CHAPTER 51
TYLER
Aprofessional knows when to call a professional, so Tyler hired an army of event planners to handle their Canada Day party—also known as their wedding. The biggest challenge was finding a framed tent large enough to accommodate three hundred guests. Fifty from Joe’s side alone had RSVP’d yes.
Cary insisted they spare no expense, claiming their budget was “nonexistent.” What he didn’t know was that Tyler had taken him at his word—but on her own terms. Since he refused to let her pay him back for the Mustang, she funneled her record advance and merch commissions into the wedding instead.
She always kept her promises. He really should have known better.
On Canada Day, late in the afternoon, Cary knocked gently on their bedroom door.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and full of anticipation.
Tyler took one last look in the mirror, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her hands rested lightly on the gentle curve of her belly as she took a breath. “Ready,” she said, and opened the door.
“Wow.” His jaw dropped, one hand over his heart. “I’m a lucky guy.”
She smiled, a flush rising to her cheeks. “I’m the lucky one, remember?” she said. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”
He wore a crisp white shirt and a tailored navy suit, commissioned from the designer who dressed him for the award show. His hair was freshly cut, a little tousled in the front, and he smelled like his favorite cologne. Handsome didn’t quite cover it.
Tyler adjusted the spaghetti straps of her ivory silk slip dress. It clung in all the right places, simple but stunning, with a soft sheen that caught the light when she moved.
“You okay?” Cary asked, picking up on her nerves. “We don’t have to start just yet.”
“I’m good. Just—pregnant and emotional.” She laughed softly and rubbed her stomach. “But I’m really glad the baby gets to be part of this. Even if he won’t remember it.”
“The whole family,” he said, his smile widening. “I like the sound of that.”
Tyler turned and whistled toward the bed. “Rory! Come on, buddy, it’s time!”
Their Shih Tzu barely lifted his head from the comforter, giving her a slow blink like he couldn’t believe she was asking him to move.
“Rory Robertson!” she said with mock sternness.
Cary stepped forward, raising a finger. “I know you’re not changing your name, but our dog is. From this moment forward, he’s Rory Kingston.”
As if on cue, Rory perked up, hopped off the bed, and trotted over like he’d been personally invited.
“There we go.” Tyler crouched down to snap his harness together, then smoothed the mini tuxedo vest Dylan had sewn. Hidden in the lining was a tiny satin pocket that held their wedding rings. “Ring bearer reporting for duty.”
Cary leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You look incredible.”
She held up her navy bouquet—white roses, blue thistles, and silver brunia tied with a silk ribbon. “Let’s do this before I cry off all my makeup.”
“I’ll cue the music.” Cary pulled out his phone and tapped the screen.
They exchanged a look that said everything.
This was it.
They were getting married.
They laughed as the Hockey Night in Canada theme echoed through the house and into the backyard. It wasn’t Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus,” but they couldn’t think of a better wedding march.
Cary held Tyler’s hand as they stepped down the stairs, Rory heeling loyally—until a whiff of barbecue hit him and he bolted toward the yard.
“Rory!” Tyler called, but he was already gone, a black-and-white blur of FOMO.
Inside, Nadie stood in the kitchen, jaw unhinged. “Holy shit, Auntie Ty!”
Tyler smiled. “Holy shit is right, Nadie.”
As they stepped into the tent, Tyler scanned the scene, heart full. Everything was just as she’d imagined.
White linen drapes cascaded to the ground, mirrored in the matching chair covers and napkins—though soon, both would bear traces of hot sauce and cupcake frosting. Bouquets of roses, peonies, and lilies filled the air with fragrance, mingling with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses.
Not just a garden. A dream. A fairy tale come to life.
Guests turned to watch as she made her way down the makeshift aisle:
Bert dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief.
Pamela buried her face in John’s shoulder as he silently handed her a napkin.
Perry, Stewart, and their wives shushed her rambunctious nephews.
Kim bounced on her toes, her pink hair bobbing with excitement.
Allie and Porter held hands—him in black shorts and a matching polo, no surprises there.
Marnie and Heather whooped like the Jets had just won Game Seven.
Bob Shaw lifted a glass of whatever non-alcoholic drink he was nursing.
And Rory darted around the tent, greeting guests like a self-appointed master of ceremonies.
Once Dylan and Vegas took their places on either side of the bride and groom, Joe stepped forward and raised his arms.
“Surprise!” he boomed. “Please take your seats.” He turned to Vegas. “Do you have the rings?”
Vegas made a grab for Rory, but the dog thought it was a game and tore off toward the yard.
“Fuck.” Vegas shook his head. “Cookie!” he yelled, and the crowd erupted in laughter.
Moments later, Rory zipped back into the tent and sat by Vegas’s feet, waiting expectantly.
“I’ll hook you up later, buddy,” Vegas promised, removing the wedding rings without honoring his word.
Rory barked in a loud, “Woof!”
Tyler blinked. “Rory! I didn’t know you could bark!”
Of course, on my wedding day. Show off.
“Please take your seats,” Joe repeated. “Cary, your vows are first.”
Cary took her hand, smiling that smile.
“Babe, I promise to cheer for the Jets and the Blue Bombers—even when they break my heart.” The guests chuckled and booed in equal measure. “But seriously, I promise to be the best dad to our baby. And to Rory. And I promise to put us first. Always. You’re my everything.”
Vegas passed him the ring.
“Do you take Tyler Robertson to be your wife?” Joe asked.
Cary smiled. “I do.”
“Tyler?” Joe probed.
She held his hand and exhaled slowly. “I promise to listen—yes, even when you’re rambling about gear setups or vinyl pressings.
I promise to tell you when I don’t like your songs.
” Laughter rippled through the crowd while Dylan sobbed beside her.
“I promise to be the best mom to our baby. And to Rory. And I promise to put us first. Always. You’re a national treasure, after all. ”
Cary laughed, shaking his head. “What am I going to do with you?”
Marry me!
“Do you take Cary Kingston to be your husband—”
“I do!” she cried.
Joe raised a bundle of white sage, the scent rising as he offered a Cree blessing for new beginnings. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
And Cary did.
After the wedding pictures, the bride and groom headed upstairs to change into comfortable clothes.
“We did it!” Cary said, walking into their bedroom. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Uh-oh,” she teased.
“Maybe I should take your picture?”
“We just had a million pictures taken, Cary.”
“You were holding your bouquet.” He mimicked her, clasping his hands in front of his waist.
“I was trying to hide my bump.” She pulled her dress taut against her belly.
“I’m aware.” He held onto her hips. “I thought you were beautiful before, but I’m talking about pictures of your bare belly.”
“Are you trying to get me naked?”
“Always.” He slipped off the strap of her dress.
“Cary!” She moved his hand away. “We have guests.”
“We haven’t consummated our marriage yet.” He circled her breasts through her silk dress. “But we can wait.”
“No, we can’t.” She pressed her mouth onto his and sucked Penfolds Grange from his tongue. If this were the only way she could drink for the next few months, she’d gladly deal with it.
“I know they’re tender.” He cupped her breasts. “I’ll be gentle.”
“Don’t even think about it.” She helped him pull the dress over her head and unfastened her strapless bra.
“I can’t believe they’re going to get bigger,” he said, eyes fixed on her breasts.
His mouth closed around her nipple before he trailed soft kisses down her chest, stopping at her stomach.
“Are you weirded out?” she asked.
Laughing, he glanced up. “Babe . . .” He moistened his lips. “Nothing could keep me away from this.”
He stripped to his boxer briefs and slid her satin thong down, tossing it aside. “I love you, Mrs. Kingston.”
“I love you too, Mr. Robertson.”
Although their guests were waiting, he took his time, sweeping light strokes along her sex. “See? I can do this with my ring on,” he murmured, slipping his finger inside her.
“Aren’t you talented.”
“I guess I am.” He shed his briefs. “Now I’m going to make love to my wife for the first time.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t . . .” She touched her belly. “The baby.”
He laughed. “What? You think he’s going to see my dick?”
“It’s pretty hard to miss.”
When they returned to the tent, the Robertsons and KAT Management’s artists were in full swing, jamming to a familiar song. Laughter and music filled the air, the rhythm infectious, pulling everyone into the moment.
Tyler squeezed Cary’s hand. “What could be better than this?”
“Just wait and see.” He grabbed a guitar and clamped on the Humbler’s capo.
“What the . . .” Her voice trailed off as he stepped onto the stage.
Cary took the mic. “This one’s for you, Tyler Robertson. It’s called ‘Everything.’ I wrote it for you last Christmas.”
Through the tent’s opening, she gazed at the stars and smiled.
This song would be his next hit.
Her birthday wish had come true.
This was it.