Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“Thank you so much. Sarah will be thrilled. I’ll be sure to tell her.”
Uncle William grins. “Now go get married to your dream girl, son.”
“Yes, sir. With pleasure.”
When Uncle William is gone, I take a good, long look at my brother from head to toe and marvel at the joy wafting off him. I’ve never seen him look so damned happy before. Hell, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Jonas look happy at all before Sarah came along. Maybe every smile and laugh before Sarah was nothing but a dress rehearsal, a dry run preparing him for true happiness.
“You ready?” I ask my brother.
“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my entire life,” Jonas replies.
I hug Jonas and kiss his cheek, and as I do, my eyes tear up. I pull back from our embrace, wiping my eyes, intending to turn my back on him, but Jonas grabs my neck and forces me to stay put.
“Josh,” Jonas says softly, his palm on my neck, his forehead against mine. “You’re the best brother a guy could ask for. I thank God for you every single day.”
My body twitches with the emotion I’m stuffing down. What the fuck is happening to me? I’m a fucking wreck. I swallow hard, successfully forcing down the huge lump in my throat.
A woman with a clipboard pokes her head into the room and saves me from myself. “You gentlemen ready?” she asks.
Jonas nods. “Just give us a minute.”
“Okay. Take your positions in the courtyard whenever you’re ready. We’ll cue off you.”
“Thanks.” Jonas takes a deep breath and smiles at me. “You need a minute?”
I nod.
“Take your time, Josh,” my brother says, grinning. “They can’t start this shindig without me.”
I look up at the ceiling for a moment, and once I’ve got complete control of my emotions again, I fix my eyes on Jonas’ face. “Jonas, I’d be lost without you,” I say quietly. I rest my palm on his broad shoulder and take a big gulp of air. “Seeing you happy is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” I swallow hard. “I love you.”
Jonas’ lip trembles and his face contorts like he’s trying to keep himself from crying. But it’s no use. His eyes fill with water. “Fuck, Josh,” Jonas says, sounding pissed. He wipes his eyes. “What are you trying to do to me, motherfucker?”
“Sorry.”
“I was fully prepared to cry like a baby at the sight of Sarah walking down the aisle—that’s to be expected—but I wasn’t prepared to cry with you, just standing here, talking about our fucking feelings, for Chrissakes. Come on, man, leave me a shred of dignity on my wedding day, would you?”
“Sorry, bro. How’s this? ‘Hey, fucker. Congrats on bagging an awesome babe. Hope you have a fucking awesome life, you cocksucker—now fuck off.’”
“That’s much better. Jesus. You scared me. For a minute there, I thought you were going soft on me.”
“No chance of that,” I say. “I’m the emotionally stunted asshole of the two of us—you know that.”
Jonas grins, his eyes sparkling.
“Okay, motherfucker,” I say warmly. “Time to bag yourself a wife and me a sister.”
“Fuck yeah, it is.”
“Fuck yeah.”
We smile at each other.
“I’m so happy for you, Jonas,” I say softly.
“I’m so happy for me, too,” he says. He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Enough yapping—it’s time for me to get married to the divine original form of woman-ness, the goddess and the muse, the magnificent Sarah Cruz.”
Twenty-Seven
Josh
Jonas and I take our positions in front of the audience, standing to the left of the wedding officiant. The distinctive scent of gardenias—my mom’s favorite flower—blasts me all of a sudden. I turn around to glance at the spectacular wall of white flowers towering behind us—and, yes, although there are certainly roses and lilies and all sorts of other unidentifiable white flowers comprising the blooming wall, gardenias are by far the most prominent. Did Sarah do that on purpose? Did Jonas tell her how Dad always said Mom loved gardenias?
I look at Jonas and he’s gazing anxiously toward the back of the room, his cheeks flushed, his breathing labored. I can almost hear his heart beating from here. Or maybe that’s my own heartbeat pounding forcefully in my ears. Why the fuck am I nervous? I’m not the one getting married.
The music shifts to a Mozart-Beethoven-type thing, a pleasant piece of elegant music I’ve heard a thousand times at various black-tie events, and Kat appears at the back of the center aisle.
My heart skips a beat at the sight of her. Holy fuck, she’s absolutely stunning.
“I’m getting fat,” Kat said yesterday when she tried on her bridesmaid dress to make sure it still fit. “I should have had the tailor leave a little extra room through the midsection—my belly’s totally pooching out.”
I laughed. There was literally no hint of a pooch in the dress—which makes sense because, despite our kumquat in the oven, there still hasn’t been even the slightest change in Kat’s figure since the day I first laid eyes on her in Jonas’ living room.