Page 143 of Big D!ck Energy

MY WIFE

DALLAS

I had faced championship matches in front of fifty thousand screaming fans.

I had walked into arenas where the crowd wanted to see me destroyed, where the noise was so loud it vibrated in my chest, where everything I'd worked for came down to a single moment under blinding lights.

None of that compared to standing under an oak tree in a vineyard, waiting for my wife.

The ceremony space was everything the photos had promised and more. The ancient oak spread its branches overhead like a cathedral ceiling, strung with hundreds of delicate lights. White chairs arranged in neat rows held everyone who mattered, our families, our friends.

Soft music drifted from a string quartet positioned near the vine-covered arbor. The melody was classical and romantic.

The weather had cooperated like it had read the memo. Late morning sun filtered through the oak leaves, dappling everything in gold and green. A gentle breeze carried the scent of grapes and flowers.

Perfect. It was all perfect.

And I was going to throw up.

“You're fidgeting,” Matt muttered from his position beside me. He was serving as my best man, looking uncomfortable in a suit that fit him for once. “Stop fidgeting.”

“I'm not fidgeting.”

“You've adjusted your tie four times in the last minute.”

“Maybe my tie is uncomfortable.”

“Your tie is fine. You're just losing your mind.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Breathe, man. You already married her once. This is just the encore.”

“The encore matters,” I said through gritted teeth. “The encore is the whole point.”

From the front row, my mother caught my eye and gave me a watery smile. My stepfather sat beside her, stoic as always, but I'd seen him dab at his eyes when he thought no one was looking.

Across the aisle, Davina's mother occupied their own front-row seats. Her mother was already clutching a handful of tissues.

Behind them, the rows filled with the people who made up our lives. Austin and Cheyanne. Kali and James. Marcus looked like he'd stepped out of a fashion magazine. Delilah, bouncing with excitement.

Then there was Brooke. Standing across from me, Davina’s maid of honor.

All of them here and waiting. All of them about to watch me fall apart.

The string quartet shifted into a new melody, and my heart seized. This was the song. The one that meant she was coming.

“Here we go,” Matt said softly.

I straightened my spine, squared my shoulders, and turned my gaze to the end of the aisle.

The path stretched between the rows of chairs, lined with white rose petals that seemed to glow in the sunlight. For a moment, there was nothing. Just the music and the breeze and the thundering of my own pulse.

Then she appeared, and everything else disappeared.

Davina stood at the end of the walkway, her arm linked through her father's, and I forgot how to breathe.

The dress. I'd seen the sketch, had studied those pencil lines on yellowed paper, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of it brought to life on the woman I loved. It hugged every curve I'd memorized with my hands and my mouth, the off-shoulder neckline framing her collarbone. The fitted bodice gave way to a flowing skirt that moved like water with each step, and the delicate beading at her waist caught the light and scattered it like diamonds.

Her blonde hair was pinned up in some elaborate arrangement that exposed the graceful line of her neck, with a few strands left loose to frame her face. She was holding a bouquet of white roses and greenery, but I barely registered the flowers because I couldn't look away from her eyes.

Those brown eyes, fixed on me, shining with tears that matched the ones suddenly blurring my own vision.