The last thing I feel today is happy. That single question echoes in my mind.
What have I done?
All the guests have arrived and been seated. Lachlan turns to wave for me to take my place.
I trudge up the silver-carpeted aisle, dressed in my kilt with a waist-length black jacket, a white shirt, and a black bow tie as well as black boots. Emery has no idea I've worn this outfit. I know she'll like it, though, and that's why I chose it. She loves me in a kilt.
Loves me.Acid roils in my gut, threatening to creep up into my throat.
At the altar, I turn to face the crowd.
Emery's mother and sister trot up the aisle to sit beside their husbands.
And my wife emerges from the house, walking slowly up the aisle toward me.
My heart stutters. She is an angel, a genuine vision of a heavenly creature who, for reasons beyond my comprehension, wants to pledge herself to me—again. Her lace-covered dress hugs her upper body, then flares out into a flowing skirt, while the neckline reveals a tasteful suggestion of her cleavage. Her blonde hair cascades over her shoulders in loose waves, with wee roses clinging to the locks. Instead of a full veil, she has a length of lacy material pinned to the back of her head with a silver clip.
I can't breathe again, my chest tightening as if a vise is gripping me harder and harder every second. My mouth goes dry. My pulse beats so fast I think I might pass out, but somehow, I stay conscious and upright.
She glances at the crowd, and I can tell she's noticed the three surprise guests I invited. Her friends from Colorado—Pam, Sabri, and Luke—smile and wave at her. Emery gives her mates a friendly smile, then beams at me.
That pain. In my chest. I swallow but can't dislodge the rock in my throat.
She's beautiful. Perfect. And I don't deserve her.
Our gazes connect, and I go stiff, unable to look away or even blink.
Her smile falters, and her lips quiver, but she doesn't seem to be sad, not this time. She seems overcome with emotion.
No, I don't deserve her, but I can't let her go either.
She manages a gentle smile, her lips no longer trembling, as she joins me at the altar and we face each other. I have nothing else to do except stare into her eyes and try to understand my reaction to seeing her in a wedding dress. As the minister begins to speak, delivering the usual words, Emery and I never break eye contact, not even when the minister asks us to recite our vows. Love, honor, cherish, till death.
Then it's time for those two words: "I do."
Emery gets choked up, her eyes shimmering with the start of tears, but she utters the syllables while gazing straight into my eyes.
I mumble "I do" while struggling not to cock it up, though I hesitate before speaking the words. Never in my life have I been like this, a mass of raw nerves and tangled emotions, too confused to understand what's happening. I've been married to Emery for weeks. Why should a second ceremony turn me into a bampot?
When we exchange rings, I glance away from her only long enough to get the gold band on her finger.
"You may kiss the bride," the minister says.
I take her face in my hands, slant forward, and touch my lips to hers.
Her body slackens as if she's let go of everything, as if nothing else matters except this moment when our lips meet. She sways into me and tips her head back, all but begging me to kiss her, really kiss her. I press my mouth to hers more firmly and dive my hands into her hair, the soft wee petals of the silk roses in her hair brushing against my fingers. Her lips relax too and open for me while she exhales a delicate breath that teases my skin.
I pull away, though my hands linger on her cheeks.
Clapping erupts. Then someone whistles, and the clapping escalates into cheers and whoops from dozens of voices, male and female, young and old.
Emery rotates her eyes to scan our audience, and I follow her gaze.
Aidan whistles with two fingers in his mouth, then grins and pumps his fists in the air.
I might find that amusing if I weren't still entangled in my own raw nerves.
Ted Granger whoops.
Why should he celebrate the fact I've married his daughter, again? The man barely knows me. I remove my hands from Emery's face, drawing her attention back to me. Since I'm positive I can't speak yet, I graze my thumb over her chin.
Then I claim her hand and guide her back down the aisle.