West

Lily’s head was tucked under my chin, our bodies swaying gently to “I Will Always Love You.”

It was the only song the DJ had in English.

Our DJ had gotten food poisoning and landed himself in the hospital, but he’d graciously sent a buddy of his to fill in. Thing was, he only spoke Portuguese.

The quartet had another gig that no amount of money could have convinced them to cancel, and Cam had tried to connect her phone to the PA system, but no one had the adapter her phone used to hook it in. As far as I knew, she was still working on it.

I couldn’t care less.

I didn’t care that the caterer had mixed up our meal with another wedding, one who had apparently been a big fan of fish with their heads still on and escargot. I didn’t care that the cake had teetered when Lily’s drunk aunt bumped the table and we’d lost the top tier that we were supposed to freeze and eat on our anniversary. I didn’t care that we’d been listening to Portuguese rap for the last forty-five minutes.

Lily was mine.

Her hair was still damp—it had been taken down, scrunched up to let it wave, and plaited into an elaborate braid. Her dress had been the subject of the hair dryer instead, and the French designer who had fixed the rip in her dress had gathered it up into some sort of bustle. She looked as beautiful as she ever had. More so.

She sighed against me and lifted her head, her face soft and dreamy. “How could everything be this wrong, but I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life?”

“Magic. You and me, we’re magic. This day, as unexpected as it was, has been magic. And it’s not over yet.”

A smile, a bright, beautiful smile I’d see every day until I died. “You know all this is your fault, right?”

“Who? Me?” I teased.

“You cursed us.”

“And how’d I do that?”

“With your sneaky sneaking and irresistible package.”

“What package?” I asked innocently. “I didn’t bring you a package.”

She made a face. “Please don’t make me say dick while we’re dancing at our wedding.”

A laugh climbed up my throat. I pulled her closer. “I love you, Lily Williams.”

“I love you, too,” she echoed with a smile as Whitney Houston belted out the chorus. “You make everything better. A hundred times, I thought I’d break today. But you laughed and told me to take off my shoes so we could dance in the rain. When I wanted to cry because we couldn’t dance to Etta James, you twerked to Portuguese hip-hop and made me laugh so hard, I cried anyway. You are the magic. How’d I ever get so lucky?”

“Oh, I don’t know about lucky. I’m the one swinging you around the dance floor to the greatest ballad known to man.” Whitney hit the high note in agreement. “Life can throw whatever it wants at us. A little rain and some fish heads won’t stop us. Because we have each other. Nothing else matters.”

Her eyes shone with tears, though she smiled. “Kiss me,” she commanded.

And I did. I kissed her with my heart and soul as the song wound down.

The sound cut out mid-note, and we turned to the DJ’s table, surprised.

Cam crowed, “Aha!” just before the monitors popped with the connection of her phone, and Etta James floated from the speakers.

And when we looked back at each other, Lily’s expression was as happily shocked as mine was smug.

“See?” I said, pulling her closer. “Magic.”