her head on my chest and we sway to the tinkling ivories of John Legend’s “All of Me,” I take a mental snapshot of this moment, committing it to memory.

My heart stutters. “I love you,” I say for the millionth time.

Avery lifts on her toes to kiss me.

Except it’s cut short when Ace, who I could’ve sworn was on the edge of snoring, pops his head up. He looks me straight in the eyes, and asks, “You love me, too?”

Avery and I are putty.

We’re nothing more than tears and mush.

“Especially you, Lightning,” I say, mustering the energy and charisma of his favorite racer Corvette. “Ka-chow! I love you to the moon and back.”

Avery laughs through her tears.

As he wraps his tiny arms around Avery and me, and squeezes with all his might, I feel whole.

Everything inside me melts because I’m a fool. I rushed in faster than fast, and I haven’t looked back. With a love this fierce, this all-consuming, how could anyone put a time on love? For Avery, Ace, and his brother or sister, I’m willing to be the blissful fool as I learn how to be a father and the best husband I can be. I’m the luckiest man alive to get to spend forever giving all of me—all my heart—for our family.

A love like this is…

Timeless.

The End