How Princess Bride of You
EXTON
The next year
“Dude, you’re fidgeting. Haven’t seen you nervous since before boot camp,” Braxton says, standing beside me.
“I’m not nervous.”
“Liar.”
“Shut up, Layton.”
His quiet chuckle forces me to relax. “I could be wrong—though I never have been before—but pretty sure she said yes to your ugly mug when you asked her to marry you. Said yes to moving back to Texas and is still at Pop’s, and hasn’t pulled a runaway bride. My money is on her showing.”
“Still rather this be done,” I say.
“Nothing says ‘living in the moment’ like wishing your own wedding was over.” That comes from Braxton.
“Really? I see the rock on Emberleigh’s finger. You’re not wishing that shit was legal already?”
“That’s different.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I reply, using the phrase he’s known for. “Sure it is.”
It’s February, and we’re standing in the grove of Japanese magnolias my mom planted eons ago. She said they heralded spring and new beginnings. Willa says it brings Mom into our wedding. I could never argue with that.
Unlike everything else in my life that has its place and time, our wedding date wasn’t set in stone. Willa wanted the magnolias to be in full bloom and that’s a tight window. They came in late last year due to a harsh winter. She said she’d know when, and she was right.
The pinks and purples and whites of the flower and the peek of green wanting to bud is the perfect backdrop. And it’s a small gathering, so we could make it work.
A cello starts. It’s all she wanted. And all I want is her. She told me what was important, and I made it happen.
I stare at my feet for one brief moment and take a deep breath, knowing my world will be rocked when I look up.
“Damn,” Layton says under his breath, and I growl. He laughs lightly again, but slaps a hand on my back and whispers, “Take a look, brother. You did good.”
I don’t need his commentary but do as he suggests and lose the breath in my lungs.
Willa walks toward me, arm in arm with her mother, who beams.
My bride has on an ivory sheath dress that plunges almost to Kulshedra’s talons between her breasts.
The long skirt almost touches the ground, swooshing as she walks.
It’s not full or puffy, but hangs from her hips with a slit up her left thigh.
It’s as if she’s tempting me with her dragon.
The whole thing is covered in sheer lace, including down her arms, but the head of her dragon is visible, muted though it is.
Kulshedra’s reds and oranges and yellows peek through the lace, so very Willa.
Her chest is bare. No necklace. Just her throat and that tempting full cleavage. The stony spikes of Kulshedra’s spine peek out from one thick strap.
Her dark hair is loose and wild, pinned up on one side, exposing her long neck. The teal is gone for now. She says color comes and goes. She has on very little makeup, but stunning blood-red lips that drive me mad.
“Breathe, Exton,” Brax whispers, and I follow his direction.
She makes her way through the handful of white chairs that hold our friends and family and kisses her mother before settling her into a chair.
That’s when I see it. The dress is backless, almost to her waist. One fiery-red dragon wing slides across her shoulder blade, exposed and vibrant. That’s my Willa.
She hands her mother her bouquet with a smile and walks to me, bold as brass, a smile breaking across her face.
“Damn, Willa, you are perfect,” I say and lean in for a kiss.
She laughs and looks to Pop, who will marry us. Also her request, which I made happen.
For her.
I kiss her exposed neck, instead, as Pop clears his throat.
“Dearly beloved,” he starts.
“Man and wife. Say ‘man and wife,’” I mutter.
Willa laughs again and whispers, “How Princess Bride of you,” and turns to Pop, teasing me with her neck and full cleavage and refusal to meet my gaze.
“Eyes, Willa,” I say with a growl. And she acquiesces.
I’m sure Pop says other stuff. All I know is that Willa says “yes” when asked if she’ll take me, and I say the same.
I place a diamond and sapphire wedding ring behind her engagement ring. She places a hammered titanium band on mine.
And as Pop begins the declaration, we hear, “Dada,” ring out and watch Colt toddle toward Braxton, arms raised high. “Up.” The crowd laughs, and Braxton obliges. Colt watches the rest of the ceremony from his father’s arms and claps when our family celebrates us being named man and wife.
I take Willa’s face in my hands and hold her eyes. “Love you, Mrs. Ranger. You’ve made me the happiest man alive.” I take her mouth, dipping her backward over my arm. The pretense of a chaste wedding kiss is gone; the hoots and hollers are all that bring me back to reality.
She whispers back, “Think you’re happy now? Just wait until October when you meet your baby.”
The laughter in her eyes and flowing from her chest is a sight that will stay burned on my brain forever.