Page 98 of Bridesmaid to Bride

“The business is not the only thing your father supports.” There’s a glint in West’s eye.

I glance at my dad, who’s now sitting in the front row, and he gives me a wave. He actually looks proud.

When the crowd dies down, Mia says, “Okay, so holy plot twist—he’s down on one knee, ring glinting in the spotlight. So, who’s going to be our next Groomsman to Groom, then?”

The stage lights move toward the curtain as the crowd goes into a hushed silence. After a long beat of suspense, Hayes comes waltzing out, wearing a tuxedo and a huge smile. August is with him, looking like a mini-version of his father in a matching tux.

The room breaks into thunderous applause, then swells to a standing ovation.

Mia is glowing. “That’s right, everyone. Hero Hayes, the widowed single father who turned into a social media star overnight after he bared it all to save an older man from a jellyfish sting!”

Oh, wow. This is wonderful news for Hayes and August! And what Mia is saying is an understatement—the unblurred footage of Hayes’ peeing got leaked, no pun intended, and the world fell in love with his very large, very long equipment.

“Can we talk about how incredible Hayes and his son, August, are?” Mia flashes that million-dollar smile that’s probably insured.

West and I lock eyes, and I know he feels just as I do—that no one is more deserving of this than Hayes and August, who’ve had more than their fair share of heartache for a lifetime.

We’ve exchanged knowing looks for years, but now for the first time, I get to take in this moment with the man I’m spending the rest of my life with.

The man who captures the essence of who I am. Who I’m meant to be.

With his quiet strength and vintage tees, he’s my very own superhero.

Epilogue

WEST

“Adventure” is Eva’s middle name, at least these days it is. We’re on our way back to St. Sebastian to get married, and here we are, thirty thousand feet in the air, and she’s got that glint in her eye. The one that says she wants to tick off an item from her bucket list: joining the mile-high club.

“Go,” she mouths to me before slipping into the airplane lavatory, all dark hair and mischief. I wait, counting beats. One. Two. Three. My pulse thunders in my ears. The flight attendant ambles away, distracted by a passenger waving for another mini bottle of wine. Now’s my chance.

I sidle past rows of occupied seats and slip into the cramped space where Eva awaits. “Romantic,” I whisper, but she’s already pulling me close.

“Shh,” she hisses, though her eyes are laughing.

“We’re really doing this?” I whisper, but who am I kidding? Of course we’re doing this.

We fumble with belts and buttons, the confined space forcing us into an awkward tango. My elbow bangs against the sink; her knee thuds against the door. It’s like trying to peel an orange in your pocket—difficult, messy, and highly inefficient.

“Sorry,” I mutter as she steadies herself against the toilet.

“Turn around,” I say, a throaty command. She complies, amusement dancing in those eyes that’ve seen far too much for her years.

As she bends over the porcelain throne, it whooshes to life, the automatic flush sounding like an alarm. “Shit,” I groan, but we’re beyond the point of no return. I guide myself to her, entering from behind, and a jolt of pleasure wipes away any lingering self-consciousness.

“West,” she breathes out, a mixture of excitement and urgency. Her voice is raw honey, sticky and sweet, drawing me in deeper.

“Right here.” My fingers grip her hips, anchoring us together amidst the turbulence of our passion and the literal turbulence shaking the plane. We’re two rebels defying gravity—in a way.

The cramped space is a poor substitute for a honeymoon suite, but the heat between Eva and me more than makes up for it. Just as I’m hitting a rhythm, there’s an insistent knock on the door, followed by the jiggling of the handle.

“Occupied!” we both blurt out in unison, our eyes locking in a shared moment of “Oh, crap” as we remember that we’re not supposed to both be in here.

“Someone’s eager,” Eva whispers.

Then comes another knock, more persistent this time. My heart thumps against my ribcage—not from exertion, but from the fear of imminent discovery. This is not exactly how I envisioned joining the mile-high club, with a line forming outside.

“One minute,” I murmur, taking that as a challenge.

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