hearts left and right in a couple years. I love how he smiles, proud to be the best man.
Dad walks me up the aisle as the music begins.
“Take care of my little girl,” he whispers softly, leaning in to Mag, placing my hand in his.
“Already done,” Mag says with a smile so genuine it sets my heart on fire.
Someone—meaning Mom—has built an arch for us. It’s draped in glowing sea foam and pale blue tulle netting. A freaking chandelier hangs from the top.
Being married on Mag’s yacht was supposed to be a compromise.
He wanted something elegant that people—meaning the press and social media—would think was appropriate for a rockstar CEO. Mom wanted something over the top fit for one of her books.
I just wanted close friends and relatives and nothing else.
Dad wanted to pay for it, and I worried Mom’s ideas combined with my groom’s might bankrupt their newfound wealth.
But we decided Mag’s yacht, a beast he owns and pays for, would be a happy compromise with close friends, family, and Mom involved in everything else.
Looking at the arch with layers of silk plastered with seashells and coral, I smile.
Fair is fair.
Mom got her over-the-top dream wedding, and I got the perfect man.
My hand slips into Mag’s now, but I’m so nervous it’s more like he’s holding me up than just holding my hand. Then everything we rehearsed arrives in a giddy blur.
I manage to say, “I do,” at all the right times.
But the courage to get the words out comes from him.
“Now for the moment you’ve been waiting for—you may now kiss your bride!” our officiant announces.
Mag pulls me closer and meets my lips with this own.
His lips are all fire, leaving nothing but scorched happiness in his wake. His tongue pushes against my lips, tracing my mouth, etching our love into my being.
Sure, I’m full of sappy phrases today, but hey, what’s a mermaid princess to do on her big day?
My arms wind around him tight.
He holds me tighter, bending me back, deepening the force of his tongue on mine.
A few laughs burst out from somewhere around us, but I can’t even think.
We break away reluctantly, and the music swells with wild applause.
Mag straightens up, pulling me with him. I take several deep breaths before my lungs work again.
Our guests shift around, lining both sides of the staircase as we make our way. Birdseed scatters around us like confetti as we go down the stairs to the next deck for the reception.
Mom did an amazing job here, too.
Our wedding cake is three tiers and fades between aqua and seafoamy green. It’s decorated with edible shells of rich frosting instead of flowers. The groom on top holds a paddle wheel and the brunette in the wedding dress beside him is a mermaid holding herself up on a curled tail instead of legs.
The groom’s cake glows in royal purple and displays a picture of us at the Adzilla formal. I had no idea someone got a good picture before he charged to my defense against that creeper.
We do all the normal cheesy cake pictures with Mom making high-pitched “Awwws.”
Whenever she’s not snapping pictures like a paparazzi meth fiend, I mean.
I turn my back and throw the bouquet, glad I don’t have to face the crowd.
“Move!” Angie screams, her hands flying out.
“It better not hit me,” Ruby hisses.
I laugh because even with my back to her, I picture Ruby jumping away from the bouquet like it’s lethal.
“Oh!” Someone sputters like she’s just been winded.
I turn around to find Paige clasping the ball of flowers, her cheeks rosy pink.
Magnus comes up beside me and pulls me closer.
“We need to throw the garter, too,” he says.
“Okay.”
Mom and the photographer push a chair over to us.
I look at my mom, confused.
“Foot on the chair, baby,” she says.
I have no idea why, but I do it.
Why are weddings so weird again?
Mag slips his hand under my dress. The slightest brush of his fingers still makes me tremble.
“Use your teeth!” the photographer says with a laugh. “It’ll make a better picture.”
I turn crimson at the words.
“If you do that, you’ll leave here alone.”
“Suburbanite, I love you,” Mag chuckles, shaking his head.
Mom slaps his arm. “Don’t tease my daughter for being a good girl.”
He nods to her and mouths “Suburbanite” again to me. Then he slips the garter off with a perfect grasp and tosses it over his shoulder.
“I got it!” Hugo yells proudly, holding it up like it’s a trophy.
Oof.
“Awkward. I always wanted someone I work