Page 59 of Bossy Bride: Emma and Jesse

We turn to the priest and that jittery feeling inside me subsides. Like all the things that control fear and nervousness decide once and for all that none of that matters anymore.

My love has been found. My heart is whole. My life is complete.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest begins. “We are gathered here today for the shotgun wedding of Emma Dumas and Jesse Boston.”

Wait.

What?

“Is everybody ready?”

I put up a hand. “Hold on.” I look over my shoulder and see my father holding a gun, pointing it directly at Jesse’s back.

He winks at me. “Don’t worry, princess. He’ll make good.”

“What? Dad? What are you doing?”

“Emma?”

I look at Jesse. “What’s going on? I’m not pregnant! This isn’t a shotgun wedding! It’s the dream wedding, remember?”

“Emma?”

“No.” I stomp my foot. And when I look down at it, it’s not my pretty silver heels encrusted with rhinestones, but the freaking white leather pirate boots. “Where did these come from?”

“Emma?”

I whirl around, stare at my family, gaze homing in on Karen. Kraken fuckin’ Karen. Why is she here? “You did this, didn’t you? Why are you here? Why are you trying to ruin my life?”

“Emma?”

“What?”

“Wake up, babe. Someone’s here to talk to us.”

I roll over and groan. “No… I’m in the middle of the best dream.”

“Emma. Babe. One of the Thumbs is here to talk to us.”

My eyes fly open and I sit up.

Well, that’s not quite accurate. One eye seems to be stuck together. I reach up to rub it and realize it’s being held shut by a sticky fake eyelash. But out of the good, all-the-way-open eye, I see a man. “Oh, no.” I flop back down and cover my face with a pillow. “Go away.”

“Emma,” Jesse says, sitting down on the mattress next to me. “Vinnie says we can have a bonus wedding to make up for the ones that went wrong.”

“Nope. Nope. I’m not doing it. The pirate people stole our stuff. We have no clothes, no wallet, no purse, no phones—”

“I’m positive all those things were put away for safekeeping, Miss Dumas,” this Vinnie guy says. “We will make sure your clothes and items are all returned.”

But I’m not done complaining yet. “My feet hurt, this make-up feels like it’s going to take a year to wash off, I don’t have a dress, and… yeah. No. I’m over it.”

“He promises that this one will be perfect, Ems.”

I peek out from under the pillow and see Jesse’s handsome, hopeful face. This makes me weak and I relent. A little.

I throw the pillow off me and sit back up. I look at the man standing in the doorway of the jet bedroom. He’s a tall, slim man with broad shoulders. Youngish. Maybe late thirties. Handsome in a I-work-for-a-guy-called-Fingers kind of way. And wearing a very expensive and tailored—but a little too shiny—gray Italian suit.

I point my finger at him. “They were all supposed to be perfect. At least… they were not all supposed to be complete disasters! What’s it going to be this time? Drive-through wedding chapel? Mmm? And when we get there, they hand us fries and say, ‘Sorry. We’re all out of weddings?’”