“I’m so proud of you,” my father said, and I felt tears prick at my eyes.
“Don’t make me cry,” I warned him. “Sydney spent an hour on my makeup, and if this mascara runs, I’m toast.”
He smiled. “Well, we can’t have that. But — I just wanted you to know how happy I am that you’re allowing me to walk you down the aisle.”
“Of course you’re walking me down the aisle,” I said, going to him and looping my arm through his. “You’re my father, aren’t you?”
“That I am,” he agreed. “And I’ll be here for you from now on. That’s a promise.”
“Good,” I said with a grin. “Because I have a feeling Connor and I are going to need a whole bunch of babysitters in the near future.”
He responded to that with a laugh. But then I heard the harpist beginning to play Pachelbel’s “Canon,” and knew the ritual walk down the aisle had begun. My heart sped up, and he patted my hand.
“Ready?”
“Ready,” I replied.
We began the slow processional, moving out into the bright sunshine, a fresh breeze playing with my veil. To either side were crowds of people, many of whom I barely recognized — the Wilcox contingent, I supposed — but of course there were many familiar faces, including Sydney’s parents, and then my Aunt Rachel and Tobias and the McAllister elders sitting in the front row on one side, and Lucas and Marie on the other, an empty seat next to her, waiting for my father when he was done walking me down the aisle.
Then I really didn’t have eyes for any of them, only saw Connor waiting for me, Anthony standing next to him, along with Connor’s friend Darren and a Wilcox cousin whose name totally escaped me at the moment. We were still a few yards apart, but Connor’s gaze caught mine and held. I could see the way his eyes lit up when he saw me, and I almost gasped when I saw how handsome he was in his charcoal gray suit and deep teal tie. He’d kept growing his hair, and now it was long enough that he had it back in a ponytail. I actually loved that, because it was a lot of fun to pull off the elastic at night and let my fingers drift through the heavy raven tresses. And don’t even get me started on the way that hair felt brushing against my inner thighs….
The woman officiating was someone we’d found at one of Sedona’s funky New Age churches; she’d been more than happy to perform a sort of free-form ceremony for us, as I’d discovered that the Wilcoxes tended to have traditional sorts of weddings, more for appearance than anything else, and I knew the Goddess didn’t care much how this marriage happened, as long as it did. For Connor and I were meant to be together — I knew that more than anything else — and everything else was just window dressing.
My father bent and kissed me on the cheek before going to take his seat next to Marie, and Connor stepped forward to take my hand in his. For a second I fumbled with the bouquet, totally forgetting I was supposed to hand it off to Sydney. Then I heard her laugh and come over to take it from me.
After that, things went smoothly, although I have to confess I wasn’t paying much attention to the words of the ceremony, was only staring up at Connor, wondering how I could be so lucky to have found him, how I truly did have the man of my dreams. And at the end he kissed me, warm fire spreading through my veins, and I realized he was now my husband, and I was his wife, and the mingling of the two clans had truly begun.
Whatever their differences, everyone did stand up and cheer and clap as we made our way back down the aisle, hand in hand. After this I knew there would be a frenzy and a bustle for a while as the hotel staff broke down all the lines of chairs and set up tables in their stead, but Connor and I got to miss most of that as we had our pictures taken while the sun began to dip toward the horizon, and the rocks blazed redder and redder behind us.
And when we returned, the outdoor space had been turned into fairyland, with lights swagged from the trees and gleaming from the middle of the tables, and everyone looking a little more relaxed after using the downtime to hit the open bar.
A week before the wedding, I’d had another appointment with Dr. Ruiz, and she said I could have a small glass of champagne at the reception, as long as it was only the one. “I won’t tell a bride that she can’t have a little champagne at her own wedding,” she said with a smile.
That hadn’t been the only piece of good news she shared with us, though. She performed another ultrasound, and this time she was able to be fairly definite on the sex of the twins. “Looks like a boy and a girl,” she informed us, while I grinned like an idiot and Connor held my hand and looked at me as if I’d just performed some sort of miracle.