Page 54

On the opposite side of the aisle sat people I’d only met that morning.

Anica’s family. Mainly her parents. That in itself had been a very, very awkward encounter.

But as I nodded to her father and smiled at her mother, they both gave me reassuring nods, holding each other’s hands.

Mari had helped me get in touch with them, and had been there to help introduce me, for which I would be forever grateful, even if she had mentioned I’d railed their daughter with my “extra large package” and stolen her heart.

On second thought, maybe it would’ve been better if it had been Devonna making the introductions.

Either way, her father had given me a stern talking to before shaking my hand and pulling me into a bear hug. Someone was supposed to get him and take him around behind the wall of hedges so that he could walk Anica down the aisle when she arrived. I just hoped he got the chance.

The officiant, a judge I knew from charity functions, had agreed to the unconventional ceremony with minimal explanation. He leaned in close.

“At what point do we begin?” he whispered.

“When she walks in. Until then, we’re waiting,” I said firmly, glancing at my watch. Four o’clock exactly.

“Alright then. We wait.” He nodded.

The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness. Four-oh-five. Four-ten. The whispers from the assembled guests grew louder, more concerned. I could feel the weight of their stares, their curiosity, their growing certainty that they were witnessing a very public humiliation.

I may as well have brought in the medieval stocks so they could throw rotten food at me. That would’ve been better than standing there.

Four-fifteen.

“Mr. Burkhardt,” the officiant murmured, “perhaps we should?—”

“Five more minutes,” I said, my voice steady despite the growing knot in my stomach. “Then five more after that.”

Chance shifted beside me, placing a supportive hand briefly on my shoulder. Kris and Morgan exchanged glances but remained steadfast, standing behind like guards.

Four-twenty.

The whispers had evolved into open conversations. Someone in the back row stood, perhaps preparing to make a discreet exit. I couldn’t blame them. This was rapidly becoming the social car crash of the season.

Four twenty-five.

“Cal,” Chance said softly. “Maybe?—”

“She’ll be here,” I insisted, though the conviction in my voice had waned. “She has to be.”

But even as I said it, doubt crept in. I had hurt her. Deeply. Why would she forgive that? Why would she take a chance on someone who had dismissed something she found fundamental? Why would she show up for someone who had called what we shared “just a good time”?

Four thirty.

I really was an idiot.

The string quartet had cycled through their repertoire and were now repeating selections, their glances toward me growing increasingly uncomfortable.

Ms. Windsor hovered at the periphery, clearly contemplating some kind of intervention.

I tried to keep my chin tall as my attention remained glued to the wall of hedges at the back. But it was clear at that point.

Anica wasn’t coming.

I really had lost her for good.

“I think,” I said finally, my voice cracking as I struggled to keep the hurt contained, “we should?—”

The music changed.

It happened so suddenly that at first I thought I’d imagined it. The quartet shifted seamlessly into the processional we’d selected months ago. A collective rustle passed through the guests as heads turned toward the back.

Mari and Devonna, both in simple blue dresses, walked down the aisle arm in arm looking equal parts surprised and delighted to be there. Devonna gave me a look that clearly communicated “hurt her and they’ll never find your body,” while Mari winked at me.

But I couldn’t focus on them, couldn’t focus on anything but the woman who’d just appeared at the end of the aisle.

Anica stood beneath a second archway, illuminated by the golden late-afternoon sun, wearing the dress that had stolen my breath the first time I saw her in it.

It did it again. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs had completely rejected the notion that they were supposed to work.

I choked and made what was definitely one of the most pathetic sounds I’d ever made.

But, fuck, she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever been lucky enough to lay eyes on.

The simple, elegant ivory silk that followed the curves of her body before flowed gracefully to the ground. Her dark hair had been swept up, a few tendrils framing her face. She looked nervous, determined, and so stunning it physically hurt to look at her.

Next to her, Anica’s father patted her arm–when had he slipped away without me noticing? The sneaky bastard. They began their walk down the aisle. Each step she took toward me felt like a miracle, a gift I didn’t deserve.

Shit. A tear escaped down my cheek, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand hoping no one noticed. All eyes better be on Anica. How could they not be? My goddess was radiant.

When she reached me, our gazes locked, and the rest of the world faded away. I thought that was just a cliché lovesick fools talked about. But no. There were no guests, no friends, no string quartet.

Just us, standing face to face after everything that had happened.

God, I’d missed her.

“Sorry I’m late. There were ducks.”

“Fucking ducks.” I choked on something between a laugh and a whimper.

Her father passed her over to me, kissing her cheek and placing her hand in mine. I nodded once to him, watching as he went to sit back down by her mother, who was crying silent tears with a wide smile. He kissed her forehead and wrapped an arm around her.

Anica followed my gaze and squeezed my hand. “Thank you for that. For them.”

I squeezed her hand back. “You came,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t want to waste a good dress,” she replied, smoothing the fabric with her other trembling hand.

“And Mari said if I didn’t show up after all this drama, she’d repost my college karaoke video where I massacred ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ while wearing a feather boa and a criminal amount of body glitter. ”

Another laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me, relief and joy mingling into something that felt dangerously close to uncontrollable tears. “I would pay good money to see that video.”

“You can’t afford it,” she quipped, her eyes shining. “Besides, you look like you’ve been standing here for days.”

“I would have waited longer,” I admitted. “As long as it took.”

“Now you know how I felt every time you showed up late.” She raised an eyebrow, flashing a grin.

Lifting her hand, I pressed my lips to her knuckles. “I vow to never be late for you again. Ever.”

“Is that an official vow? Because I will hold you to that.” Anica squeezed my hand, and the world returned to normal.

The officiant cleared his throat, clearly trying to make sense of what was happening. “Shall we... proceed?”

Anica glanced at me, a question in her eyes. “Are you sure about this? Because once we start, there’s no backing out. Not ever. Divorce is not an option for me. If you’re mine, you’re mine. Forever.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” I said, taking her other hand in my free one. “But you should know what you’re getting into. I’m stubborn, a workaholic, and occasionally believe I’m right about everything.”

“Occasionally?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Fine. Frequently.” I ran my thumbs over the backs of her soft hands. “But I’m working on it. On all of it. For you. Because of you.”

“I’m not here to fix you, Cal. I’m here because, against my better judgment and all professional boundaries, I love you. God help me.”

Her words, her confession, stole my breath. She loved me. Despite everything, she loved me.

“I love you, Anica Marcel. You are the woman who proved me wrong. Love does exist. You taught me that. And I love you.” Despite the tears that threatened to fall, I looked her up and down. “God, I love you.”

“Well then,” the officiant said, a smile finally breaking through his confusion, “let’s make this official.”

The ceremony started and a collective sigh of relief and delight came from the assembled guests when they realized they were witnessing a real wedding and not an elaborate mental breakdown.

Then came the moment for vows. I pulled out my carefully prepared notes, took one look at Anica’s face, and promptly tucked them back into my pocket.

“I had something written,” I began, “seventeen versions, actually. But I think they need another revision.”

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to maintain eye contact despite the vulnerability coursing through me.

“Anica Marcel, I’ve spent my entire adult life convinced that love was fiction.

A chemical reaction. A convenient myth we tell ourselves to explain basic biological impulses.

I built walls, theories, entire philosophies around this belief because I didn’t have the experiences with love that other people had.

I didn’t have parents who loved each other.

I experienced broken marriages, unfaithful spouses, and too much hurt to ever believe that love existed.

“But,” I said, glancing at Gram, “I was absolutely, categorically wrong.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, but I ignored it, returning my focus to the woman before me.

“Love was there all along. I just was too stupid to see it. It was there in the way my grandmother cared for me unconditionally despite my weird phases.” In the audience, Gram beamed at me and blew a kiss.

“It was there in the way my asshole friends supported me and called me out on my bullshit through the years.” Behind me, Callan clapped me on the shoulder and Kris and Morgan chuckled.

“And most of all, it was there from the moment you refused to work with me without a bride present for a wedding based on a bet with the aforementioned assholes.”