I almost feel as if I'm somewhere else and not at my own wedding. I mean I must be.

There are chickens on the loose.

A spotted horse is eating my wildflowers.

The mother of the groom is in the kitchen baking a pie for some unknown reason.

The makeup artist is late.

And to top everything off, I do believe there's actually a drone in the air.

Following me right this very minute.

I'm on my way to the chicken coop in my favorite terry cloth robe and some flip-flops to investigate why my new family's prized pets are clucking around the seating area for the two hundred plus guests that are about to see me marry the man of my dreams.

I'm not even going to mention this drone thing to Saint, because he'd probably run into his daddy's shed and shoot the thing down with a rifle. I'm pretty sure I know who it belongs to, and the last thing we need is to be sued by The Examiner. Saint's old reporter friend, Myra Kitch, is a senior sports reporter over there now, and she'd just love that. She still has it out for him. Especially nowadays.

"What the fuck is that?" Saint's brother Michael walks up behind me and catches me off guard.

"I think it's a drone," I say while gawking at it.

"The fuck? There's just no honor in journalism anymore. Look at what they've stooped to. There's never been uninvited press at Oak Hill before."

"Don't say that too loudly. You know Saint wanted to elope instead of get married here at home. I don't feel like hearing an, 'I told you so.'"

Michael laughs. "That buzzard just wanted to take the quickest path to putting a baby inside of you. Elopement is way faster than how long it took to plan this shindig. I mean you made him wait a year, before he could even propose. You've got a cruel streak in you, sis. I like it."

Everything with Saint is a negotiation. I needed a year to figure out how to manage dating a celebrity athlete while opening a new business. I left Carson Financial and opened my own start-up, but I've got the best two clients in the world: Saint and Spin.

Because of all the change in my life, I told Saint that I wanted us to date an entire year, before we took things to the next level. He granted me that request, and I have to be honest, it was fun. He spent the entire year trying to convince me in very creative ways how it would be in my best interest to lock him down early.

We also both agreed that we wanted children, but my only stipulation with that was that we needed to be married first. My Sunday faithful parents wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I walked down the aisle in a maternity gown. Plus I kind of just wanted it to be the two of us for a while, before we added more humans to the equation. He agreed to that too. Which brings us to where we are now, two years later.

"And why are you out here anyway my beautiful sister-in-law? You should be inside getting ready to marry the bane of my existence. If he knew you were out here worried about all of this, he'd start throwing shit."

"Well right now I'm trying to figure out what to do about that thing." I point to the drone. "I made an exclusive deal with People magazine for the wedding photos. Three hundred thousand dollars and my reputation are on the line."

"What! Say no more, I'll take care of it, little sis. You just go inside and get pretty."

"I don't know, Mike," I say a little wary of his brand of help. He and Saint were definitely cut from the same cloth. "You can't shoot the thing out of the air. It's actually destruction of private property. I read about a case where a guy actually had to pay the company who was flying a drone over his property."

"Who said I was going to shoot the thing? You've been hanging around Saint too much. Stop worrying. Go inside. I've got this."

"All right." I give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Thanks. Oh and Mike?"

"Yep?"

"The chickens?"

One of the little suckers just went running by.

"That would be a wedding prank courtesy of one Mr. Jake Stevenson. It's his ass backward way of trying to participate. I'll take care of that too."

"Thanks. I'm really going now."

"Good. Go get married. He's waiting."

* * *

My New York make up artist never shows up. The jerk. He was supposed to do my makeup and hair, but lucky for me there are two girls on deck to help me with whatever I need on the most important day of my life: Marisol and Kate.

Marisol convinces me to ditch the traditional updo but to wear my hair down in a simple, long-haired bob. The way I always wear it unless it's in a ponytail. It looks elegant and perfect.

Kate is more than excited to do my makeup. While she's on the more adventurous side with her makeup, I'm not, so she decides that I'd look good with an almost bare-faced look except for a soft smoky eye on my lids. When she's finished, I almost want to cry. I love it.

The girls help me slip on my dress. It's a custom made gown by an old seamstress named Mrs. Cavalucci in Brooklyn. It's hand beaded, made from imported Italian silk, and it's the last dress she's ever going to make before retiring.

After securing the final button, the girls leave me alone for a minute to myself, before the magazine comes in to take a few "pre-wedding" shots of me. A knock about ten minutes later at the door lets me know that they're here.

"One minute," I say.

"Special delivery," A man's voice says.

I crack the door open and see that it's Saint's teammate Cooper instead. I know it's him, because the championship ring on his finger practically blinds me. He hasn't taken it off since receiving it.

"I've got a package for you from your hubby."

Cooper and Saint have become close friends since winning the Superbowl this past winter. It's nice to see that Saint is investing in relationships other than ours, and has someone else to torment on a regular basis.

"You look beautiful by the way."

"Thanks, Coop. What are you eating?" I notice a little piece of something in the corner of his mouth.

"Your mother-in-law is serving mini apple pies as pre-wedding nosh to the guests. Something about it being Robin Robert's new favorite."

"Why?"

"The gunshots frightened a few folks. Mrs. Stevenson said pie would calm everybody down."

"Gunshots?!"

"You didn't hear them? Mike said he had to shoot some dangerous bird that was getting the chickens all riled up."

"The chickens?"

"They're all calm now. Back in the white house where they belong."

*Sigh*

"All right, Coop, I'll see you down there in a few."

All I can do is laugh while I open up my box.

I guess I know how Mike ended up taking care of the drone. The whole damn family is crazy, but I'm in love with the craziest one of all, and I cannot wait to become his wife. We're going to have an amazing life together.

The box is white and tied with a white ribbon, and there are several things inside.

A lemon.

Two shot glasses.

Some salt.

A bottle of tequila.

A pack of my birth control pills. Crushed and mutilated.

And a small note.