Chapter Thirty-Seven To the Bride and Groom
“ Y ou know, your father and I didn’t wait too long to get married, either. When you know, you know. You want to get started on your forever as soon as possible. You can’t bear to be without them.” My mother stares wistfully at my father as he hauls stumps into a circle around the fire pit. Tonight is Douglas’ hunt.
My mother’s breath catches, and her hand scatters cheese cubes into the roasted red pepper and feta dip that Georgie just sat on the table. “Mom! Watch what you’re doing!” I quickly scoop out cheese cubes and suck them down. “Stop checking out dad’s backside.”
My mother waves me away. “He’s in a kilt! I love it when he wears his kilt. He doesn’t do it enough.” She fans herself.
I rise and throw open the window with a roll of my eyes. “Oh my God. Doug!” I shout, a stiff September breeze suddenly whipping my hair around.
“Yes, love?” Doug thumps an armful of logs and brush into the fire pit and brushes himself down, smiling at me with one cheek upturned, eyes narrowed in the light of the setting sun.
Fuck, that’s one handsome devil. He has no right to look so edible when he squints!
“See?” My mother is at my side, hand resting on her throat as if she’s trying to control the animal lusts dying to burst free.
I groan and address my comments to Douglas. “Tell my dad not to bend over so far. Mom is having hot flashes.”
“Erm. What?” Douglas looks like he’d rather jump into the firepit than give my dad that particular message.
“I’ll do no such thing!” My father crows, flexing one bicep and sauntering—no, swaggering —up toward the house. “She’ll no’ be havin’ a hot flash—she’s just plain hot!”
“Ian!” My mother squeals.
My father roars.
They’re going to be out running around the yard for a few minutes.
“I hope we’re like that when we’ve been married thirty-odd years,” Douglas sighs, coming up to the window.
I push open the screen and lean down to kiss him.
“I solemnly vow,” I whisper.
We pull apart, sharing a small, private smile that’s only for each other.
“Happy?” I want to hear him say it a million times. I remember the years of grief he carried alone, and I want them to be fully shed, nothing but a memory. I don’t know if that’s even possible, but I still wish for it.
“Ecstatic. Are you ready to meet Finlay and his wife? And a handful of nieces and nephews?”
“As long as they’re not mad at me for missing Callum’s wedding in August!” Guilt gnaws on me. I should have gone, but I’ll be off for just under three weeks during our busiest season, September into October, for my wedding and then our “Highland Honeymoon.”
“No, lass, they understood. They’re all excited to see Ian and Farrah again and to meet Georgie and his wife.”
“I hope Dara’s dress fits,” I look over my shoulder at the pale peach, almost cream-colored dress that is supposed to fit my future sister-in-law, Finlay’s wife. Their youngest daughter, only twelve, is going to be my flower girl. I tried to pick dresses that would look good on Claire, Diana, Gloria, Dara, and Darlene, my new niece. Pale, pale peach that is just a few shades darker than the dazzling white mermaid gown I’ve picked is perfect for so many skin tones—including the green ones.
“Don’t fret. If Dara’s doesn’t fit, you can do your bit of magic on it.” Douglas encourages.
“I guess... I hope Gloria’s mastered her dress.”
“Gloria’s a ghost.”
“I know! But she has to touch and feel and like... memorize a dress to make herself appear in it,” I point out, biting my lip.
“I’m more concerned about your gown. When do I get to see this pretty white frock?”
“September 20th at six, and not a second before,” I say firmly.
“Tease.”
“You think that’s bad, wait until you see what I’ve got for the wedding night.”
Douglas lets out a hiss through gritted teeth. “Stop.”
“Can’t.” I flutter my lashes, confident that I look seductive—at least to Douglas.
I’m right. He clutches his chest in mock agony. “You’ll find me wandering in a drunken haze, you know. Love drunk, that is. Two more days until I can have you beside me again...”
I let out a little puff of air as my thighs clamp shut, trying to stop the aching throb. Douglas is moving in with me when we get back, but for right now, his house is full of Wickstaffs and my parents’ house is full of our relatives. My home and White Pines are wedding central for the wedding party, which means we haven’t had any “private” time lately.
Seems like I’ve done this bridal juggling a hundred times in the past few years, and with Georgie’s wedding just a few months ago, with so many of the same faces...
No. It doesn’t just seem the same. It seems vastly different and so special.
I’m finally the bride.
Douglas shouldn’t have worried about the wedding being small or hurried. The second I walked into work on the Monday morning after he proposed, his ring on my finger, Pine Ridge went into party-planning mode.
I suppose it is what we do best. With so many people finally finding a safe place and someone to love in this town, we’re always celebrating something .
Some would say it’s karmic. I’ve helped people make their special days shine, and now the entire town seems to be hellbent on making sure mine is equally amazing. Not just the supernatural contingent, either—the whole town. Normal people who’ve been getting coffee at The Pine Loft for years, the hundreds of folks who’ve had their bridal showers, baby showers, and first dates at The Pine Loft are all coming together. (Okay, it’s not the whole town, but I bet it’ll be a good chunk.)
White Pines is officially “open” for the wedding, but the reception is by invitation only.
“You’re tearing up, pet.”
“I was just remembering that Cindy and Lennox were helping at White Pines yesterday. You know he’s the gardener.”
“I remember.”
“They had to put out every folding chair they own, and Gloria rented another two hundred. Don’t worry! She’s footing the bill. Part of her wedding gift.”
If I expected Douglas to blanch, he doesn’t. He beams. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
“Because we don’t have to pay to re-sod the lawn after 600 guests trample through it with high heels?” I wince. “Maybe we should make Lennox some vegetarian lasagna when we get back. Like—a lot of vegetarian lasagna.”
“I’m the luckiest man because everyone in the world wants my wife—but my wife just wants me.” He presses a kiss on my hand and sighs when my parents stream into view, my father now chasing my mother. “I have to go chuck a bucket of water over Ian.”
“Sounds good, babe. I’m going to go help Claire and Diana finish setting up the dessert trays.”
As I walk away, I have to check to make sure my feet actually connect with the ground. I’m floating.
Two days until he’s mine.
“brEATHE.” GEORGIE FENCLAN slams an iron palm in between my shoulder blades.
I don’t think my brother-in-law-to-be gives smiles away easily, so I’m quite touched when he clasps my shoulder in his steely grip with a kindly grin. “Don’t pass out. And don’t lock your knees, man. Kilts are dangerous things.”
“Aren’t they?” We manage to chuckle together.
“But handy for other things.” Finlay slaps me on the other shoulder.
I roll my eyes. My brother can get away with saying that to me—but probably not in front of Georgia’s brother.
Pastor Fortnum clears his throat. “Couldn’t have a more lovely evening for a wedding. The torches are lit. Sunset comes up fast.”
I look out into the garden. Twinkling white lights dance from pole to pole. Invited guests sit in chairs up front. Townie well-wishers crowd the back, taking the last rows and standing behind. In the far distance, out in the gazebo, I see figures in white and blush peach.
“Come and take your places, lads,” Ian calls, adjusting the snowy white pelt that crosses his chest.
He comes over and envelopes me in a hug that would crush a horse. He mutters, “I’ll go fetch your bride, son.”
Bloody hell. I try not to break down in sobs. “Thanks, Ian.”
“Aye. It’s all right.” He stands back and beams, broad face glowing. “Better than all right—the best I could ask for.” He pats Georgie’s arm as he leaves us. “Both my bairns have the finest mates a father could ask for.”
BAGPIPES START. MY heart flies and can’t be caught.
Gloria is out first. I know some of the people won’t be able to see her, so it makes sense for her to lead. She turns and gives me a wink. “You look gorgeous, sugar.”
Diana.
Dara.
Claire.
I resist the urge to pluck at the perfect nails that Janet at Hot Tips did this morning.
“Sweetie?”
My father’s voice is a soft boom, like distant waves crashing on far-off shores.
“I think... I think I have stage fright. It’s my turn.”
Darlene goes, peach rose petals, bits of purple heather, and sections of green fern swirl from her jade green hand.
“You just have to take this one walk, and then you fly into his arms. I practically raised that boy,” My father boasts, chest puffed out. “He loves you more than life, and he’ll catch ye and hold ye fast. You have nothing to fear with us behind you and him ahead of you.”
“You’re making me cry.”
“It’s very mutual.” My father dabs his eyes with the handkerchief that he’s got tucked in his fist.
The music switches, and I suck in air, the tight bodice of my gown and hip-hugging satin sheath feeling like a full-body corset for a split second.
“That’s us, love.” Cello and violin soar along with the softer chanter pipe, and my feet come unglued. Dad and I move as one.
Douglas is waiting for me. He’s been waiting longer than anyone knows.
PASTOR FORTNUM IS A nice steady sort of bloke. Orcs and vampires don’t unsettle him in the slightest. He welcomes us all, dabbing his eyes, mentioning how he feels like he’s part of the Fenclan family after all these weddings. A soft chuckle runs through the assembled masses, but I only have eyes for Georgia, just one arm’s length away from me.
Finlay steps up, still limping slightly. “I will now welcome Georgia to the Wickstaff Clan with the reading of our Code and Creed.”
Georgia nods along, beautiful face so serene and grave. Doesn’t she feel like her insides are full of warring squirrels? Or is that just me?
Georgie steps up, smoothing his long blonde braid as he holds the sides of the pulpit in a death grip to recite the Duties of Marriage.
“I, George Macbeth Axeblade Fenclan, brother of the bride, ally of the Wickstaff Clan, and brother in honorable combat and in peace, am charged with reading The Duties of Marriage.”
I have to listen harder. Do better. Can’t fail again.
The nagging voice echoes, no matter what I’ve learned about Nicola, no matter how much I’ve let go of the old doubts and fears.
“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.”
Georgia leans over and grabs my hand, nodding. “That’s right,” she whispers, perfectly confident.
Her brother sighs. “Georgia, this bit is for you.” The congregants laugh again. “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.”
“I will. I promise.” Her fingers tighten on mine, and I pull her to my side, formalities be damned.
She will. We will.
I lean and press a kiss to her shining curls, blonde swirls arranged so artfully today. She’s a living masterpiece, and I’ve always thought so.
It was only a few months ago that I dreamed of having her on my arm, and here she is. I told myself I was wrong for love, and that I could never dare to approach her, lest I ruin her happiness.
Short admonitions and scriptures drift by as we stand hand-in-hand, and when it is time for the vows, Georgia speaks first.
“You are all the happiness I’ve dreamed of finding. I’ll work hard to make every day together a joy. I’ll never shut you out of my head, my heart, or our home. You are the precious gift that I never thought I’d find. You are proof that good things come to those who wait—and I’d wait for you forever.”
I have to swallow three times before I can speak—and I have to wait for the sobbing and awwing to die down a bit.
“Georgia Fenclan. From the second I saw you, I dreamed about being your husband. I didn’t think I was worthy of your love—and I couldn’t bear to ask you to risk your happiness on me. Your bright smile and patience taught me not to give up on finding love—and now that I have found it with you, I’ll never let it go. I’ll never let you want for anything, and I’ll strive to be the friend and confidant you need, to be the safe place you are for me and for so many others.” I reach out to slide one marveling finger down her cheek and trace her tremulous smile. “I thought you were my second chance—but you are more. You are my everything, and I pray I can be everything and anything you want or need.”
There’s silence, and then Pastor Fortnum clears his throat. “Well. These vows are just the icing on the cake, folks.”
“We are the cake,” Georgia whispers to me, and we laugh together, as we promise to love in sickness and health, want and plenty, good times and bad, until death do us part.
But I have a feeling that even in the afterlife, I won’t leave her side.
“You may kiss the bride,” Fortnum’s voice slams into my brain as I stare at the thick gold circle on my finger, a mark of love and belonging I thought I’d never see again, one I thought I had no right to hope for.
She’s mine.
I sweep Georgia into my arms and kiss her like no one is watching, hands clutching her bare back and mussing her perfect sweeps of golden curls and white pearl clips.
A raucous cheer sets up, and the pipes blare to life. I don’t walk Georgia down the aisle, I carry her, beaming like the luckiest man in the world.
Because I am.