Page 87 of Dearly Unbeloved
“You liar. You said we had time, but you set an alarm.”
“We had time, didn’t we?” I crawl up the bed between her thighs and lean in to kiss her. “You requested an hour to get ready, and you have an hour and fifteen minutes. You’re welcome.”
She tries to glare, but she can’t stop smiling enough to do it. “You better let me up to get ready, then. I think showing up to the chapel soaking wet after your wife rode your face is probably frowned upon.”
“At the very least, Jazz would kill you,” I say, smacking her ass as she gets up.
She shivers. “It’s so easy to get on her bad side right now, and I have no interest in making it easier.”
Jazz is due in a couple of months, and the closer she’s gotten to giving birth to our niece, the more… tense she’s become. She just about tolerates people, and she made one of Cal’s oldest clients cry a couple of weeks ago. Thankfully, it was a client he didn’t like.
We offered to hold off on our vow renewal until after the baby was here, but Jazz has been so excited about this trip that we’re forging ahead.
I didn’t know how serious Sierra was when she mentioned another wedding, but within an hour of us putting our rings back on, she already had Pinterest open. We weighed the pros and cons of a bigger wedding in Seattle and traveling farther afield for something smaller. We even talked about flying somewhere warm, but decided to stay within driving distance to make things easier for Jazz.
Once we got the idea of returning to Vegas, we couldn’t shake it. It just felt like the right place for a do-over—one that we’ll remember this time.
We’re keeping it small, but it didn’t feel right to do it alone this time, considering we wouldn’t be here without the peoplewho care about us nudging us in the right direction. Jazz, Liam, Maggie, Cal, Liam’s moms, Xan, Kami, and her daughter, Lexi—but not her husband, because they’re finally over—Sierra’s parents, Kyo, Lina, and Rylan. For the first time in my life, I have a family that lifts me up and supports me unconditionally.
My parents aren’t here. I wanted to want them here, but I’m not ready to let them back in yet. Maybe one day I will be, but, as my therapist says, I’m not healing for them. I’m healing for myself, and that means taking things at my own pace. Xan and Jazz have been nothing but respectful of my decision, and we get closer every day.
Like me, Jazz has distanced herself from our parents, not willing to let them stress her with the baby coming so soon. Xan still works with our dad, but he’s no longer trying to cling to whatever relationship they had.
The three of us are talking—about the good memories and the bad, the things we never said growing up, and the things we wished we’d done differently. Slowly but surely, we’re unpacking the collective trauma of being Alexander and Lilia Cannon’s children. Together.
The past few months have involved a lot of work and a lot of healing. Sierra and I both started therapy, and I started medication. It didn’t work overnight, but we’re both doing better than we were. We’ve started making more friends, hanging out with Imogen, Minah, and a few others from the lab, and we have a joint therapy session once a month just to give us a chance to talk anything out that we need a little extra help with.
We still fight, and we argue constantly, but it alwaysends with us falling asleep in each other’s arms—never mad, because I refuse to end up like my parents.
“Are you going to get ready, or just watch me?” Sierra asks, peeking over her shoulder from her seat in front of the mirror as she blends her foundation.
“Shh, I’m trying to watch my favorite show.”
Sierra’s face lights up like sunshine as she laughs, and it sounds a whole lot like forever.
SIERRA
I thought we might remember at least some of the chapel when we came back, but nope. The night Rose and I got married is as much of a blur as it was the morning after.
“You know, we chose pretty well, considering how drunk we were,” Rose says, clinging to my hand and looking over the room as the doors open and the music swells. We opted to walk down the aisle together, because neither of us really buys into the being given away thing. We already belong to each other, heart and soul.
The room is gorgeous, with high arched ceilings, and floaty purple curtains lining the walls. At the end of the aisle, there’s a giant violet heart with twinkling bulbs that some might consider tacky, but I love it. It’s the same heart from the background of our original wedding picture, and I can’t wait to hang our new one beside it at home.
There are flowers everywhere, but that was our addition.Rose’s, actually. She planned to surprise me, but stressed herself out so much about picking the right kinds of flowers that she broke down and asked me what I wanted—roses, of course, but she got every other flower from my list of favorites to line the aisle, and there’s a spread of petals under our feet as we stand by the officiant.
I may not remember anything about our original wedding, but I know for a fact I didn’t feel like I do now. I’ve never been happier, never felt so fulfilled as I am with Rose. There’ll always be a part of me waiting for her to wake up one day and realize she could be with anyone she wanted, but I know her. Even if she did wake up and think that, she wouldn’t go anywhere, because she has who she wants. And somehow, that’s me.
Standing facing each other, holding hands, the room might as well be empty for all I care. It’s just me and Rose, and nothing else matters.
We take a joint deep breath as the officiant clears her throat.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”