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“Just saying. Offer’s on the table.” Devan grins. Just then, someone knocks on the door to the dressing room where we’ve been preparing. She leaps to it, ready to hold it shut if need be. “Who is it? Xander can’t see her yet.”
“I know,” replies Patricia’s voice, muffled. “It’s just me.”
With a grin, Devan flings the door wide, and Patricia actually gasps when she lays eyes on me.
“Is that a good sign?” I ask, turning a little so she can see me from every angle.
Her eyes will with tears. “You look beautiful.” She sniffs with effort, blinking hard to steady herself. “Sorry, I’m such a crier. I’m going to sob during the vows.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone you’ve got such a soft spot for weddings.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not just weddings. It’s my little brother’s wedding. I never thought he’d meet his match. But he really has, in you. You two are just so sweet together.”
I press my lips together tightly, to suppress a swell of feeling.
Devan rolls her eyes and grasps my arm. “Don’t get her started. She can’t cry or she’ll smudge her makeup.”
“Right. Of course.” Patricia straightens her shoulders and smooths back a stray strand of hair from her forehead. “Anyway, I’ve been sent to fetch you. We’re almost ready for the processional.”
We opted not to do a big church wedding. Most of Xander’s extended family wouldn’t be able to fly into the city on such short notice anyway, so it’s just his close friends and family, as well as mine. Even Bob came, although I have a feeling he just did it as an excuse to get into the city for a few days. Or maybe because he’s hoping Xander will overpay him for a customer argument again, who knows. But all told, we still only had around 50 people, which is why we decided to hold the ceremony someplace special, that holds unique meaning.
Which is how I wound up in the little back office of Xander’s mother’s old bookshop, putting the finishing touches on my wedding day outfit.
Patricia takes my hand, and Devan takes the other. They’re both dressed in rose, as my two bridesmaids, and Devan has a little bouquet to symbolize her position as my maid of honor. Together, they walk me to the makeshift aisle we’ve created, weaving between bookcases up to the front of the store. It’s a space that used to be used, Xander told me, for author readings back when his mother ran the shop. He hopes to one day open it back up and use it to host author appearances again.
For now, though, it makes for a perfect wedding venue. The stacks on either side are as beautiful as any church arches would be, and there’s just enough space for all of our guests to fit in comfortably, their heads turned toward the back of the aisle, waiting for me.
Up front, we pushed the front table and cash register off to the side, and instead put up a trellis that Patricia’s friend, a set designer on Broadway, helped create. It’s a broad, arched canopy of green leaves and twisting floral vines, interspersed with twinkling fairy lights, that creates an almost dreamlike feel in the space. Devan added some decorations of her own—little folded paper swans she made out of the pages from damaged books.
When Xander first reopened the store, he found that some of the stock had been damaged, from leaks in the roof and mice nesting in other stacks of old books, ones that had never been categorized or shelved. He lamented the loss, but Devan found a way to repurpose them. To turn them into decor for our special day. Even the covers float up there from the ceiling, dangling on wires so they look like birds made out of books, flying overhead.
I hold my breath as I peek between the shelves, trying to stay hidden from view of the front while still taking a look at who all is here. I spot the little contingent from our town, including Devan’s mother, who’s like my own adopted second mom. In front of them sit Xander’s family. Patricia’s husband wrestles their two children into their seats, and Marco stands up front, while his wife corrals his daughter in the front. Xander’s dad is in the front row, and even from here, I can already see the happy tears staining his cheeks.
Then music starts, from somewhere near the back of the store. A violinist playing a soft, slow tune.
Xander comes around from the side of the far bookcase, to stand next to the altar where the minister waits. My heart skips a beat.
He looks incredible.
His tuxedo is pressed and perfectly tailored. His hair is in its usual stylish mess, like he’s not even trying but it’s just always that perfect. His dark gray eyes are bright with emotion, his face solemn, yet not somber. His gaze is fixed on the back of the store, waiting.
