Page 41 of Consummation (The Josh & Kat Trilogy #3)

Twenty-Seven

Josh

Jonas and I take our positions in front of the audience, standing to the left of the wedding officiant.

The distinctive scent of gardenias—my mom’s favorite flower—blasts me all of a sudden.

I turn around to glance at the spectacular wall of white flowers towering behind us—and, yes, although there are certainly roses and lilies and all sorts of other unidentifiable white flowers comprising the blooming wall, gardenias are by far the most prominent.

Did Sarah do that on purpose? Did Jonas tell her how Dad always said Mom loved gardenias?

I look at Jonas and he’s gazing anxiously toward the back of the room, his cheeks flushed, his breathing labored. I can almost hear his heart beating from here. Or maybe that’s my own heartbeat pounding forcefully in my ears. Why the fuck am I nervous? I’m not the one getting married.

The music shifts to a Mozart-Beethoven-type thing, a pleasant piece of elegant music I’ve heard a thousand times at various black-tie events, and Kat appears at the back of the center aisle.

My heart skips a beat at the sight of her. Holy fuck, she’s absolutely stunning.

“I’m getting fat,” Kat said yesterday when she tried on her bridesmaid dress to make sure it still fit. “I should have had the tailor leave a little extra room through the midsection—my belly’s totally pooching out.”

I laughed. There was literally no hint of a pooch in the dress—which makes sense because, despite our kumquat in the oven, there still hasn’t been even the slightest change in Kat’s figure since the day I first laid eyes on her in Jonas’ living room .

“Babe,” I said to her yesterday. “You’re not showing at all. Like, literally, not at all.”

“You’re blind, babe,” Kat said. “ Look .” She pointed at the perfectly smooth midsection of her dress. “It’s like I’m hiding a volleyball under there.”

“Do you have body dysmorphic disorder?” I asked.

I grabbed her shoulders and moved her in front of the full-length mirror on the other side of our bedroom, and then I stood behind her, staring at both our reflections in the mirror, my palms resting on her smooth, bare shoulders.

And that’s when I completely forgot whatever the fuck I was gonna say.

I’d meant to drag Kat in front of the mirror to prove my point she’s not showing yet (and that she’s batshit crazy, too, which certainly isn’t news to me), but for some reason, staring at us together in the mirror, looking at her in that blue dress—even with her hair in a ponytail and her face completely bare of makeup—she took my breath away.

So, of course, I proceeded to get my Party Girl with a Hyphen the fuck out of that dress and myself inside of her.

But that was yesterday.

Today, Kat in that same blue dress isn’t merely taking my breath away—she’s stopping my heart, too.

The dress fits Kat the same way it did yesterday, of course—like a glove.

But, today, she’s not just wearing her bridesmaid dress as she glides down the aisle, she’s strutting in it like a peacock—or, rather, I suppose, like a pea hen graced with a pea cock ’s tail.

(Thank you, Jonas.) And Kat has every reason to strut like she’s on a catwalk—lord almighty, does she ever.

Her golden hair is falling around her shoulders in perfectly formed tendrils.

Her skin peeking out of her sweetheart neckline is glowing.

Her sky-high heels accentuate the glorious length of her lithe frame.

And, oh my God, Kat’s gorgeous face, always radiant, always mesmerizing, is downright spectacular today.

It’s the face that could launch a thousand ships, bring a grown man to his knees, make a man believe in God.

And at this moment, lucky me, the blazing eyes lighting up that supernaturally beautiful face are trained on me .

By the time Kat reaches the end of the aisle and takes her position to the officiant’s right, my heart’s bursting, my cock is tingling, and my brain is utterly scrambled. I beam a huge smile at Kat and she winks .

The musical selection changes and everyone in the audience stands.

For a moment, I can’t identify the song the musicians are playing.

I know the melody, but it’s not a song normally played by a harp, cello, and violin, so I’m having a hard time placing it.

Oh, wait. I’ve got it. It’s “Melt With You” by Modern English.

Great song—cool arrangement. I glance at my brother.

He’s about to burst into a trillion tiny molecules and scatter into the sky.

I fix my gaze at the end of the aisle, my heart in my throat, and there she is—our beautiful bride for the occasion. Our George Clooney. Jonas’ handler. My brand new little sister. The great love of my brother’s life. Sarah Fucking Cruz.

I glance at Kat to find her lower lip trembling and her eyes filled with tears. I look at my brother again and my breathing hitches at the unabashed demonstration of joy and love on his face. Oh my God, Jonas is clearly on the verge of crying.

Keep it together, man, I think.

But, really, I should be using all my keep-it-together mojo on myself. For fuck’s sake, I’m shaking like a leaf as I try to contain the emotion welling up inside me.

I take a deep breath and successfully force it down.

Sarah glides down the aisle slowly, her eyes fixed on Jonas, her smile as wide as I’ve ever seen it.

Wow, she’s beautiful. Simply stunning. Glowing from the inside-out.

And not only that, she’s a sexy little thing, isn’t she?

Hot damn. I knew my brand new sister was a hot tamale and all, but Jesus Fucking Christ—she’s scorching hot.

Are brides supposed to be this sexy ? Good lord.

Sarah’s strapless, white gown hugs every curve of her body leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination, and then fans out mid-thigh, accentuating her hips to full effect.

Holy hot damn, that’s quite a dress. I’m guessing Sarah picked it especially for Jonas—my brother always has been an ass-man.

For a fleeting moment, my deranged brain actually forms the thought: I wonder what kind of wedding dress Kat would wear for me?

My heart squeezes. What the fuck am I thinking? Have I gone insane?

A loud sob lurches from the front of the audience, grabbing my attention. It’s Sarah’s mother, crying her eyes out at the sight of her beautiful daughter. I can’t help but smile. I only met Gloria last night and I already love her—it seems Jonas definitely lucked out there.

I steal another look at Kat, thinking I’ll catch her giggling about Gloria’s meltdown, but, nope—Kat’s crying her eyes out every bit as much as Gloria, completely lost in her own Cinderella-fied world.

Wow. Is Kat crying like that because she’s so happy for Sarah—or because she’s despairing she’ll never get to be the one wearing the white dress?

I peel my eyes off Kat and gaze at Sarah Fucking Cruz walking toward us.

She’s almost at the end of the aisle—and now that she’s closer, I can plainly see why Jonas shot me that look of astonishment about Uncle William’s gift.

Holy shit, the necklace encircling Sarah’s elegant neck is fit for a queen.

I mean, I’m no expert on diamonds, but that’s got to be half a million bucks worth of them, if not more.

It makes no sense, and I know I should be ashamed of myself for thinking it, but for a fleeting moment, jealousy rises up inside me that Uncle William gave that thing to Sarah, and not to Kat. Kat deserves to have the crown jewels around her neck, too.

Wait. What the fuck am I thinking? If it wouldn’t be a totally weird thing to do in front of all these people, I’d slap the shit out of myself right now for my rambling and bizarre thoughts.

Sarah glides up to the officiant and Jonas lurches over to her. He grabs both her hands and leans in to whisper something into her ear. Sarah nods and smiles and Jonas kisses Sarah full on the mouth like they’ve just been pronounced husband and wife.

“Not quite yet, Jonas,” the officiant says, and everyone laughs.

Jonas laughs and pulls away, but then quickly leans in and pecks Sarah’s lips one more time, like he’s literally stealing a kiss.

Everyone laughs again.

“Oh, Jonas,” Sarah says, beaming at him.

“You look beautiful,” Jonas says softly.

“So do you, love. You’ve got happy eyes . ”

“Very happy eyes,” Jonas whispers. “I love you, Sarah.”

“I love you, too, mi amor . Te amo .”

“I can’t wait to call you my wife.”

The officiant clears his throat comically. “Excuse me,” he says. “Would you two lovebirds mind if I cut in? ”

Everyone in the audience laughs, yet again.

“Would you two like to get married, or . . ?”

“Yes, please,” Sarah says.

“As quickly as humanly possible,” Jonas adds.

Again, the entire place collectively chuckles.

I steal a look at Kat and she beams at me through her tears.

“I’m thrilled to welcome everyone to this happy occasion—the marriage of Jonas Faraday and Sarah Cruz,” the officiant begins.

“Both Jonas and Sarah have told me, separately, that they believe finding the other was their life’s sacred destiny, their soul’s mission—that the other is the missing piece to their soul’s sacred puzzle. ”

Normally, this kind of you-complete-me marriage-speak at weddings doesn’t affect me any more than a speech about global warming, but this time, for the first time ever, the officiant’s words are making my heart palpitate and the hair on my neck stand up.

After a few opening remarks and a prayer, the officiant reads from Corinthians about the nature of love.

“Love is kind and not jealous,” he says—and when he says the word “jealous,” I can’t help but shoot a pointed look at Kat.

She flares her nostrils and narrows her eyes in reply, making me smile.

I love it when Kat gives me her dragon-lady look.