Page 127 of Space Balls: Houston, We Have Liftoff
Holt’s phone buzzes. “Everyone’s seated.” He pockets it and smooths down the lapels of his tux.
I clap my hands. “Time to go.”
Holt holds out his arm. “You ready?”
“You betcha.” I thread my arm through his.
“’Cause you don’t have to get married, you know. We can—"
“Holt.” I lower my head, staring him in the eyes. “I’m getting married. Right now.”
He holds my gaze for a second, then sighs. “Fine.”
Flynn snickers. As well as he’s been able to adapt to all the changes in my life these past few months, Holt… has not.
He’s afraid I’m being pressured into marriage. After Vance and I got engaged on Christmas, I was so busy buying a house, adopting two dogs, and enjoying the horrified glances I get every Sunday after pole dancing class when I run errands to Home Depot and Lowes for all my new house projects still dressed up in my finest stripper apparel and glitter, the multicolored spandex showcasing my baby bump, that I didn’t have time to plan a wedding.
Honestly, I never dreamed of a wedding when I was a little girl. I dreamed of family.
Then Vance sat me down after one of his therapy sessions, asking if I still didn’t trust him. Apparently, he had taken my lack of wedding interest as a sign I hadn’t forgiven him for leaving me on the stripper stage after I told him I was preggers.
Could’ve knocked me down with a feather. I mean, I accepted his ring. We cohabitate. We havedogs.
But it turns out Vance was sensitive to the fact that I wasn’t in a hurry to get hitched.
Took me promising to get married ASAP and a round of lotus to get him to stop pouting.
Flynn opens the front door. “Stop getting your tux in a bunch, Holt. We have a bride to give away.” He takes my other arm, and together, all three of us walk down the porch steps and across the drive to the barn.
Even with every guest in the barn and no one around to see them, Holt and Flynn strut with their chests puffed out. They were pretty touched when I asked them to walk me down the aisle. Or, you know, the barn hallway.
Holt had teared up again. He’s such a softie.
I can’t wait to see what he does when he holds his niece for the first time.
Much to Brit’s amusement, her drunken Christmas prediction was right. Vance and I are having a girl.
Citali (Kit-tah-lee). It means star.
The music wafts out of the barn—instrumental and soothing.
We step inside, but instead of going left, we go right, toward the back storage room.
From this angle, I see Myra next to Angela, sitting behind Helen and John—my old counselor and her new boyfriend.
Another step and Jackie, Trish, and Jules are front row, each wearing whatever they wanted as long as it’s white. How Jules found white leather pants and motorcycle boots is beyond me, but she manages to make them look badass and elegant. Jackie’s white Converse clad foot bounces like a jack rabbit in the aisle, her eyes lighting up behind her glasses when she sees me. (Or, most likely, Flynn.) Trish, the most traditionally dressed in a white cocktail dress, breaks the dress code with scarlet platform heels.
At the threshold, the full impact of the magical fairyland Brit created with thousands of tiny lights on thin wires that she tacked on nearly every inch of wall and ceiling surface hits me.
And then I meet Vance’s eyes. His dark, gorgeous eyes with the crinkles that catapulted us to where we are now. Full circle from the barnyard tryst to our wedding vows. Spoken right where he’s standing now. In the exact spot he first put his lips on mine. After first kissing my hoo-ha.
As one, Holt and Flynn step forward, only to be jerked back when my feet remain planted.
“Are we running?” Holt asks out the corner of his mouth.
I pull my arm out of his and roll my eyes. “No, we aren’t running.”
There’s a bit of a murmur as I reach my hand into my cleavage and pull out a small remote. With a click, the music changes. I thread my arm back through Holt’s as a recognizable guitar intro starts.
