Page 50 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

“Why is your uncle adjusting wires?”

“Because he bribed the DJ with leftover egg rolls and declared himself ‘Music Director.’”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Technically,” Rhys said, adjusting his tie, “you’ll be related to him in twenty minutes.”

“Then it’s family business.”

Despite the chaos, Linda looked luminous. Terrifying. Beautiful in the way stars were beautiful—distant, blinding,inevitable. Rhys watched her from the altar, breath tight in his chest, and knew he was absolutely doomed in the best way possible.

The ceremony began.

The music swelled.

Linda walked down the aisle to soft, reverent strings—perfect, romantic, nearly cinematic.

Until the speaker cut out.

Then surged back on.

With full-volume Whitesnake.

“IS THIS LOOOOOVE—”

The entire crowd screamed. An elderly aunt clutched her pearls. A child sobbed into a bowtie. The DJ made the sign of the cross.

Linda froze mid-step.

“I will murder Uncle Rick with a cheese knife,” she muttered.

Rhys beamed like a man about to risk his life for love. “You’ll look stunning doing it.”

They made it through the intro. Barely. Rhys kissed her hand like it was sacred. Linda whispered something about arson. Sir Stumps-a-Lot gave a small sneeze and adjusted the ring pillow on his back with the gravitas of a corgi who had already lived a hundred lives.

Then, the vows.

Rhys went first.

His voice cracked halfway through. Not because of nerves—but because she looked at him like he was the only real thing in the world.

“I’ve loved you since you threatened a microwave in the breakroom,” he said, soft and wrecked. “You make everything brighter—even the chaos. Especially the chaos. I vow to always bring you the right coffee. To carry sunscreen in my car. To walk beside you—no matter what kind of storm you are. Because I’d rather be ruined by you than loved safely by anyone else.”

The speaker buzzed once. Loudly. Like a demon.

Rhys didn’t flinch. He held her gaze like they were already home.

Linda’s turn.

Her voice wobbled. Then sharpened.

“I promise to love you, even when you pretend you’re chill but hoard receipts alphabetically. I vow to yell at toasterswithyou. To buy you your exact shade of sad boy moisturizer when you run out. And to never, ever let you near another Bluetooth speaker again.”

Everyone laughed. Then cried. Then laughed again.

She looked up at him, something dangerous and real glowing in her chest.

“And Rhys,” she whispered, voice shaking, “I promise to never stop choosing you. Even on the days I forget how to believe in anything else.”

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