Plan B (Best Laid Plans #2)(36)

***

Our wedding is at ten in the morning the following day. Both due to last-minute availability and my desire to take care of this sooner rather than later. It’s just the two of us, along with the officiant, the entire thing arranged with one last-minute phone call once Daisy said yes.

“This probably isn’t how you imagined it. Your wedding,” I say, thinking out loud as we navigate the hotel to the wedding venue. I wonder if I’m fucking this up in more ways than one. Is she going to resent me for this shotgun Vegas wedding? Daisy’s wearing an outfit she wore to the conference last week and I’m in slacks and a dress shirt. This is hardly the stuff wedding fairy tales are made of. She deserves more than this. Surely she wants more than this.

“It’s fine.” She waves her hand as if this is all easy breezy. “I’ve always thought weddings were kinda weird anyway.”

“Weird? How so?” I’ve never met a single female who thought weddings were weird.

“I don’t know. It’s a really intimate moment”—her eyes flash to mine—“for normal couples, not for us, obviously.”

I nod my head, indicating for her to continue.

“And there’s an entire audience of people staring at the couple having this really special moment. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want an audience during my special moments. I’m not an exhibitionist.”

“Hmm.” I’d not describe her as an exhibitionist either. Social, yes. Outgoing? Definitely. She’s not a wallflower. But still, she’s not interested in the dress and the party and all the shit that goes along with weddings? Or is it just because it’s not exactly a real wedding? Strictly speaking.

“We can have one after, if you like. This fall. Or after the baby is born. Or a big reception. You could invite all your friends and family.”

Vegas seemed the least complicated option. If we’d gone to the courthouse in Philadelphia my sister would have wanted to be there. Then the grandparents. Then Daisy would have wanted to have her sister, her parents, and before we knew it the wedding would have been delayed for months of planning.

“For our marriage of convenience?” She’s looking at me like I’m nuts. I might be. She’ll stop referring to us as convenient, eventually. After she either falls in love with me or tells me to go to hell.

“No, I’m good,” she insists. “It’s not like I’d invite an audience to watch me give birth either. Or have sex. Not my jam. Maybe we can have a super-posh baby shower though,” she muses. “With an elaborate pink and blue candy bar. And a big tiered cake. We could do something totally obnoxious and have the cake cutting be the gender reveal, except I don’t want to know the baby’s sex beforehand. I’d still like the big tiered cake though.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to host your own shower.”

“No worries.” She waves a hand dismissively. “We’ll say Kerrigan and Violet are throwing it. You’ll pay for it though. Obviously.”

“I’d be happy to. Obviously,” I add. “That’s all you want?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “It’s fine.”

And with that ringing endorsement for our future, we’ve arrived at the designated location, officiant waiting under a canopy of flowers. Flowers we didn’t pick out. Flowers I’m not even sure are for us specifically. I wonder again at Daisy’s lack of concern. If it’s because she doesn’t see this as permanent.

“So we’re doing this,” I say.

“We’re doing this,” she agrees. She seems okay, if the slightest bit wary over this entire ordeal. I can’t blame her, but this is important to me. Archaic as it sounds, I want to do the right thing by her and the baby. I want to at least try. Besides, I do really like Daisy. This isn’t exactly how I’d intended to go about things with her, but best-laid plans and all that. I can adapt.

Traditional vows. I hadn’t given any thought to them when the coordinator asked via email what we wanted. I knew we weren’t going to write our own, not at this point in our relationship. So I hastily agreed, yes, traditional was fine.

Now they feel heavy. Promising to love and honor for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. We haven’t earned such weighty promises. Not yet.

It’s over far faster than should be possible for such a momentous occasion. Three minutes, maybe four? A hotel employee standing as witness while Daisy and I repeat the vows, and the officiant declares us legally wed. “You may now kiss your bride.” Done. Official.

“Thank you.” Those are the words I murmur to Daisy the moment after kissing her, as my new bride. Thank you for trusting me in this madness.

She blinks at me, rapid flutters of her eyelashes. She looks a little shell-shocked, overwhelmed from our brief ‘special moment,’ as she’d call it. “You’re welcome?”

I plant another kiss on her, then step back, taking her hand in mine. “We should celebrate. Or at least eat. Brunch? Something? What do you feel like doing?”

“It’s like you really don’t know me at all,” she quips.

I stare at her for a short moment, then smile. “Room service?”

“I do!” she exclaims, bouncing on her feet with a wide smile. A smile that reminds me of meeting her on a sidewalk in Boston. A smile filled with promise and possibilities. A smile that gives me hope that this might just work.