Tied(63)

The string quartet in the orchestra bay begins to play Canon in D by Pachelbel.

It’s game time.

The first to appear in the doorway are our parents. My father looks distinguished as he stands in the middle, my mother, wearing a plum gown, on one arm; Kate’s mother, in deep blue, is on the other. All three wear beaming smiles as they proceed down the aisle. Before my mother enters the pew, she blows me a kiss. She used to do the same thing when I was a kid, as I ran out the door to school—before I was old enough to ask her to stop.

I smile back at her meaningfully.

Next are my sister and Steven. Alexandra looks gorgeous in the strapless, burgundy bridesmaid gown Kate chose. An ivory shawl demurely covers her shoulders: her blond hair is pinned up and curled, not a strand out of place. Her arm rests comfortably, confidently, through Steven’s. They glance at each other and I just know they’re thinking of their own wedding. When they reach the altar, Steven kisses Lexi sweetly, then they part and stand on their respective sides.

Jack and Erin follow, arm in arm. Jack winks at a female guest as he strolls down the aisle and Erin smiles joyfully. Brightly. If you ever wanted a good example of how a no-strings-attached hookup should be done, Jack and Erin are it. No bad feelings, no awkwardness, just friendly, physical attraction.

After they reach the altar, it’s Matthew and Dee-Dee’s turn—the best man and matron of honor. Wearing the same gown as my sister—instead of one of the whacked-out ensembles she typically dresses in—Delores looks really good. She holds Matthew’s arm and sways her hips in time with the music, making him laugh at her silly exuberance. When they reach the altar, she looks me up and down—then gives me a thumbs-up.

I nod at her silent compliment.

Delores stands beside my sister, and Matthew takes his place to my left.

One more couple to go before Kate makes her entrance. This couple will steal the whole f*cking show. I knew it, Kate knew it, and neither of us minded at all.

Mackenzie and James.

The flower girl and the ring bearer. The gold mine of every wedding photographer who ever worked.

Mackenzie’s dress is white lace with cap sleeves. Her long hair is pulled up at the sides with white daisies woven into the crown of blond braids. She’s old enough to be called beautiful but still enough of a kid to be called adorable. Her blue eyes shine as she waves to me from the end of the aisle.

I wave back.

She takes my son’s hand and together they make their way to me. James looks impressively lovable in his own custom Armani tux. He’s surprisingly well behaved—keeping pace with Mackenzie, holding his ring-bearer pillow straight, grinning for all the cameras taking their picture.

When they reach the altar, James drops Mackenzie’s hand, ditches his pillow, and runs straight to me. “Daddy!”

I scoop him up and look into his big, brown eyes.

“Is good?” he asks.

“You did great, buddy.” I kiss his temple. “Go sit with Grandma and Pop now, okay?”

“Otay.”

I set him down and my parents receive him into their pew.

Then I straighten up. The starting notes of the “Wedding March” fill the cathedral. All the guests stand and turn toward the closed double doors.

The wooden doors open. And the air rushes from my lungs.

Because she’s breathtaking. More stunning than I’d imagined—and my imagination is pretty f*cking active.

Kate’s a vision in white—strapless, a sweetheart neckline with just a teasing taste of cleavage, fitted around the middle, accenting her tiny waist. Lace covers the delicate swell of her hips, flaring out behind her in a majestic train. An Irish-lace veil adorns her head, and her hair falls in shiny, dark waves beneath it. Her makeup is light, just enough to emphasize her flawless skin, full lips, and those big, dark eyes that captivated me the moment I saw them.

She swallows hard and gazes around the crowded cathedral, looking uneasy. Anxious. Until she sees me. At the altar—waiting for her.

She holds my eyes for a second, then slowly, surely, she smiles.

And it’s perfect.

My view of the world blurs, and I don’t give a shit if that sounds pussified. It’s true. And deserved. My chest tightens with tenderness, with the sanctity of this moment.

The music soars as Kate holds George’s arm, and he escorts her down the aisle. I can’t take my eyes off her, and her gaze never leaves my face. When they finally arrive, I shake George’s hand and he moves into the pew next to Carol.

Kate offers me her hand, and, as I did the first time we met, I bring it to my lips and kiss it reverently.

“You’re exquisite,” I tell her softly. “I . . . have no words.”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “I guess there really is a first time for everything.”

It’s as if everyone else, the whole damn church, just fades away. And there’s only the two of us. I cup her cheek and smooth her lip with my thumb. Then I lean forward and kiss her—softly and slowly and brimming with feeling.

After a few seconds, Father Dougherty clears his throat. Loudly. “That part comes later, son.”

I end the kiss and turn to the priest, still holding Kate’s hand.

Kate blushes and the guests’ laughter echoes off the walls.

I clear my throat. “Sorry, Father. Patience has never really been my strong suit.”