Chapter 22
JETT
I’ve already seen Poppy today. I’ve seen her in her dress, the way the satin skimmed over the curve of her hip, the way it hugged the indent of her waist as I did up the tiny, covered buttons along her back.
Her hair was done up the way it is now, the top layer swept back and held with delicate pins adorned with pearls.
They were the gift Brooke instructed me to get her.
She said the believability of this will be in the details.
I even caught a glimpse of her bouquet on the round wooden table in the entry of her bridal suite.
The surprise element of this wedding was ruined—hell, it’s a real wedding in legalities only.
I never wanted to get married. The fact that I’m standing up here, next to a man that will walk us through a ceremony and will legally bind me to someone else would have been absolutely absurd to me a month ago.
So, the way Poppy looks as she’s walking down the aisle towards me is making my heart squeeze in a way it shouldn’t. Her large brown doe eyes meet mine as the dulcet tones of Moon River carry her down the aisle.
I don’t know why I picked it. Brooke gave me a list of approved songs about a hundred long, and none of them felt like her when I listened to them. Except that one. I heard it and instantly knew it would be a song Poppy would like to walk down the aisle to.
The dreamy, wistful tones felt like her.
I’ve gotten to know her on a different level the last few weeks, and even more since she’s had to stay at my house.
I’ve seen her when she lets her guard down, I’ve figured out how to make her laugh. I know when she needs to be left alone to recharge, when she wants to curl up on the couch with a comfort movie, when her arthritis is too much to handle and she needs to hide from the world.
She’s become the first person who has truly seen me behind closed doors. Who doesn’t have preconceived notions about me from what they’ve seen in the media.
As it turns out, when your reputation precedes you, life becomes somewhat lonely. Anyone I meet now thinks they have me all figured out before they even get to know me. Sometimes they don’t even bother trying.
Not Poppy.
I knew Poppy saw me the night we both stood in the kitchen at Grady’s house. Even after Mason gifted me a thousand condoms, there was no judgement in her eyes when she looked at me. She took me at my word when I told her the media had it wrong about me.
Now, here she is, walking down the aisle towards me, and there’s still nothing but sincerity on her face.
She reaches the end and holds her hand out towards me. It’s shaking slightly when I take it, small and delicate in my hand. I run my thumb over the back of her knuckles in reassurance, and she offers me a shy smile as she comes to stand before me.
The officiant welcomes everyone to our marriage ceremony, and the whole thing is like a fever dream.
I’ve always hated the idea of marriage. Not just the construct of it, but the idea that two people are choosing to share all of life’s experiences together in complete vulnerability Putting their heart on their sleeve, it’s not brave, it’s na?ve.
Most people don’t know what it’s like to watch what happens when a person loses their soulmate.
I have. I had to watch everyone in my family deal with the aftermath of losing my mom. I was too young to remember it at the time, to remember her.
What I do know is how it impacted everyone around me. How everyone turned into a shell of themselves for so long they nearly forgot who they were. Especially my dad. It was like he was empty, like half of him was suddenly … gone.
I must have started shaking now, because Poppy’s small thumb is running over the back of my hand. Taking a deep breath, I look into her eyes.
This isn’t forever. This marriage isn’t going to end in heartbreak.
The officiant walks us through the standard wedding ceremony stuff, all the necessary legalities, and then he announces that we’ll be reading personalized vows.
This part would have been more nerve wracking had Brooke not also given me a carefully crafted script.
One I made sure to approve ahead of time, not like the engagement speech.
Silence stretches through the crowd as everyone waits in anticipation.
Poppy goes first, and she pulls out a similar small leather-bound notebook Brooke gave her as well.
“Jett,” she starts, and clears her throat as if she’s already getting emotional.
Knowing Poppy, it’s probably the fact that she’s speaking in front of a crowd making her voice sound shaky. But it certainly adds to the performance.
“Ever since you came into my life, I’ve been living it in full colour.
You are… larger than life. Magnetic. Energetic.
And I love our energy together. Every day with you is this incredible adventure, a roller coaster I never want to get off.
I’m so glad I never have to get off. I can’t wait for a life full of excitement, and joy, and pure, unadulterated fun. ”
There’s a few awws from the audience, and once it goes quiet, it’s my turn to speak.
The officiant moves the microphone so it’s in front of me. I open my notebook, and glance between the page and Poppy a couple times before I’m ready to start.
“I haven’t always thought of myself as husband material.
” A few knowing chuckles ripple throughout the crowd.
“But falling in love with you has fundamentally altered my DNA. I may be a bit reckless, a bit unhinged, energetic, as you so lovingly put it,” I add.
“The way you manage to balance me out and bring me down to earth is nothing short of miraculous. You show me what love looks like in the quiet moments. The everyday things that are more spectacular when you get to share them with someone you love. Now I know how special it is to have a partner, someone to do life with. All the little moments of magic that can happen when you let yourself love and be loved. I love you, Poppy. More than words will ever do justice.”
I peer into Poppy’s eyes and my heart sinks, thinking about how beautiful the vows were, and how badly I wish they could be real for her. I pick her hands up again and hold them, giving them a reassuring squeeze.
I may not have ever dreamt of being married, but with Poppy’s hands in mine, her deep brown eyes trained on me, I have a feeling that being married to her won’t be all that bad.
The officiant announces us as husband and wife, and it’s official.
Poppy is my wife.
I have a wife.
And now we have to kiss.
My heart stutters. Not because I have to pretend to enjoy kissing Poppy. I have to convince myself that I don’t.
I drop her hands and bring mine to her face, cupping her jaw and looking into her eyes for a moment before I dip my head.
“Just like we practiced,” I murmur into the space so only she can hear, and then I place my mouth on hers.
I can anticipate the sensation of her plush pink lips, I know how she’ll move them. Slowly, tentatively, reverently. I know how her tongue will taste, sweet and minty. How I swear I’ll still be able to taste it hours later and be able to think of nothing else.
But I wonder if I will ever get used to the way my heart drops through my core, bottoming out, and leaving me breathless.
If there will always be fireworks making the air pop and crackle around us.
I kiss her with all the passion of someone who loves her. I put on a good show. And we’re rewarded with whoops and hollers of our family and friends. When we part, we both turn to face them, and I lift Poppy’s hand in the air.
More cheering and applause rings out as we walk back down the aisle.
Man and wife.
Sparkling white confetti flies around us, landing softly in the snow-covered ground.
Poppy and I are both laughing by the time we reach the end, and we take the wooden stairs back up the hill until we’re concealed by the evergreens.
She turns to face me, and I sweep my arm around her waist, pulling her close.
And because I’m still thinking about the sweet, minty taste of her mouth, and because all I can think about is having more, I kiss her again. She kisses me back in that tender way of hers before pulling back.
“What are you doing?” She says in a whisper. “The wedding is over. We did it.”
“Just in case,” I answer. “You never know who might be watching.”
I wink at her, and she glances around and then smiles, because she realizes what I already knew.
We’re completely alone.
“That was quite the performance, wife,” I say to Poppy once we’re back to my place, and I shut the front door behind us. The peace and quiet is welcome after the party that raged all night in the grand room of the castle-like hotel.
“You weren’t too shabby either, husband.” Poppy leans against the wall and bends down to slip off the white satin heels she changed into after the ceremony. “Do you think people bought it?”
Poppy wanders into the kitchen and takes a glass down from the cabinet before pouring herself some filtered water from the fridge.
The glow from the fridge lights up her profile in the dark, highlighting the most beautiful parts of her features.
The ski-slope line of her nose, the pillowy outline of her mouth, her long, dark lashes.
“It sure seemed like they did.” I follow her and do the same, taking a big gulp of the cool liquid.
I don’t think I’ve had any water today–just champagne.
While I drank it mostly to ease my nerves, I’m now a little buzzed, energy fizzing inside me.
“Now it’s just a matter of what story the media decides they want to tell. ”
“Were any reporters there?” Poppy asks from across the kitchen island, she’s now leaning her hip against it.
“Of course,” I answer. “Brooke would have made sure of it. They were likely told to remain incognito for the sake of the wedding fanfare, but they were there.”
“What story do you think they’ll tell?” She asks.
I straighten and lean on the counter behind me.