Say Forever(73)

Christina grasps my shoulders, pulling herself up on her toes while craning her neck to look up at me. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that." Her bottom lip trembles.

Damn. I've upset her. Now I feel even less worthy of her.

Shut up, Andrés. Take your beautiful bride and make her all yours. Don't fuck this up now.



But there's this aching in my chest, not strong, not enough to weigh me down. It feels like my heart has been punctured by the smallest hole, and it will never close until I come clean. Until I tell her how I feel, and I know I have to do it now. Before she commits to me for a lifetime, she needs to know this man she's marrying is not worthy of her. Not at all.

I look into her face and swipe a tear form the corner of her eye. "You don't have to be marrying me. You could be marrying a billionaire's son."

She shakes her head, biting down on her lip. "I don't want him. I want you."

I can see it's taking all her willpower not to break down and cry. I'm feeling less worthy of her by the second.

"I might have to quit my job, mija. If this catering thing doesn't work, then I won't have a job at all."

Christina settles back on her heels and crosses her arms. She was on the verge of sobbing just moments ago, and now she looks ready to bite my head off. "We haven't said our vows yet, but I'm pretty sure there's a part in there about for better or for worse, and when I say it, I'll mean it." She jabs me in the chest. "There's nothing that life can throw at us that will be any worse than the life I lived before I met you." Her expression softens as she splays her hand across my heart. "As long as we're together, we'll deal with whatever the future holds."

My heart pounds like a drum beneath her touch. I can still feel that hole, that fucking stupid hole, and though I know she's trying to reassure me now, all her forgiveness does is drive home the fact that I'm definitely not good enough for her.

"I wasn't there for you when you lost the baby." My throat feels so tight, I'm surprised I can speak at all. "I stayed too late at work. You needed me, and I wasn't there."

She frowns and looks at those red shoes of hers. She twists her feet for a moment, as if she's examining the flowers on her toes. And while she's contemplating flowers, I'm holding my breath, because I know it's not flowers she's thinking about. I know she finally realizes she can do better.

She lets out a slow breath of air, punctuated by a soft moan. When she looks at me, my heart stops. In fact, everything around me stops. I don't hear the noise from the crowd behind us or the blaring music. I don't see the flashing lights, either. All I see are those big, soulful green eyes staring at me.

"I did need you, Andrés, but you had a lot to deal with, too."

I shake my head, hardly believing she's trying to justify my behavior. "Don't make excuses for me, mija."

She flashes a weak smile while tracing a pattern on my chest. "You'll do better next time."

"I'm never putting my job ahead of you again. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted." She leans into me, wrapping her arms around my neck. "Can we get married now?"

The impatience in her tone makes me laugh out loud. My fear and guilt seem to melt away as I bend her over and capture her lips in a soul crushing kiss. Yeah, maybe I don't deserve this amazing woman, but goddam, I'm making her mine.

We spend a half an hour filling out marriage certificate paperwork and picking our photography packages before Elvis will marry us. Christina gets offended when the woman at the front desk says she looks as old as her high school daughter. She checks over Christina's ID carefully, as if we've forged it. I stifle a laugh as Christina rolls her eyes at the woman. Christina doesn't bring a ring for me, but since the chapel is nice enough to have wedding rings on hand for an extra three hundred dollars a pop, we buy me a simple silver band. When Christina asks about bands for herself, I hold up a hand, telling her not to worry about it, and then I shrug off her questioning look.

Elvis really plays his part well as he saunters up to us, swaying an ass that is probably thirty years too old and forty pounds too much for those polyester pants with multicolored rhinestones sewn into the seams. He knocks his knees a few times and waves his hands around in an awkward circular motion before pointing at my bride.

"Rhythm is something you either have or don't have, but when you have it, you have it all over." He waves his hands down his body as if he's trying to fan paint fumes off his pants.

I try to pretend that's what he's doing, but I groan when he starts going on about us not stepping on his blue suede shoes.

Fuck. Why did we have to get the Elvis wedding?

But my bride giggles, so for her, I guess he's worth it.