Page 45 of I’m Not Yours

“Do you, August MacKenzie, take Ben Stewart to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

The minister, a cheery sort, had a low voice that carried over the rows of friends and family sitting outside in white chairs, a puff of wind meandering through.

“I sure do,” August said, smiling up at Ben, who was in a kilt and a black tux jacket with a black bow tie. His groomsmen were in the same, as was my father, and many of the men on both sides of the family.

August was stunning, if I can brag a bit. Her wedding dress was exactly what she wanted, it was pure August. The dress was white lace, strapless, the bodice covered in pearls, and form-fitting to the top of her thighs, flaring out into a long train.

But she had asked me to Americanize hers and Ben’s family tartans, and I had done so, combining both into one.

The tartan looped over one shoulder, down to her waist, then flowed all the way down her lacy train, discreetly pinned.

As is our Scottish tradition for good luck, August sewed the last stitch of her wedding gown with March, September, our parents, and I watching.

Afterward, we did a MacKenzie family hug and cheer.

As bridesmaids, September and I wore red, much in the same style as August’s, and we, too, wore the combined tartans. The flower girls’ dresses were made of silky plaid, an exact replica of the colors in the Stewart or MacKenzie tartans. We all wore red heels.

Red heels are another family tradition. MacKenzies, or descendants of MacKenzies, have worn red heels for over one hundred years to symbolize that just because they’re getting married, it doesn’t mean they’re giving up “hell-raisin’ fun.”

The wood stage for the wedding had been built by the river by Buddy. Yards of white silk hung across an arbor, the perfect backdrop to two enormous bouquets of wildflowers, August’s favorite. On one side, a Stewart tartan hung; on the other, a MacKenzie tartan.

During the vows I snuck a peek out of the corner of my eye at Reece.

He was staring straight at me, a gentle, sweet, serious expression on his face.

I tried to distract myself, I did, and focus on August, but those green eyes held me fast, and I felt my whole body melting, then turning fiery hot, then melting again.

I had never been so physically attracted, and so emotionally attracted, to any man in my entire life.

I didn’t even know I could be that attracted to anyone . . .

“I now pronounce you man and wife!” the minister said, so cheery.

Oh, the kiss, the cheers, the smiles.

I was so happy for August, I had to wipe my tears.

“Now, in keeping with the MacKenzie family wedding tradition, let all married couples stand and face each other. . . .” The minister intoned.

August hugged September and me, then March, who was a groomsman, then went back to Ben, as it should be.

September and I stood at the altar. Ben’s best man and two groomsmen motioned for their wives to come up on stage.

Other couples, including all married couples in the Stewart and MacKenzie families, stood and faced each other, holding hands.

That’s when the problem started. A blistering problem. A walking problem. A terrible, wrecking ball of a problem.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I was furious to see Grayson. Yes, Grayson. My temper triggered instantly, searing through my shock, as he hopped up beside me on stage.

“I knew August was getting married, and I thought that you and I could renew our vows together, again.” Grayson took my shaking hands in his.

“Get the hell off this stage.” I kept my voice down so as not to cause a distraction.

“So many marriages,” the minister proclaimed, quite jovially. “So much love.”

“Why, June?” Grayson cocked an eyebrow. He was dressed in an expensive gray suit. “I think a renewal of our vows is what we need for a jump start.” He squeezed my hands, then stepped closer.

“To begin again. Reboot. Come on, June. One more chance.”

My jaw dropped as for the first time, the first time , I heard sincerity in his voice. “You’re kidding.”

“No. I miss you. I love you. I’ll always love you. This has been the most miserable time in my whole life. Every day is worse than the day before. I’m in a pit, June. I have fought this divorce to ridiculousness because I don’t want it.”

The minister chirped, “What a blessing it is that all married couples can renew their vows together, as one family . . . eternal love and commitment . . .”

“I don’t care,” I hissed. “I want out.”

“I know. But I want to try again. Once more. I’ll do anything. You can do whatever you want. Make wedding dresses, we can turn the basement into your studio, we can travel more, I’ll work less.”

“No.” I envisioned Reece in the audience, that blond hair, the man who loved lobster, loved talking about my wedding dresses, loved his ranch and songs, seeing this catastrophe, on stage, at my sister’s wedding.

“Couples,” the minister intoned, “hold the hands of your beloved and concentrate, for a moment, only on them, on your lives together, your love. Recapture that passion . . .”

“Go away now, Grayson.” At that moment, I almost hated him.

I ripped my hands from his.

“Please, June. See reason, be reasonable.”

“Let us now,” the minister sing-songed, “repeat our vows to one another, with love and forgiveness, humbleness and pride, grace and compassion, passion and fidelity.”

“Last time, Grayson.” I was trembling. Trembling with pulsating anger at him for invading my sister’s wedding in front of Reece.

“Say the name of your beloved . . .” the minister said.

“Renew the vows, June—”

“Never—”

“I take thee . . .” the minister’s voice rose.

“I take thee, June.”

“Stop it, Grayson.”

“. . . to have and to hold from this day forward . . .”

“I’m not letting go of you, June.”

“You’ll be forced to then, by law.”

“For better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health . . .”

“Listen to those vows. You took them, June. For better or worse, in sickness and in health.”

“It was always ‘worse,’ Grayson, and you make me sick. Sick in the heart.”

“. . . to love and to hold, from this day until eternity . . .”

“You still care for me,” he insisted, so arrogant. So delusional.

Well, that did it. I still cared for him? I wanted him to fly off the planet. I saw red. Grayson was red. All around him, red.

“Until death do us part. . . .”

I didn’t even think about it. I wanted him gone.

Gone for good. I could not have him in my life for another second.

I stepped closer. I hooked my fun red heel around his ankle and pushed.

He stumbled. I helped him fall backward when I slammed my fist into his face, and he flipped straight back, off the four-foot-tall stage, through the MacKenzie tartan.

He landed on his back, a poof escaping his lips, the tartan covering his pinched face.

I whipped back around as if nothing had happened.

“I now pronounce, all of you,” the minister said, delight and triumph running through his voice, “man and wife!”

When I could breathe I turned my gaze to Reece’s, with the greatest fear I believe I have ever felt in my entire life.

I couldn’t find him, I couldn’t see him.

Without causing any more of a scene I searched the yard, and there he was, beside Grayson, picking him up by the shoulders and yanking him away, as if Grayson was a limp coyote.

Reece was livid.

“I can’t be with you anymore.”

“June, honey—”

“Reece, I can’t.” We were at the river, away from August and Ben’s rollicking reception, in full swing after a bagpipe concert.

Grayson had left. Ben’s family had done well at the watermelon seed spitting contest. His brother won.

They were going to have another scavenger hunt, his mother wanted a crystal wand.

Ben’s sister was interested in Carrie’s Ouija board.

KC and the Sunshine Band’s song, “Get Down Tonight,” had been a huge boogie hit.

Next to me, so close, both of us on the grass beside the river, Reece said, his voice raw and frustrated, “You can’t be serious, June.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t see this ending.” I fought back hysteria that threatened to take over any rational part of my brain that was still left. “Grayson is not going to let go. I may have another year of this.”

“Listen, June, I have money. I’ll pay him off—”

“I would never accept that money.” I started making a hiccupping sound as I tried to breathe.

“You wouldn’t accept it?” He threw his hands in the air, his temper flaring. “I’m offering to go to him and give him a pile of money so he signs the damn divorce papers giving you full rights to June’s Lace and Flounces, and you won’t accept it ?”

“No, Reece, I can’t take money from you.

I won’t.” I was still reeling from the scene with Grayson.

He was stalking me, he would always stalk me.

I felt a sense of desolation and despair fill my entire being.

“And I won’t allow you to pay him off, I can’t live with that, I can’t sleep with that. No.”

“We could be together. It’s only money to me, June, only money. And I want us. I want us and the beach walks, the butterfly shells, the sunsets. I want to hold you. I want to plan a future.”

“I am not dealing with a normal person. Grayson has money, too. The money he makes as a partner in his firm, inherited money. His possessions, his things, his stuff, that’s what he values. I’m a thing to him. A thing who he thinks is going to make more money for him.”

“I know he doesn’t want to let you go, June. I saw that. He’s a dangerous, selfish man, but we can get this taken care of, we can.”

“But when? It’s been going on so long.” It was sick. He was sick. Grayson made me feel trapped and suffocated. I had a right to my life, but he hung on like handcuffs.