I clamp my lips together to keep my chin from trembling.
“Another thing,” Reed says. “I once called you the ‘Ginger Rogers of Spin.’ But I’ve since realized that’s too limiting. You’re the Ginger Rogers of Life. A badass at everything you do. Far more so than me. From the outside, people might look at us and assume I’m the teacher here—that I’m some sort of Svengali. But the truth is you’ve taught me far more than I’ve taught you. You’ve taught me how to love, Georgie. You’ve taught me how to be happy.”
Well, that does it. Tears spring in my eyes.
“You’re my partner,” he says, his chest heaving. But then, his mouth quirks up with a little half-smile. “My sparring partner, at times, yes. My partner in crime, for sure. But, always, my equal partner.”
My breathing hitches as I try not to sob.
He cups my cheek in his palm. “I thought I knew it all when I met you, Georgina Ricci. I thought I had the whole world figured out. But you came along and showed me what I was missing. You completed me and brought me pure joy. And for that, I’m so grateful. My vow to you, my beloved Georgina, is that I’ll always love and protect you and take care of you. You’ve got me, baby. All of me. And I promise, every day of my life, forever, to make sure I’m the Fred Astaire you rightly deserve.”
***
Best. Wedding. Reception. Ever.
With a loud whoop, I throw my bridal bouquet up and behind my back. And when I spin around to see where my flowers landed, I’m thrilled to discover it’s Zasu, the woman who mentored me during my internship at Rock ‘n’ Roll, who’s caught them. It’s a perfect result, since Zasu is always telling me horror stories from her “hellacious” dating life. Hopefully, those flowers will bring her a prince, the next time she swipes right on Tinder, rather than yet another frog. Although, given that Tinder is Zasu’s primary vehicle for meeting men, I wouldn’t count on it.
As Zasu raises her flowers into the air, a loud cheer rises up inside the house—a telltale sign that yet another “super-group” has walked onstage to perform another “typical wedding song” for the party. It’s the only wedding gift Reed and I requested: for Reed’s attending artists to get up onstage, at some point during the reception, in any combinations, and thrill our guests with their interpretations of classic party songs. Tunes like Dancing Queen and Love Shack and Uptown Funk. And that’s exactly what these musical geniuses have been doing all night long. And it’s been the best thing, ever.
The iconic piano intro to “I Will Survive” sounds from inside the house, followed by the smooth vocals of the one and only Dean Masterson of Red Card Riot singing the instantly recognizable first line.
“I have to dance to this one!” I shriek. I mean, come on. Dean Masterson is singing “I Will Survive”... at my wedding? My fourteen-year-old self would need smelling salts.
As if on cue, my new husband appears at my side, looking dapper in his perfectly tailored Armani tux, and leads me on his arm into the house.
As we walk toward the French doors on the opposite side of the large patio, I notice C-Bomb and Dax Morgan sitting on a bench together in a far corner, their body language relaxed and friendly. “Reed, look.” I gesture to the unlikely duo, and Reed and I share a huge smile.
Before tonight, we already knew the guys of 22 Goats and Red Card Riot had received our wedding invitations and decided to put their differences aside to party under one roof for the first time in years. But knowing Dax and C-Bomb had finally decided to bury the hatchet, in our honor, and actually seeing them together, looking like old friends, laughing and smiling... well, those are two different things.
“That happened because of you,” Reed says.
I scoff. “No. They’re here because celebrating with you was more important to them than hanging onto whatever originally pissed them off.”
Reed chuckles. “Silly Mrs. Rivers. What I meant is they’re all so shocked I landed a catch like you, they were dying to see for themselves if you actually went through with saying ‘I do.’”
I roll my eyes and he laughs.
Inside the house, we find Dean singing his heart out onstage, as expected, backed by some of the most recognizable musicians in the world, all of