Page 91 of Songbird
He grins at me in the reflection, his dark hair cut shorter than I’ve seen it in years, his scruff neatly trimmed, and his own suit a match for mine. He’s been a lifesaver these last six months as I wrapped my head around the idea of becoming a husband and a father, keeping my feet on the ground when I’ve felt like I’m floating on air, and it was an easy choice to ask him to be my best man.
“It’s wild, isn’t it?” he asks.
I poke my fingers through my hair until it sits just right. “What is?”
“Knowing that when you go to bed tonight, you’ll be married to the woman you’re meant to spend the rest of your life with.”
I huff out a laugh as I straighten up. My heart beats a little faster with impatient excitement. “Yeah. It’s wild.”
My little brother pulls me in for a manly hug. “I’m happy for you, bro.”
“Thanks.” I check the time on my watch. “We should get downstairs.”
He follows me into the Davenport family living room where my family is dressed in their finest and waiting for their cue to step outside for the ceremony. Dakota waits at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in a mini coral-pink waistcoat with a white rose pinned to the lapel.
I give her head a rough pat, check that the ring box attached to her collar is securely fastened, then pull the wedding bands from my pocket and tuck them into the box.
“You’ve got an important job today,” I tell her as I crouch to meet her deep, dark eyes. “You get those rings down the aisle to me and Rosie safe and sound, all right? Do not eat them. I mean it.”
Dakota shuffles backward and tosses her head, and I give her one last pat before I stand. I’m checking my watch again when Chord approaches, looking like a million bucks in a navy suit and Violet on his arm.
“It’s time to head outside,” he says. “You ready?”
“Almost,” I reply. “Just one more thing.”
I glance around for Daisy and Charles, then beckon them over when I catch their attention. Daisy grabs Poppy, and they join the little knot of me, Chord and Violet, and Dylan at the foot of the stairs.
“Are you sure everything’s ready at the cabin for after the wedding?” I ask my family. “Everything’s all set?”
“We’re sure,” Daisy says excitedly. “And it’s perfect.”
I breathe easier. “Thanks for all your support. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“That’s what family does for family.” Chord claps me on the shoulder. “Now let’s go get you married.”
With Dakota at my heels, I lead the way out of the house and across the wide stretch of lawn out back, my strides getting longer and faster the closer we get to the flower-draped arbor set up underneath the gnarled, widespread branches of a circle of oak trees. Simple white chairs for no more than twenty guests are half filled with familiar faces, and I nod politely to Lou, Nya, Cynthia, and Zane as my family fills the rest of the seats. They’re arranged around a white rose-petal strewn aisle, where our officiant stands waiting to perform the ceremony. To one side, a guitarist perches on a stool as he quietly plays. Farther out, a hired photographer discreetly starts snapping pictures.
“I can’t believe you’re marrying Rosalie Thorne in the backyard of our parents’ old place,” Dylan murmurs as we take our places at the head of the aisle. “If I were the kind of man to make a bet, my money would have been on a big event with all the bells and whistles. Something at your house in Nashville. You guys have seemed happy there these last six months.”
I glance over at John, still head of Rosie’s security team and standing on the outskirts of the gathering, and acknowledge him with a brief nod.
“I would have done it if Rosie wanted,” I say to Dylan, one hand absently stroking Dakota’s fur, my eyes on the driveway up ahead as I wait for Rosie’s car to appear. “But she didn’t. So much has happened, so much has changed, and with the baby… We wanted today to be small and intimate, and we wanted to do it somewhere that’s special to both of us. There’ll be time later to deal with all the attention our marriage will bring us. Until then, we both feel most at home here at Silver Leaf.”
“Smart,” Dylan says, and as I stand straighter at the sight of a white Mercedes pulling into the yard, I can hear the smile in his voice. “Today’s about you and Rosie—and nobody else.”
Tareq and Marissa step out of the car, and as Marissa opens the passenger door, those nerves I wasn’t feeling before hit melike a punch in the stomach. My breath catches and my heart races, and Dylan takes a hold of my forearm, like he senses my impulse to run up the aisle to Rosie instead of waiting for her to come to me.
Pia steps out first, wearing a Violet James original in Rosie’s signature coral pink. Our flower girl, Izzy, follows in a complementary shade of pink. Pia clutches a bouquet of simple white roses, Izzy a basket of petals, and they both step aside to give the bride room to exit the car.
My heart stops, and every sense but vision shuts down at the sight of her. I can’t hear or feel or taste a single thing. All I can see is Rosie, and she’s never looked prettier. When my heart begins beating again, it’s at triple time.
The ivory lace of her dress, woven from a pattern of birds and roses I drew by hand and Violet had specially made for today, falls from Rosie’s shoulders, leaving them bare. The dress swishes as she moves, showing the shape of her legs between the panels of translucent tulle, and as Pia helps arrange the falls of fabric, I swallow hard at the way they cling to the swell of Rosie’s breasts and the elegant curve of her growing stomach. She wears a crown of peach-blushed roses on her head. Her feet, like the day she drove up to my door and asked for my help, are bare. I don’t know why I love that so much, but it’s perfect.
Rosie lifts her head almost shyly, a peachy glow to her cheeks and a demure drop to her lashes, as if she’s not used to everyone turning to look at her. And maybe today is different. This isn’t a stage or a public street. Nobody’s here for a selfish look at a pop princess. Everyone is here because they know her and love her, and nobody more than me.
The music shifts into a soft interpretation of the song I wrote for Rosie and played at the benefit concert, and Izzy takes her cue to start down the aisle. She tosses her rose petals with the kind of concentration reserved for suturing a wound, and I giveher a wink and a whispered “well done” as she arrives at the front of the gathering to take her seat.
Pia paces slowly down the aisle, and I do my best to spare her a grateful nod, but as the music seamlessly changes and the first notes of Rosie and my duet start to play, I don’t see anyone but the woman walking toward me.
