Chapter 41
Roman
It’s my wedding day.
Finally.
Late afternoon on a beach in Santa Barbara.
Thankfully, the wedding gods have graced us with a perfect, temperate day.
Luca, aka our cult leader for the day, is standing next to me with his iPad in hand.
My groomsmen, all dressed in tan suits, like me, are lined up alongside me: Marco, Cameron, Levi, and Iris’s brother, Atlas.
Mirroring my groomsmen in a line, Iris’s bridesmaids, all dressed in soft, flowing blue, are Harper, Kaylee, Tatiana, Chelsea, and Nicola.
And, of course, Maverick, my co-best man and ring bearer for the occasion, stands at my feet in a tan suit that matches mine, visibly aching to be of service.
When I told Maverick he’d be my co-best man at today’s ceremony, along with Marco, I thought he’d be pumped to finally get a promotion from lowly ring bearer.
Man, was I wrong about that. On the contrary, poor Mav broke down and sobbed at the shocking news.
Apparently, my boy’s watched himself performing his ring bearer’s duties in videos so many times, both for his mom’s and Marco’s weddings, he was excited to “three-peat” at his daddy’s upcoming nuptials, too.
Like father, like son. I’m looking forward to three-peating as a Super Bowl champ this upcoming season myself.
The music stops and then changes, and every guest rises to their feet in anticipation.
I look toward the end of the aisle, holding my breath, and there she is. My beautiful, blooming flower: Iris. Smiling and trembling on her father’s arm.
She’s as beautiful as I’ve ever seen her. Glowing. Ethereal. Also—am I allowed to think this?—she’s hot as fuck, too. A smoke show. Her dress is elegant and classy, yes—but also downright sexy. Jesus. She’s a knockout.
Our gazes meet, and Iris touches the pearl choker wrapped around her delicate neck—her mother’s necklace. A lump rises in my throat. Aw, baby. I know how much that necklace means to her. It means a lot to me, too, especially because she saved it just for me.
When Iris reaches me, I kiss her cheek and thank her father.
“You look beautiful, baby,” I whisper, taking her hand in mine. “Wow.”
“You look pretty wow yourself.”
Iris’s father takes his seat, and everyone in attendance sits along with him.
“We’re gathered here today to celebrate two of my all-time favorite people,” Luca begins. “My big brother Roman and his lucky charm, Iris. My sister from another mister. My honorary triplet. Sorry, Levi.”
Everyone in on the joke laughs. We all know Levi adores Iris, too, but he always pretends to be annoyed that Luca opened up their “sacred twinship” to include an honorary third.
After scanning the crowd ceremoniously, Luca takes a deep, solemn breath and delivers his next word in a flat, somber tone. “Mawwaige.”
Everyone, including Iris and me, cracks up at the movie reference, the same way everyone did at Marco and Nicola’s wedding.
Luca’s not merely recycling an old, successful comedic bit, though: Iris has always loved The Princess Bride as much as Nicola.
And now, thanks to Iris, Maverick and I love it, too.
After Luca gives his introduction, Iris’s maid of honor, Harper, steps forward to read a poem.
As she speaks, I glance at my parents in the front row and exchange wide smiles with them.
After that, I do the same thing with Coach Hardy and my ace receiver, Tyrell, and several of my other teammates in the second row.
And finally, I look down at my beloved son and grin at his soft, dark curls and the look of deep concentration on his adorable face.
Maverick’s guarding that damned pillow with his life.
Apparently, six-year-olds are every bit as easy to dupe as four-year-olds when it comes to attaching fake, plastic rings to pillows at weddings.
As Harper reaches the last lines of her poem, I return my gaze to my bride to find she’s got moisture in her eyes. Squeezing her hands, I whisper, “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she whispers back. “So much.”
“And now for the exchange of vows,” Luca says. When he prompts Iris to speak, she pulls out a folded piece of paper from her bra with a shaking hand, making everyone chuckle.
“Roman,” Iris begins in a trembling voice.
“You’ve taught me about true love. You’re my best friend.
My biggest fan. My coach and my teammate.
I promise to always be all those things for you, too.
” Her eyes fill with proper tears, the same as mine.
“Whatever passes life throws at us, I can’t wait to catch them as your wife.
Whatever problems might come up, we’ll tackle them together.
You’re my endgame, Roman Maguire. Forever and always.
You and Maverick and whatever babies we’re lucky enough to have.
I love you and Maverick—” She smiles at Mav.
“And I can’t wait to be your loving and faithful wife, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. ”
“Damn,” Luca says. “Good luck, bro, but you can’t do any better than that.”
“She’s a tough act to follow,” I agree with a laugh.
I take a deep breath and turn my attention to Iris.
I’m not wearing my magic blinders right now, but I might as well be.
In this moment, Iris Benedetto, the love of my life, is all I see.
“Iris, for a long time, I thought I’d met you ‘in paradise.’ But now I know.
It wasn’t the place that was the paradise.
It was being with you. Wherever I am, as long as I’m with you, I’ll always be in paradise. ”
My mother lets out a little whimper in the front row, as Iris simultaneously does the same thing before me, and everyone reacts to my mother’s adorableness.
I swallow hard and continue, “When Marco married Nicola, he said his Super Bowl ring could never mean as much to him as his wedding ring. And, frankly, at the time, I thought he’d lost his damned mind.”
Everyone laughs, including Iris.
“But now that I’ve got two Super Bowl rings of my own—”
One of my teammates, my wide receiver, Tyrell, shouts out, “Yeah, babyyyyyy!” and everyone in attendance who isn’t a Knights fan cheers and hoots loudly for a long moment.
When the disruption wanes, I return to Iris. “Sorry about that, baby. Didn’t mean to get them riled up.”
“It doesn’t take much,” Iris teases, making everyone laugh again.
“The point I was trying to make, before I got so rudely interrupted—” I glare with mock irritation at Tyrell, before returning to Iris with a grin. “—is that I now understand what Marco meant. Iris, loving you is better than winning any Super Bowl. Or two, as the case may be . . .”
Every Thunderbolt lover in attendance whoops and applauds raucously yet again, this time making Iris and me guffaw.
“Guys,” I say with mock irritation. “This isn’t a pep rally. I’m trying to get married here.” I roll my eyes playfully, making Iris giggle. “Now, where was I?”
“I’m paradise. Not the place.”
“Right. Thank you. Actually, wait. Before I get to the rest of my vows, I feel like I should make it perfectly clear to the football gods who might be listening, nothing I might say here today should be interpreted as a lack of desire on my part to three-peat this year and get myself and my teammates another Super Bowl ring. Let me be perfectly clear about that. All I’m saying is, no matter how many Super Bowl rings I wind up with—whether that turns out to be two, three, four, or five—none of them will ever mean as much as the wedding ring I’m about to start wearing for the rest of my life to mark me as Iris’s husband. ”
“Thank you for the clarification,” Iris deadpans.
“It’s actually a very romantic thing to say. My point is that—”
“No, I totally get it, honey. It’s lovely. Thank you.”
I laugh at her deadpan delivery. But a moment later, out of nowhere, seriousness settles into my chest. Moisture pricks my eyes.
I clear my throat. “All kidding aside, though . . .” I take a deep breath to wrangle my emotion and take her hands again.
“Iris, I love you more than I knew was possible. I trust you. I respect you. Admire and adore you. I vow to be your loving and faithful husband, forever, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad, till death takes me away from you, far too early. If I had infinite lifetimes, I’d want to spend every single one of them as your husband. ”
Iris wipes a tear. “That’s so beautiful, Roman. I love you, too. Infinitely.”
I peck Iris’s lips—even though it’s not technically the time to do that yet—as Luca says, “Not too shabby, Romie. In fact, that was so good, I’m not even mad I just lost a hundred bucks to Marco.”
“Not enough football references for you?” I ask.
“Why didn’t you make any? With all Iris’s football references, I figured I was golden.”
“Iris’s football references don’t count,” Marco says. “Remember? We already agreed to that.”
“I don’t know if we agreed to that,” Levi says. “I feel like we raised the idea but never really made a firm rule about it.”
“Hey, guys?” I ask politely. “Can you maybe hash out the results of the bet after the ceremony is over? I’d very much like to finish getting married now.”
Raucous laughter abounds.
“You’ve got it,” Luca says. “I’ll keep things moving, brother.”
“Thank you.”
With a chuckle, Luca beckons to Maverick. “You’re up, buddy. Bring me those rings so we can officially tie this knot.”
Maverick offers up his closely guarded pillow to his uncle, who quickly unties the fake rings attached to it and swaps in the real ones from his pocket. A moment after that, the rings are on our fingers and the ceremony is done and dusted.
“Time to kiss your bride, Romie!” Luca booms.
“With pleasure.” As my brother pronounces us husband and wife, I lean in and gleefully lock lips with Iris. My wife.
“By the power vested in me by the State of California and the certificate I bought online,” Luca bellows, “let me introduce to you: Mr. and Mrs. Roman and Iris Maguire!”
With a whoop and a fist pump, I grab my wife in one hand and my son in the other and bound energetically down the sandy aisle, through exuberant faces, cheers, and applause, on my way to the happy life I never even dreamed could be possible for me—a life that’s sure to become our very own happily ever after.