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“You’re not afraid, are you? Of how he’d react if you called things off? Because—”

I rest a hand on my father’s arm. “No, Dad. I promise.” Drawing a breath and exhaling, I glance down the hall as I hear music start. “Scott doesn’t have the patience to stand around waiting for something to start. He’s always been that way.”

“So you’re supposed to wait for him to show up? Today, of all days? It looks bad. People will think he doesn’t care enough to be on time.”

I smile. “People are allowed to misjudge him. Most do.”

My dad shrugs, his mouth still a tight line. “I love you, so I worry about you.”

I nod and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for always being such a great dad.”

We walk to the back of the church, standing just out of sight. Then on cue, we step into view. Monet and the flower girl finish their walk. I spot Connor at the front of the church, then Scott on the other side of him.

Scott’s eyes are already on me, and they don’t deviate. From behind the veil, I smile at him and at the rows of people I pass. The entire church is packed, with people standing along either side. It’s incredibly crowded… like it’s Christmas or Easter.

When I reach the front, he steps toward me. I don’t hear anything that’s being said because nerves have overtaken me. I try to remember the breathing exercises we did before a debate, but I can’t for the life of me think of even one. His hand catches mine and holds it.

My veil’s lifted, and I look at him. He’s as gorgeous as ever, and when he smiles and winks at me, I remember how to breathe.

The ceremony begins in a blink. And a blur.

* * *

Trick

Laurelyn is a fairytale fantasy brought to life. She’s so beautiful she doesn’t even look real. I can see she’s nervous, so I take her hand and don’t let it go. Most of the ceremony, I’ve got my head slightly turned so I don’t have to stop looking at her.

Nothing goes wrong. The vows. The rings. The priest’s pronouncement. It all goes off perfectly. Four days of nightmares for nothing.

There’s some posing for pictures and then we go into the sanctuary with just the priest to sign the marriage certificate. I lay down my signature, only half listening to him make small talk with us.

“Sign here, Laurel,” I say, my eye still on the prize.

The pen slides over the paper, putting her signature next to mine.

Now she’s mine legally, and for the rest of my life. My hands finally get a tight grip on a certain happiness that’s been coming and going since the night of the poker game in Boston.

The priest takes the document and moves away.

It’s just us, staring at each other, her eyes like stained glass.

“So this happened,” she whispers in a teasing tone, rubbing her finger over the gold wedding band on my finger.

Her words hit me just right, and I smile. “Hard to believe. Only took us nine years.”

She chuckles. After a beat, she continues in the same tone. “What do you think? Can you stand one more party? Or should we call it a day and fly to the beach right now?”

“Whatever you want.” A part of me is dead serious.

“There was a moment when people wondered if you were ready to call it a day before the ceremony started.”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I nod. I’ll make that up to her.

“You okay?” she asks, serious now.

“I’m better than okay. I missed you the past few nights, but it’s all good now. Since I never have to miss you again.”

She squeezes my hand.