Page 112 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
"Ready to go anywhere you want to take me, Dr. Bennett's Husband."
"I prefer 'Tessa's Very Lucky Bastard,' actually."
As we walk toward the car, my new ring catching streetlights and my husband's hand warm and possessive on my lower back, I can't help but think about how different this feels from our first official date a year ago. Then, we were two people trying to figure out if what happened in Vegas was real or just incredibly good sex and questionable decision-making. Now I know exactly what it was—the best fucking mistake of my life.
Three months later, I'm standing in a bridal suite at the Four Seasons, staring at myself in a real wedding dress, and wondering how the hell we got from plastic Elvis sunglasses to this moment where I look like something out of a fairy tale.
"Stop fidgeting," Emma orders, making final adjustments to my veil. "You look absolutely stunning, and my brother is going to lose his shit when he sees you."
"Language," Mama Kingston chides from her chair by the window, but she's beaming. "Though Emma's right. You look like a princess, sweetheart."
"A very sexy princess," my mother adds, dabbing at her eyes with tissues. "I still can't believe my baby girl is marrying a hockey player who reads philosophy books."
"The best kind of hockey player," Emma grins. "The kind who cried when he called your mom to ask for her blessing to marry you properly."
"He did not cry," I protest, but I'm smiling.
"He absolutely did. Spent twenty minutes telling her how much he loves you and asking for her permission. She cried for twenty minutes after that conversation."
The wedding we're about to have is everything the Vegas ceremony wasn't—elegant, intentional, surrounded by everyone we love. The venue is gorgeous without being ostentatious, the guest list includes teammates and coaches alongside professors and family friends, and the ring bearer's pillow alone cost more than our entire Vegas wedding.
But honestly? I kind of miss those plastic Elvis sunglasses.
"Time to go, ladies," the wedding coordinator announces, poking her head into the suite. "The groom is pacing like a caged tiger, and I think he might spontaneously combust if we keep him waiting much longer."
"That's my boy," Mama Kingston laughs. "Always did have trouble with patience when he wanted something badly enough."
The walk down the aisle is a blur of faces and music and the kind of overwhelming emotion that makes you understand why people spend thousands of dollars on weddings. Jamie and Cole are standing up with Dax, both grinning like idiots, whileMartinez looks on like a proud father. The entire team is here, dressed in suits that probably cost more than most people's cars, and I can see several of them wiping away tears.
But all of that fades when I see Dax. He's standing at the altar in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his hair styled but still slightly mussed like he's been running his hands through it, and when our eyes meet, his face transforms into that smile that makes my knees weak and my heart race.
"Holy shit," he mouths, and I bite back a laugh.
"Language," I mouth back, earning a grin that could power the city.
The ceremony itself is beautiful but quick—we're both too eager to get to the part where we're officially, properly, ridiculously married. When the officiant asks for our vows, Dax goes first.
"Tessa," he begins, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes, "a year ago I thought I had to choose between loving you and being successful. You taught me that was the stupidest fucking thing I'd ever thought."
"Language," several voices call out from the crowd, causing everyone to laugh.
"You taught me that love doesn't make you weak—it makes you brave enough to fight for what matters. You make me better at everything, from hockey to being human, and I choose you every day not because I have to, but because loving you is the easiest decision I've ever made."
By the time he finishes, I'm crying and trying not to ruin my makeup.
"Dax," I manage, my voice slightly shaky, "you taught me that vulnerability isn't weakness—it's the courage to trust someone with your whole heart. You showed me that standing up for love is worth any professional risk, and that the best partnerships are built on mutual respect, shared dreams, and really incredible sex."
"Dr. Bennett!" Emma gasps in mock horror while everyone else dissolves into laughter.
"What? It's important! Physical compatibility is a key component of relationship success. It's psychology!"
The kiss when the officiant pronounces us married is everything—passionate, celebratory, and witnessed by three hundred people who've watched us fight for the right to be together. When we finally break apart, the crowd is on their feet cheering, and Dax spins me around like we just won another championship.
"Mrs. Kingston," he whispers against my ear as he sets me down.
"Dr. Bennett-Kingston," I correct, but I'm grinning.
"My brilliant, stubborn, absolutely perfect wife."
