Chapter 42 It Ends with a Wedding
It Ends with a Wedding
— T ODAY —
“Okay, Ames. You ready?” Martha asks. With my heart thumping in my ears, I nod. Just now it occurs to me that when the barn doors open, I’ll have to walk down the aisle with everyone’s eyes on me. How did I not realize it before? I’ll totally trip on this dress and fall face-first on the grass. People will have to leave their chairs to help me up. I’ll probably squish my bouquet in the process.
And of course, because this was sprung on me at the last minute, I didn’t prepare any vows. And the whole formula you need to say: I would have repeated it a little in my head last night if I knew I’d be getting married today. I know the officiant will tell us the exact words, but what if I forget the next ones halfway through? And who goes first? Is it me or him?
“You’re so pretty,” a young girl in a green dress says. She’s holding a basket, so I assume she’s the flower girl, but I’ve never seen her before.
“Oh, th-thanks.”
“Ames?” Barb grips my elbow. “Are you all right?”
I am. Of course I am. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I kind of wish the wedding were over already so I could just be married to Ian. That part I’m not struggling with. “Just nerves.”
“Okay. Take a minute,” Martha says.
I nod, breathing through my nose. I could use a minute, and brides are always late anyway.
But the child keeps asking me questions. “Is the dress heavy?” and “Why didn’t you buy it in pink?” and “Is your boyfriend blond?” I normally don’t know how to approach kids, but this one I’d gladly shoo away like a stray dog.
“Where—where’s Ian?” I ask as I ignore the latest onslaught of questions.
“At the altar.” Barb exchanges a worried look with Martha. “That’s where the groom usually is. What’s going on, Ames? Are you—”
“Can you get him?”
She nods, squeezing my hand, then walks out the door. The music begins before stopping abruptly as the band realizes the bride isn’t following. A couple of minutes later, Barb is back, followed by my beautiful fiancé with his eyes closed.
“Hey,” he says as Barb positions him in front of me. I’ve seen him in his suit already, but it hits me all over again just how handsome he is. His hands find my arms and he smiles. “Are you ditching this wedding too?”
“No,” I rush to say. “Did I worry you?”
He tilts his head. “I’m waiting to see where this goes.”
Barb and Martha walk away, giving us some space, and, to my relief, they take the chatty girl with them.
“Sorry,” I say as soon as we’re alone. “I guess I just… panicked a little. I wanted to see you.” I smile, though he can’t see me. “You can open your eyes. You’ve seen the dress plenty already.”
“You panicked?” His fingers locate mine as he keeps his eyes closed. “If you’re rethinking it, we can take our time and—”
“I’m not. I’m just… I never realized how daunting it is to walk down the aisle. And with a long dress too. Plus, I don’t have vows and I don’t remember who says them first and—wait, at what point do we sign? Trev is religious. There isn’t a priest at the altar, is there? Because—”
“ Ooookay ,” he interrupts as his fingers squeeze tighter. “You’re definitely panicking. I thought you loved weddings.”
“I thought so too.”
He leans forward and gives me a peck on my cheek, then my lips. With a smile, he whispers, “First of all, it’d be hilarious if you tripped. Not immediately, but eventually. Plus, it can’t get any worse than being naked, covered in butter, and—oops. Taboo topic. Moving on.”
“I don’t even know why I’m marrying you,” I mutter.
He raises one finger. “Gorgeous.” Two fingers. “Rich.” Three fingers. “Trembling orgasms.”
When I swat his arm, he drapes it around me and exhales softly. “You know, if your dad walked you down the aisle, the whole tripping scenario would be much less likely. I’m sure he’d be happy to hold you up.”
Maybe, but I don’t want him to. Though I’m glad he’s here today, and his words meant a lot to me, it took him thirty years to say them, and it stings. I’d be happy to give him a chance to fix our relationship, but one moment doesn’t change everything that happened before, unfortunately.
“Would you walk with me?” I ask.
“Me?” His eyebrows rise. “Don’t you want me to wait at the altar? Watch my expression when I see you? It goes like this.” His face contorts into a half frown and half smile, and with a fake sob he brings a fist to his lips and shakes his head.
“You’re the worst.”
“I’m just saying, I feel lucky every time I look at you, and though you look gorgeous in that dress, you look just as good in your I’m not as think as you drunk I am T-shirt. Or naked.”
Holding a hand on his cheek, I smile. God, I love this absurd man. He’s always happy, always positive and up for everything.
Except dairy.
“Not that I don’t love the whole staged performance you have planned, but I think I’d rather have you walk down the aisle with me.” I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his lips, resting my hands on his shoulders. “Open your eyes, Ian.”
He does, the light and dark blues warming up my heart and soothing my nerves all at once. “Hi.”
“Hello.”
When I step back, his eyes roll down my body. He presses his lips tightly together, blinks, then blinks again. “Fuck, Amelie. You…”
Are his eyes dewy?
“Beautiful Amelie.” He points at the bouquet. “What happened to your red roses?”
“Unpopular opinion: yellow daisies are much more beautiful.”
“Agreed.” With a nostalgic smile, he holds out his hand to me. “Ready?”
Taking it in mine, I nod, a roaring waterfall of feelings in my chest. “Fuck yeah.”
Maybe some people actually listen to what the officiant is saying, but I’m not one of them. I’m thinking about a million things, and even if I were paying attention, all I can hear is my heart beating annoyingly in my ears.
The view isn’t bad either. Ian’s in front of me, our hands together since we walked down the aisle. I didn’t know the perfect wedding included storming in with your future husband, barely giving the band time to catch up, but I’m sure of it now. It should be a standard part of any ceremony.
The wedding is beautiful, and I’m sure if I bothered checking I’d find all the things I’ve always wanted. But I’m too busy looking at the one thing I want: my soon-to-be husband. He’s not listening, either, I can tell. He’s smiling like a hopeless fool, looking gorgeous in his linen suit as if it’s a second skin.
When the officiant waves her hand between us, we both turn to look at her smiling face as the guests chuckle. “I think the two of you are on your honeymoon already.”
I smile, grateful I’m wearing a ton of makeup when heat moves up my cheeks. “Sorry.”
“Have you prepared your own vows?”
“Oh.” I meet Ian’s gaze, and when he gives me a “Let’s wing it?” shrug, I nod. “Yes, sort of.”
“Ian, the floor is yours.”
Widening his eyes, he huffs out a breath. “We know who goes first, I guess.”
His mouth opens, his shoulders rising and falling quickly. He swallows, then opens his mouth again and shakes his head, an amused smile bending his lips, as if he’s surprised nothing’s coming out.
“I can go first,” I offer.
“No, no, I—”
“Really, I can go first.”
He nods, his shoulders relaxing as the guests laugh again.
“I…” My mind’s completely empty. Not one single thing. I think we might be here all day. “I’m not… great at making choices, but you, Ian, are the one choice I know for a fact I won’t regret.”
He nods, bringing a finger to his left eye.
“I have no doubt I’ll choose you every day. I’ll choose us over and over again. I’ll choose to love you and trust you and grow with you.” With a smile, I squeeze his hand in mine. “Whether or not we’re here because we’re destined for one another—if fate brought us together—has nothing to do with it. From today on, I choose you. And I’ll do it in every big and small moment, in any world and any lifetime. You’re my most certain choice.”
I kiss him, and as I lean back, Ian smiles. After hesitating for a while more, he shakes his head. “Wow. That’s a tough act to follow.”
Gentle spurts of laughter come from the crowd as he hesitates.
“There’s no word that feels just right. They’re all… not permanent enough.” Looking down for a few seconds, he clears his voice; then he stares deeply into my eyes as if we don’t have any audience at all. “I wasn’t looking for anything when I found you. I liked you and I wanted you, but I didn’t want love.” He shakes his head. “I fell for you without noticing, because it didn’t feel like falling; it felt like standing. So fucking high.” He inhales sharply with a hiss, looking embarrassed and throwing a look at the officiant. “Oh, shit—sorry. And sorry again.”
When the woman waves him off, he turns to me. “You became my best friend, and my home, and my safe place, and at the same time my craziest adventure. Until at some point you weren’t just in my life: you were all of it.”
I swallow a sob. The feelings he is expressing are so familiar, it’s like he plucked them out of my brain.
“Today I vow to you, Amelie, that I’ll let you listen to Beyoncé whenever you want, though she’s definitely overrated. That the best years of our life aren’t your twenties. They’re yet to come, and we’ll spend them together. That I’ll never pronounce another Q-word ever again if that’s what you want. That I’ll take you on road trips, and if Christmas is your favorite holiday, then I’ll make it memorable every single year.” He grins widely. “I vow to always make sure your champagne comes with cheese nachos, to always talk during a movie, and to come up with the cheesiest pickup lines your heart can take.” He steps closer, holding both of my hands in his. “I promise to buy you flowers and to always value your opinions, popular or unpopular.”
I almost expect the guests to stand up and clap, but when there are only sniffles and sobs, I cover his lips with mine. “I love you and also I hate you for being so good at this,” I say in a choked-up voice. I can’t imagine the state of my makeup right now. Waterproof’s one thing, but Ianproof is another.
“Yeah?” he whispers. “Now can you please be my wife?”
“Yes.”
The officiant continues with the ceremony, and besides speaking when I’m asked to, then signing, then kissing, it all blurs together. We walk back up the aisle as husband and wife, then we dance and we eat and we talk to the guests who managed to be here despite the late notice. There are plenty of empty tables, our dance is to the notes of a song neither of us knows, and Ian eats only one of the several dishes planned for dinner, yet it’s as perfect as it can get.
I know, because by the time most of the guests have left and I’m dance-napping on my husband’s shoulder, there’s a peaceful smile on my face. The smile of someone who has found their happy place.
“What about our honeymoon?”
“Hmm?”
He kisses my forehead, then pushes some hair off my cheek. “Our honeymoon? Are we jumping on Martha and Trevor’s?”
“No, they’re going. They got time off work, so they’ll do the honeymoon first and the wedding later.”
“Another wedding, huh?”
“Yep. But judging on what she has planned, you won’t even notice it’s one.”
He kisses my nose, runs his hands over my back, holds me as close and tight as he possibly can. “So what’s next for us?”
“Good question.” We’re starting over, and it’s not scary as long as it’s with Ian, but the possibilities are limitless. All I know is that I’ll never have to live another day without talking to him. Another day sending him pickup lines and waiting for an answer back. And for now, that’s enough.
Which reminds me: “Which was the line that made you smile?”
“Excuse me?”
I look up into my husband’s kind blue eyes. “The pickup lines I texted you when I was blocked on your phone? There was one that made you smile.”
“They all made me smile.”
“But one made you smile more ,” I insist.
His eyes narrow for a moment, and once it hits him, his eyes widen. “Oh, right.” He kisses my jaw, then my cheek, my nose, my lips. “Know what’s on the menu?”
As he flashes the brightest smile at me, my heart flutters.
I do know what’s on the menu.
“Me ’n’ u.”