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Dexter’s brothers are there in the front row, along with his nephew, Colt. Delly stands beside them, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
I look away before I get triggered and go to pieces, too.
No crying on my wedding day.
I flipping promised.
Then I look at Dexter and the rest of the world fades to black. Instant tunnel vision.
The rhythm of my feet slows to quicksand.
I want to run, to sprint, to throw myself into the arms of my almost-husband. But Nana’s gentle grip holds me back, and I lift my chin as we walk past the rows of guests. The makeshift aisle rug thrown over the grass feels like velvet under my feet.
The air smells like flowers and perfume and just a hint of distant burning brush.
Closer, closer.
Dex picked a navy-blue seersucker suit that brings out the dusky glory of his eyes. The gold cuff links on his sleeves have been with the Rory men for three generations. He told me he’d be carrying on the tradition.
I’m wearing my mother’s dress—altered, of course—an airy white minimalist gown folded over me like a crêpe.
A homage to what came before and the better future my mother lost.
To the past, the present, and the future that’s still mine to make.
God, he’s never looked more handsome. No exaggeration.
And I’ve never loved him as much as I do today, basking in the sweet, sweet glow, everything waiting for us in the long years to come.
I just hope I don’t pass out first.
Fainting from sheer joy doesn’t seem too bad, all things considered, but it would still be pretty embarrassing.
Feet, don’t fail me now.
One halting step at a time, they bring me to the archway altar and the hottest man alive.
Nana gives me a parting bear hug. She’s not so much giving me away as she is lingering in the life we shared, the way she finished bringing me up once my parents were gone.
Yes, it’s bittersweet, knowing she’s witnessing what she always hoped for, a wedding day my mother will never see.
“Love you, June bug,” Nana whispers fiercely. Her eyes are wet and mine are brimming.
“I love you too, Nana,” I say with a loud sniff.
Then she gives me one last kiss on the cheek and stands back.
Thankfully, Dexter takes my hand a second later as I step up beside him, facing the priest.
“Goddamn, Sweet Stuff. You look hot enough to plunge this park back into summer,” he rumbles, oblivious to the priest hearing every word.
My face heats violently.
“Um, thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Pretty sure ‘handsome’ is the term you’re looking for.”
“I’ll let your ego do the talking. Good thing you’ve got the looks to back it up,” I tease.
