Chapter 25
GAGE
Ifind Amelia in our bedroom on her hands and knees crawling across the carpet.
Colin met me at the back door when I arrived at the house and advised me that Amelia had suddenly declared five minutes ago that the energy was weird downstairs and that she needed her wedding perfume to fix it, at which point she’d left everyone and come up to the bedroom.
Marin came with her, and I find them mid-conversation, both on their hands and knees, facing each other.
“I just think,” Amelia says, “it’s borderline deceptive. Like, what if in ten years I look back and think I tricked him with cheekbones I don’t even have?”
My lips twitch. She’s being absolutely serious about whatever it is she’s trying to say. I don’t know what I expected—possibly the same type of high my mother exhibited—but it wasn’t this.
Neither of them heard me arrive, so I lean against the doorframe, cross my arms, and just watch for a minute.
“You do have cheekbones,” Marin says, her voice perfectly calm.
“Not those cheekbones. Not the ones the glam squad told me they wanna give me.”
“Amelia. He didn’t propose to you because he loves your cheekbones.”
“He didn’t propose. I did.”
“And then he was the one who made it happen.”
“Wait. How do you know that? Did he tell you we’re already married?”
“No, you did, remember?”
Amelia looks horrified. “Did I? Shit, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.” She cocks her head. “Do you think I told anyone else? When did I tell you?”
“Calm down, babes. You just told me today, and only because you’re high. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Oh, thank god.”
“Okay, so back to your face. You can’t get married without makeup. I am one thousand percent positive you’ll regret that tomorrow.”
“But what if I look back at the photos and don’t recognize myself?”
Marin sits back on her heels. “Bestie. Respectfully? You’re spiraling. Like full send into the void right now.”
Amelia gives her a look. It’s the annoyed look I’ve seen her shoot Marin and Tim when they speak in slang she doesn’t understand. “Don’t say full send into the void.”
“You’re on the floor. Discussing cheekbones. While high.” Marin pauses. “That’s literally the definition of a spiral, which is, literally, a full send into the void.”
“I hate you so much.”
“I know you do but keep up. We’re running out of time here. Gage has seen you, like, a thousand ways. With makeup, no makeup, pre-morning-coffee, the ugly sex-face, mid-existential breakdown ugly crying—remember the banana bread incident?”
“Rude. I told you the banana bread thing in confidence and you said you’d never repeat it. Also, I don’t have an ugly sex-face.”
“I’m not dragging you, babes. I’m just saying the man is locked in.
He’s not gonna be like ‘wow, contour, this changes everything.’ He already chose you.
Repeatedly. With his whole chest.” She pauses.
“And everyone has an ugly sex-face. If you don’t, it means Gage hasn’t spiritually rearranged you while railing you yet.
And honestly, I’d call that a red flag.”
Amelia’s quiet for a second. Then, “Do you think the perfume is under the bed?”
“Babes. Focus. We’re talking about your face.”
“Right. My face.” Amelia nods solemnly. “The face I’m deceiving my husband with.”
“You’re not deceiving anyone. You’re just enhancing what’s already there. It’s called glam, not catfishing.”
“What if he thinks I look better in the photos than in real life?”
“Then he’s an idiot and you should divorce him.”
I can’t help it. I let out a low chuckle.
Both of them whip their heads around, eyes wide.
“Oh my god,” Amelia breathes. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to hear about the cheekbone conspiracy.”
“Perfect timing,” Marin says. “Tell your wife she’s being unhinged.”
I push off the doorframe and walk toward them. “You’re both on the floor.”
“We’re grounding,” Marin says, as if that explains everything. “The energy was weird downstairs.”
I crouch down in front of Amelia, and she immediately looks guilty.
“Hi,” she says softly.
“Hi, Princess.” I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You okay?”
“I ate a healing cookie.” She says this like she’s confessing a crime.
“I heard.”
“Tim’s a terrorist. He’s trying to take over my wedding. He said I have to serve lash.”
My mouth quirks. I don’t know what that means, but I know she doesn’t talk like that.
She’s stoned. She’s spiraling. She’s trying so fucking hard to hold it together.
This isn’t funny. But she’s still killing me.
“Just say the word if you want him removed from the premises.”
“That’s tempting.” She bites her lip and gets that guilty look again. “I gave your mom a cookie too.”
“Yeah, she’s currently talking to trees and asking my dad if he can hear angels.”
Amelia’s eyes flare wide. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Marin’s grinning now. “Okay but lowkey? This is iconic. Like the energy of this wedding has gone straight to a hundred.”
I glance at her. “You think my mother and wife being high at our wedding is iconic?”
“I think it’s camp. The vibes are off the rails, in a couture kind of way.”
Jesus Christ.
It’s like talking a foreign language with Marin half the time.
I turn back to Amelia. “So. Cheekbones.”
She groans. “Don’t.”
“You think you’re deceiving me with makeup?”
“I might be.”
“I’ve seen you all the ways Marin mentioned, and I’m still here.”
She looks horrified. “Are you saying I do have an ugly sex-face?”
Fuck, she has no idea how wrecked I am over her. “Princess. I’d worship that face on my fucking knees.”
She blinks. “Wait. So, you’re not denying it?”
Fuck me. That’s what she heard in that?
“Like, you literally didn’t say no,” she doubles down. “You didn’t deny it. That feels . . . significant.”
“Amelia—” I start, but Marin cuts me off.
“Okay, but technically, she’s not wrong. That was confirmation via omission.”
“I’m going to fucking strangle Tim,” I mutter.
“I need my phone,” Amelia says. “I need to see what I look like mid-orgasm.” She starts crawling toward the bed.
I rub my hand down my face and stand. “Amelia.”
Her name hits the air like a warning. She stops moving and looks at me.
I step in and drop to a crouch again. One hand on her waist. My body in her space. My eyes firmly on hers. “There’s not a version of you I wouldn’t want. Not a look I wouldn’t love. Not a face I wouldn’t ruin every day if you let me.”
Her breath hitches. But I’m not done.
“You wreck me from the inside out, Princess. I don’t love you because you’re stunning. But god, it’s a fucking privilege to look at you every day.”
Marin lets out a low whistle. “Okay . . . wow. No notes. I’m just gonna go outside and recover from that.”
I barely register her leaving. I’m too caught up in my wife.
“Gage,” she breathes. Then, she bites her lip, right before tears well in her eyes. “You can’t say stuff like that to me when I’m stoned.” And then she’s crying.
“Fuck me.” I start laughing. I can’t fucking help it. “Of all the things I ever could have imagined would happen today . . . this was never on the list.”
“I’m sorry,” she says through the tears. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“Because you’re high as fuck and I just told you I love you.”
“I feel like you just told me you want to ruin my face.”
“Same thing.” I wipe her tears. “Come on. Let’s get you off the floor.”
I stand and pull her up with me. She sways slightly and I steady her, my hands on her waist.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Floaty. And emotional. And like I might want to look at the carpet for another hour.” She pauses. “And really hungry.”
“What do you feel like eating?”
She looks alarmed. “I can’t eat, Gage.” She looks down at her stomach. “I’m already too bloated for my dress.”
I tip her chin back up and find her eyes. “You wanna eat? You eat. Fuck the dress. I’ll marry you in this robe.”
We’re interrupted by a knock on the door, and then Tim’s voice. “Amelia? Can I come in?”
“Are you still being a terrorist?”
The door opens and Tim takes one tentative step in. When his gaze lands on me, he halts, looking suitably worried. “Gage.” He winces. “I’m aware mistakes were made. Mostly by me. And okay, she’s high. But on the plus side, her aura is sparkling.”
“She’s high. My mother’s talking to trees. And you’re standing in front of me trying to spin it as a vibe. If you value your aura, I suggest you start speaking with intention.”
He holds up his hands. “I fucked up. Massively. And I’m sorry about that.
” He looks at Amelia, his expression more genuine than I’ve ever seen from him.
“I’m sorry I messed up your wedding day.
I wasn’t thinking. I should’ve put the container in my room.
I should’ve remembered that just because I can microdose my way through brunch doesn’t mean everyone else wants to sing with the angels before noon. This is completely on me.”
He takes a breath.
“And about the lashes. And the makeup. And the . . . whole aesthetic situation. I just—” he presses a hand to his chest dramatically “—wanted you to feel like a literal goddess. I wanted you to walk down that aisle looking so radiant it would blind everyone. I wanted Vogue to cry. I wanted your wedding photos to break Pinterest.”
His voice softens. “But I see how I’ve transferred my personal issues with perfection and performance onto your face. And that’s not fair. You are already iconic. I should have just supported you, not strong-armed you into a contour plan.”
He glances at me. “And Gage—respectfully—I’m still terrified of you.
But I love your fiancée. She’s my sister, my ride or die, and the best human I know.
So, if she wants glam, I’ll bring the glitter.
And if she doesn’t, I’ll sit my ass down and hold her bouquet and shut the hell up.
” He pauses. “Also, I’m deeply sorry about your mom. ”
Then, he turns back to Amelia. “Let me fix this. No glam-ambushes. No shade. Just me loving you in whatever way you need.”
He presses both hands together as if he’s praying.
“Though if permitted, I would like to present a respectful case for just a touch of makeup. Nothing wild. Nothing that hides you. Just enough to accentuate your natural beauty. The way you usually wear your makeup. Because right now, the weed’s making your decisions, and I don’t want you pulling out your wedding album in ten years and wishing you’d let me zhuzh your face a little. ”
I look at Amelia. “You want me to leave you two alone?”
She nods. “Yes. You should go and get ready.”
“I’ll wait outside.”
“No.” She fists my shirt and yanks me down into a kiss. It’s fast, hot, and a little wild. “You need to go get ready. Now. I’m done waiting. We’re not dragging this out until four. I’m gonna be ready in half an hour, and then I’m coming to find you.”
Her eyes flash with heat and urgency. “Don’t hide.”
I shake my head, amused. “You think I’d ever hide from you?” I kiss her forehead and then level Tim with a look. “Make this right.”
“I will,” he promises.
The last thing I hear as the door closes behind me is Tim saying, “Okay, so here’s the thing about the cheekbones . . .”