Chapter Twenty-One
Pierce
It was my wedding day.
As a small child, I used to play wedding all the time. I’d put on my only suit jacket, march down the hallway holding a bouquet of flowers, and imagine myself walking toward my person. Back then, I thought it would be just one person, someone I’d love forever. We’d walk down the aisle in front of family and friends and become husbands.
Only…this wedding wasn’t going to be anything like that. It was going to be a thousand times better. Because there weren’t just two of us—there were three. And we weren’t only going to be husbands; we were already mates. They were my ride or die for life.
We couldn’t get legally married as a triad in this country. They were stuck in the couple model of matrimony. I wished it weren’t the case, but it was.
Instead, we worked with a lawyer to draft a three-person contract. It wasn’t anything like the first “contract” Rafe had offered me that night ages ago—this one gave us shared rights, medical protections, and made sure we were seen as a family, even if the law didn’t quite know what to do with us. Legally, I was marrying Rafe on paper, mostly for parental and practical reasons. The lawyer had told us that was smartest for me to be one of the “really married” ones, given I was already pregnant.
I hated the way he called it “really” as if our commitment was somehow more than for the person not married under the law. We were mates first and foremost and that was all that mattered.
And I didn’t really care about the legal side of this marriage. Not the contract. Not who had whose name on what.
What I cared about was the three of us coming together in front of the people who mattered to us and saying, “We’re in this for life.”
The officiant had seemed unsure at first about the three-person format. He mumbled something about licensing and tradition. But once he saw the venue and the amount of money we were putting into this thing, he suddenly decided it was the coolest idea ever. His rate didn’t go up, either. It wasn’t about immediate money. If I were to guess, he was hoping someone else in the crowd would want to book him next after officiating such a lavish affair.
Whatever his reasoning, I didn’t care. He was on board. That was enough.
We were all wearing tuxes. Rafe was in a stunning deep-purple one that looked nearly black until the sun hit it, and then it lit up like royalty. I went with classic black, just like I’d always imagined except a whole lot larger—boring, sure, but I loved it. And Quill’s was a navy so dark you had to squint to see if it was blue or not.
The three of us together? We looked amazing.
The officiant offered us the option to have one or two of us stand at the front while the other walked down the aisle. But my mates weren’t comfortable with anything that felt like an “alpha waits while omega walks” dynamic. And honestly, I wasn’t either. So we said no.
Instead, we walked together, arm in arm in arm, down the aisle as our friends and family looked on. Not one of us leading. All of us stepping forward at the same time, toward the rest of our lives.
The ceremony itself was short and sweet. We didn’t change the vows too much, just enough to reflect who we were. We promised to love and support each other through good times and bad. We vetoed the whole obey thing. No weird power dynamics for us. Just love, respect, and commitment.
I barely remember the words, the emotions of the ceremony choking me up, my eyes tearing up. The joy of becoming one, not just in name but for all to see, was more intense than I expected it to be. I was glad my mates pushed me to embrace the human side of our commitment.
Standing there, with the two people I loved most, surrounded by those who loved us—it was everything.
Then the officiant smiled and said, “You may now kiss your husbands.”
Applause exploded around us as we each leaned in for our first kiss as husbands. It was shorter than I wanted it to be but, as much as I loved watching my mates make out and having them watch me, I was pretty private about our intimacy, and short and sweet was worth it.
We didn’t want a stuffy reception. So, instead of renting out a fancy restaurant for our venue, and having extravagant plated dinners, we opted to have our own version of an ice cream festival on the most gorgeous grounds we could find.
It was epic.
We had one huge tent with a DJ and dance floor for anyone who wanted to dance the night away. Another tent for finger foods and seating for those who maybe wanted to avoid the sugary goodness. But the main event? Fifteen food trucks. All ice cream themed. From soft-serve to sorbet, cones to sundaes, classic vanilla to stuff like wasabi honey and toasted marshmallow caramel swirl. And the variety of cones available? I hadn’t even known they existed before and I’d been to the ice cream festival we took our inspiration from.
It was magic. There was really no other word to describe it.
“What do you think?” Quill asked, holding out a spoon with something pale green on it.
I leaned in to sniff. “Is that…broccoli ice cream?”
“Try it!”
I would not be trying it. “No way. It’s my wedding day. I’m not eating green-vegetable ice cream.”
He popped the spoon into his mouth. “Your loss.”
“Highly doubt it,” I said, laughing. “I’m sticking to my bubble waffles.” I didn’t know why they were so addictive, but they were. Especially with whipped cream and strawberries. They were one of my biggest pregnancy cravings, and today was no exception.
“I have an idea,” Rafe said, his mouth full of Italian ice.
“Oh?” He had all of my attention. He always did.
“What if we ditched the rest of the party?”
“You want to ditch our wedding?” I asked, more amused than surprised.
“I mean, we’ve danced, we’ve mingled, we’ve eaten enough ice cream for an entire summer season…and I think we deserve to end this day our way.”
“Works for me,” Quill said without missing a beat.
“Me too.” Like I was going to turn down alone time with my men.
We polished off the rest of our ice cream, thanked the wedding planner and let them know what we were up to, and slipped away without fanfare, just the three of us, hands intertwined, heading for the honeymoon suite in the fanciest hotel in town.
The perfect ending to the perfect wedding.