Bella
Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes before I’m Mrs. Forester.
I grin at my reflection, tilting my head so that I can confirm that the woman in the mirror is indeed me. She looks too glamorous – like a movie star, too happy. Her dress is white and gold, the top a cap-sleeve, golden sequin and jewel wonder, the skirt is a giant white and gold poof, spreading out princess-big.
It’s perfect, in a word. Hell, this day is already perfect, and it’s hardly begun.
I lift my skirt once more to see the golden garter. We’re going to have fun with that tonight. My little forty-five-dollar surprise for Jax. Money well spent. It even has his name on it.
A knock on the door signals the end to my musing. As I go to open it, I smile at my reflection one last time.
Hello, Mrs. Bella Forester.
At the door is Paula. “It’s time,” she says. She pauses, letting her gaze wander over the expanse of my dress, my torrents of curls.
“Well?” I ask, and she smiles, tears in her eyes.
“Oh, Bella, when you first told me I thought you were crazy but now, these past few months…. I am so very proud of you.” She embraces me, and as I hold her, she whispers, “Your father would have been proud of you too.”
At these words, I separate and walk briskly out of the room. “We better get going. Don’t want to be late for my own wedding.” I can’t get to thinking about Papa, about how he should’ve been here, or I’ll be crying as I walk down the aisle.
In the church entrance, all the wedding party is lined up. Just like last night, with one exception: Emilio is thankfully locked somewhere in Jax’s office, where he’ll stay until Jax and I decide what to do with him. That’s one “kink” I’m glad we stumbled on during the rehearsal.
I exchange a shy smile with Sarah, then inhale and exhale. Everything is alright. With Jax, it always is. If anything goes wrong, he can fix it.
The next thing I know music is starting and Trip and Paula are walking down the church aisle.
It’s time. It’s started.
A few seconds later, Brax and Sarah walk out. And then, a few more seconds later, it’s Muffin trotting up toward the trainer waiting in the pew, and then they’re sitting down, which Father O’Riley said is my cue to go.
I don’t go. I pause, gaze out at the crowd, the mass of Italians and bikers. Can I do this – marry a man I’ve known for less than a year? What am I thinking?
I turn around, then pause again. The fear is wrong. I know. Jax Forester is the right man for me, and always will be.
I turn around and sail down the aisle. Once I start walking, it feels like I’m on a conveyer belt, not moving my legs at all, or even a magnet, being drawn to my other half. My other half who’s waiting for me at the altar.
When I get there, the stupefied expression on his face indicates that my dress looks just as good as I thought.
The rest of the service is Jax and I sitting and rising, listening to people give readings, Father O’Riley saying things, waiting. Waiting for the vows, for the moment when we’ll be joined together forever.
When it’s finally time for our vows, I can hardly believe it. I get through mine fine enough; I’ve practiced in front of my mirror thousands of times after all. I don’t even cry.
And then it’s time for Jax’s vows.
He takes out the folded-up piece of paper Father O’Riley said he wasn’t supposed to bring, clasps my hand the way Father O’Riley said he wasn’t supposed to.
And then, his voice wavering, he speaks:
“Bella. You have been nothing short of a miracle. Before I met you, I didn’t know a woman like you existed, could exist. I never really connected with most people, never thought I could. And never anything like this. You’re honest yet compassionate, you know how to talk me up and keep me grounded. You bring out the best in me, so much so that lately I hardly recognize myself in the best way. I love you. I love you and everything that you are, and everything that we are, and I can never thank you enough for making me the happiest man in the world by saying yes.”
Now, as tears stream down, as our fingers clasp together, as we stare into each other’s loving eyes, Father O’Riley says the words, “You may now kiss the bride,” and Jax does.
Our lips meet, and everything disappears. There is only Jax and me, our love, our ecstatic marvel of a love, so bright it explodes, roars out so, as we separate, all I can hear is his whisper, “I love you, Bella. I love you.”
The rest of the service is a happy blur, of words, going through the motions, everyone smiling and my heart laughing, laughing at all this ceremony for me and my husband, whose love knows no bounds, recognizes no need for ceremony. This is the happiest day of my life.
When we finally escape the church, we throw ourselves in the limo, lay back and enjoy the ride.
“Cookies anyone?” Whitey offers. He’s holding an already-opened box of Oreos that Paula inspects with interest.
“Is that… ah,” she says. Evidently, she saw that it is indeed birthday cake Oreos. This revelation made, when Whitey passes her the box, she takes six and passes three to me.
We toast birthday cake Oreos with a smile and dig in. I munch on my Oreos gladly, sinking into Jax. Today has only just begun, and I’m exhausted already. And this isn’t just a bodily exhaustion either. My mind is exhausted, worried.
As we were leaving the church, I caught a glimpse of the last two faces I wanted to see. How did Remy and Anton even get in? I frown, glancing up at Jax’s exultant face. His smile is so big that it leaves two indents on his face even when it falls.
No, I can’t tell him, can’t worry him. Not today. I want today to be perfect for him, for us. No use worrying needlessly.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Jax asks, stroking my face.
“I love you,” I reply simply, which is partly a lie and partly not. Because, as he kisses me, it’s all I can think of. How very much I love him, how lucky I am to have met him, how very wonderful this all is.
Two Oreos later, we finally reach Casa Loma, our photography destination. We meet Muffin and the dog trainer who transported her, Claire, as well as Rhea, our photographer. While Claire is dressed in a regular blue T-shirt and jeans, Rhea is a veritable explosion of prints: an orange and green paisley blazer with a pair of yellow, pink and purple striped pants.
I’m surprised I didn’t notice her at the church service, but her orders were to “Be discreet” during it, after all.
“Are you ready!” she exclaims. Without waiting for an answer, she torpedoes off, in one door of the castle and, as we follow her, out the other.
Now in the garden, she beelines to the flowers and immediately starts gesturing. “Big bald man you can go in the back, spike-haired man in the back too, your spikes are tall.”
Trip and Whitey shuffle over obediently with annoyed faces, while the rest of us follow.
And so, Rhea orders us into our respective places, and the shoot begins.
It starts out fun, the “nice” picture, the “funny” picture. Even Muffin seems to be enjoying the plethora of treats she’s getting for sitting still, while Paula hands out Oreos during lulls. Soon, however, it becomes clear that Rhea is overly ambitious to the point of having us race all over the castle grounds, posing with trees, shrubs, and cute squirrels alike.
When, after I nearly trip on a tree root, I let out a sigh, Jax shoots me a knowing look. “You’re tired, eh?”
I nod.
He sweeps me up.
“Jax!” I pretend to protest, though I’m secretly pleased.
“Trust me,” he says, carrying me toward the fountain.
As we near it, however, I can see it’s not the same as when we passed it last time. Namely, it’s overflowing with bubbles.
“Ah, so it worked, did it?” Whitey asked.
“Looks like it,” Jax says, with a smirk.
That’s one mystery solved, but that still doesn’t explain what we’re doing here. Jax is taking off his shoes.
When he grabs mine, I squirm. “Jax, what are you doing?”
He kisses my cheek. “Trust me.”
So I do. I let him take off my shoes, carry me toward the fountain, step over the shrub border onto its edge, then into the bubbly fountain. He lifts me, so we’re eye to eye, then puts me down on my feet in the water.
I squeal; the bubbles are cool and squishy.
Now music is playing: “Uptown Funk” – Bruno Mars.
I turn to Jax with a delighted smile. “You remembered.”
“I’m the one whose phone is playing it,” Whitey points out, stepping into the water with us, his arms already engaged in some crazy moves. At the sight of our motionless forms, he stops. “C’mon, you’re in a fountain of bubbles, listening to the grooving tune that was playing when you met,” he adds. “Don’t tell me you’re not going to dance?”
Jax’s response is to throw his arm out and up in a disco gesture; I do the same, and soon we’re grooving around, shaking hips, throwing out arms, splashing bubbles, grinning at each other, gesturing for the others to join us, which they do.
And so, we groove: Trip, Paula, Whitey, Brax, Sarah, Jax and me.
At first, Rhea bleats protest, then soon gives in to the beat, snapping a few pictures before she hops in herself, all of us rocking out in this fountain of bubbles, this contained puddle of beats, even the bubbles spilling out of the fountain in time.
By the time the song’s on its third repeat, we’re drenched and laughing. I’m the first to stumble out of the fountain and collapse on a bench, though the others are soon to follow.
“Um, when was the reception again?” Sarah asks, flopping on the bench beside me.
“In thirty minutes!” Paula declares, looking at her watch with a gasp.
We throw our shoes back on and race back to the limo, while Rhea clatters behind in her wedges, straining to take pictures at the same time as running without tripping.
Then we pile into the limo, as Rhea and Claire head for their own cars, and we’re off.
A few minutes out of Casa Loma, my belly starts growling, and I get an idea. “How many minutes ‘til the reception now?”.
“Twenty-five,” says Paula, “and I think we’ll be there in another five.”
“So… we’d have time for a quick stop then?” I say, smiling at Jax.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, patting my head.
“McDonald’s.”
He smiles. Leaning over and sliding open the partition, he asks the driver, “Could we make a quick stop at McDonald’s?”
The driver’s gray head turns, and he grins. “Sure. Drive-through?”
Jax looks to me, and I shake my head. “I’ve always wanted to go inside in a wedding dress. Just once.”
Whitey and Brax laugh.
The driver says, “Ok,” and Jax slides the partition closed again.
“You crazy kids really are meant to be together,” Whitey says with a chuckle.
“But we’re all coming,” Sarah says.
“I want the yogurt parfait, yeah,” Brax chimes in, licking his lips.
The car goes silent, then we burst into excited laughter. This is going to be one crazy McDonald’s trip.
When the limo pulls up to the familiar golden arches, Jax grabs my hand, and we’re off. The others let us walk first, so we get to see the restaurant-goers gaping first-hand. There’s strangely no line-up, so Jax and I stride right up to the counter. There, I gape at the menu dully. This whole idea had been a whim, done for the hell of it; I hadn’t thought about the actual practical what to order part.
“Would you be able to do us a favor?” Jax asks the passive-faced boy behind the counter.
He responds with a noncommittal shrug.
“Could you throw three large fries onto a plate and write just married on it?”
The boy responds with another noncommittal shrug, then jams some keys on his machine.
“That’ll be $6.17,” his monotone voice drawls.
Jax hands over the money and the boy shoves back Receipt 267. Jax and I head over to the side to wait for our order and let the others give theirs. Sarah and Paula are soon to join us, with matching Oreo McFlurries in hand. Trip is next with a hilariously tiny packet of apples, then Whitey with a receipt of his own.
When “267” is called by a cheery-looking girl who looks to be all of twelve, we pick up our plate of large fries to find, in large lettering, it marked, “JUST MARRED”. Such a horrible mistake that we can only laugh at and toast fries over.
“To the love of my life,” Jax says.
“To the man I just married,” I say.
Then Brax joins us, his strangely topping-less yogurt in hand, and we return to the limo.
Once there, we have five minutes to inhale our food, which is a lot easier than it sounds, considering everyone helps out with the fries, notably Brax, who basically drank his yogurt in three gross gulps.
By the time the limo pulls up to the National Event Venue for the reception, we’re ready.
Jax and I clamber out with two minutes to spare, having just thrown off our coats and bags in the Bridal Party room, when Oma and Opa come bursting through the doors, right at 6:00 pm.
“Bella, you’re beautiful,” Oma declares. “The service was beautiful, Jax is beautiful, this venue is beautiful.” She pauses to take a look around the room to confirm that it is indeed beautiful. Her gaze settling on a beautiful vase of flowers in the corner, she declares again, this time more forcefully, “This venue is beautiful!”
“Thank you, Oma,” I say, trapped in her bony hug, while Opa pats me supportively.
“You picked a good one in that Jax boy,” Opa says.
The other guests are thankfully not as quick to arrive as Oma and Opa, so Jax and I have time to enjoy some of the mini lobster tacos, bite-sized empanadas, and the avocado mousse barquettes on the hors d’oeuvre platters of circling servers.
It’s only half an hour, however, until the room is packed, so full of people who want to talk Jax’s and my ears off, hug us until we’re sore and congratulate us about everything under the sun that finally, I’m forced to escape to the bathroom.
After I’ve stared at my reflection for a minute and taken several deep breaths, I sneak back to the bathroom and peer out.
It’s quite a sight to see.
There they are, Jax’s boys, the tough motorcycle crew, all dressed up in tuxes and slicked back locks, toting equally sleek women, laughing uproariously and toasting drinks already. And then there are my people, the Russos, all dark flowing hair, chic outfits, well-timed comments and polite sips of wine. You couldn’t find two groups of people more different if you tried. And yet, there they are: laughing together, chatting amiably.
If you told me this was possible a few months ago, I would’ve laughed in your face. And yet, here we are, there they are: the Russos and nearly every member of the Renegade Devils, getting along. All because of Jax and me.
I take one last fond look at the happy crowd before I return to the mirror, to my reflection. It even looks different, happier somehow. Maybe that’s because these last few months so much has happened. Jax has gotten involved in the stock market and has been making a killing. We bought a huge palace of a house, outfitted every room to Jax’s and my hearts’ desires. We’ve taken weekend getaways to New York City, Cancun, Los Angeles. We’re really lucky.
I stare into the mirror, at the happy woman who is me, and I whisper, “Thank you.”
She whispers it back, and I smile, not sure who it’s directed to – me or Jax or both of us or the universe itself. Either way, it’s my cue to go. It is my wedding, after all.
As I stride out, I notice Anton and Remy coming in.
I stop in front of them. “What are you doing here?” I demand.
Remy is the only one who makes an insolent attempt to smile. “We wanted to congratulate you on your wedding, Bella.”
He holds out his hand, and I step back. “You should go. If you don’t go, I’ll have you escorted out.”
Remy’s ironic smile falls. “C’mon, Bella, you don’t have to be like that. We’re all friends here. No need to make a scene.” He rubs at his cheek with the back of his hand, showing an angry red circle on his palm. The angry red circle from the bullet I shot.
“I mean it,” I snap, and he scowls.
“Bitch,” he mutters under his breath before turning and leaving through the door they came in.
I exhale in relief, but the tightness in my chest is still there. They’re gone, but what if they come back? Should I tell Jax?
I grab a passing lobster taco and pop it in my mouth. No, they won’t be back. And if they do come back, then I’ll get Jax to deal with it. This place is basically packed with mafia and gang members after all; Remy and Anton would have to be idiots to try anything.
When I turn around the room is half-empty, and Sophie is bounding toward me. I look around for some nearby hors d’oeuvres, some person, anything to use as an excuse to escape our psychotic wedding planner. But by the time I see Jax in the far corner talking with another Devil, it’s too late.
“Bella, we have to get all the bridegrooms and bridesmaids together ASAP, your entrance is in less than fifteen minutes!”
I tear my eyes away from her neon orange nails and nod, trying to make myself look half as concerned as Sophie so clearly is. When I glance back at her, Sophie’s mouth is still a beet-red sulk that indicates nothing less than my immediate departure to search for bridal party members will be accepted.
So, I make the rounds.
Paula and Sarah are the first I find, sitting at the bridal party table, chatting amiably. Whitey and Trip are fairly easy to find and collect too; I just take their shot glasses, and they’re forced to follow me to the entrance, where we’re all waiting for our cue.
Brax, however, is nowhere to be found.
I do another lap of the dining area, hit up both bars and, finally, when Sophie starts breathing down my neck with periodic mentions of “Five minutes left, everyone better be here,” I enlist Jax’s help.
“Can you call him, check the bathroom, find him?” I ask, and he sweeps away.
He returns with no Brax and a somber expression. “He’s vomiting in the bathroom.”
Sophie makes a face like she’s going to vomit, too.
“You’ll have to just not announce him,” I say. “Whitey can come in with Sarah instead.”
Sophie makes another face like I’ve suggested she salt, pepper, then eat her own foot, before she gives a terse nod and storms off. Next thing I know she’s back with a microphone, declaring, “It’s go time, get in line!”
As we shuffle into our assigned order, her voice booms out over the loudspeaker, “Ok everyone! Almost time to eat but first we have to introduce those ladies and gents in the bridal party. Are you ready for this?”
The crowd inside whoops.
“Ok, first we have Paula and Trip!”
The crowd roars and, arm in arm, they stride into the dining room.
After another minute, she says, “Next we have Sarah and Brax!”
The crowd roars and Whitey doesn’t move.
“My name is Whitey,” he tells her, and she throws up her orange-taloned hands.
“Whitey, Brax, how can anyone keep track with all these freaky names – you have to go, it’s your cue.”
She flings out one orange nail in a point while Whitey stares her down. Finally, Sarah walks into the dining room alone.
“You’re ruining the wedding!” Sophie shrills.
Whitey grabs the microphone out of her hand and yells into it, “And next we have… WHITEY!” He tosses it behind him as he runs out, the crowd roaring its approval.
Jax, who thankfully caught the microphone, hands it back to Sophie with a warning glare, as if daring her to complain.
Instead, however, into the mic she shrills, “And now for the beautiful bride and groom – Bella and Jax!!”
Jax and I pause, grin at each other, then go. We stride into the dining room to applause so loud I can barely hear, and lights so bright I can barely see.
Somehow, we make it to our table, where we can finally sit down in peace.
Moments after we’re seated, servers flock over, hands laden with meat-heaped plates.
And so, the feasting begins. First comes the steak, then it’s the salmon, then the chicken. I eat and eat until the pastry dish comes out. Then I pause, take a moment to absorb the scene before me.
Whitey, Jax and I are at our own table, overlooking the gorgeous scene before us. The whole wedding planning was such a last-minute harried mess that I never really considered how the venue would look like in the end.
And now, faced with it, in it, I can only smile in gratitude.
It’s beautiful. The whole room has been cast in a purple glow, while the most beautiful chandeliers I’ve ever seen in my life hang from the ceiling. They’re a collection of crystals that are in a constant twirling motion, reflecting and being reflected off each other. And then there’s the flower arrangement on each table: the purple and blue perfection of roses. And yet it’s the people that are the most impressive of all, the mismatched, funnily-dressed people who, mid-meal, are talking, smiling, laughing. Happy.
I grasp Jax’s hand and squeeze it. This wedding is a success. We are a success.
When Jax lifts a tiger brownie to my lips, I oblige and eat it in one gulp. Suddenly, I’m hungry again, which is good, considering the impressive array of desserts before us: Rice Krispies, double chocolate brownies, butter tarts, apple tarts, donuts.
I’m halfway through my second tart when Jax places a cautioning hand on mine. “Still need room for the cake, babe.”
I respond by taking another tart and declaring, “There’s always room for cake.”
He takes my hand and squeezes it. “I love you, but be careful.”
“I’m always careful,” I say, and when I turn to smile at him, a bullet whizzes between us.
It embeds itself into the edge of his seat. I twist back around to the dining hall entrance, where Remy and Anton are standing, guns raised, pointed at us. Most incredible of all is that the wedding guests are still chatting, notice nothing. Even Whitey is lost in his cream puff.
Jax and I dive to the floor, and more shots explode.
Now the room goes silent.
“Do you have your gun?” I hiss out to Jax.
He shakes his head. “Left it in the bridal party room, you?”
I shake my head, cursing myself. That’s where mine is too. How could I have been so stupid?
The room is eerily quiet now, except for the clear tap-tap of footsteps on the floor. Nearing us. I reach up and snatch a knife off the table. Waiting at the edge of the table, knife raised and ready, I listen to the footsteps grow closer, then closer, then stop.
“Hey, did you guys save me a meal?” Brax asks, and looking up and seeing his tattooed face, I practically faint with relief.
“Brax get over here,” I hiss out, gesturing to him frantically. “Emilio’s men are shooting at us!”
“Huh?” he says, his only movement a rubbing of his temple. “Right. Were those the goofs I just took out now?”
I leap up and hug him, then race over to the entrance, where Remy’s and Anton’s still forms are slumped, bullets in their heads. At this very inopportune time, who comes racing over but Sophie, her mascara-caked eyes standing out of her head, her voice a nauseating shrill: “What happened! The wedding is ruined! People can’t be killed at a wedding – the wedding is ruined! Ruined!”
“Shut-up,” I say smoothly. “Clearly, you don’t know my family. You grab this guy’s legs, and I’ll grab his arms.” She gawks at me, and, gesturing to Remy’s body, I snap, “Do it.”
So, the two of us carry Remy to the bridal party room, while Jax and Brax do the same to Anton.
As we leave the bridal party room, I get face-to-face with Sophie. “You wait until the wedding is over before you report this to the police. Or else.”
She responds with a quivering, “Okay,” before she flees to the bathroom.
As we walk back into the dining room, Jax pats Brax on the back. “Really saved the day, man.”
Brax shrugs. “Right, I’m still pissed about that yogurt though. Shit gave me food poisoning.”
Outside the entrance, Jax grabs the microphone. “Sorry about that folks. Had some problems with the entertainers, was supposed to be a murder mystery, but ended up being a murder mix-up, so just continue enjoying your meals as Bella and I cut the cake.”
As we stride toward the corner where our goliath of a cake stands, I squeeze Jax’s hand. “You really know how to give a convincing speech.”
We pause, listening as the murmur in the dining room slowly builds to conversation.
He shrugs, smiles. “I’ve had a bit of practice.”
Now at the ten-layer pink and white frosted cake, Jax cuts me an insanely big piece.
He dismisses my protests with the explanation that, “It’s for both of us.”
Once we’re back at our table, however, Jax is only too happy to feed me pretty much all of it, until I’m so stuffed I can barely move.
“You know what that means,” he says with an evil smile after I flop back in my chair with a low moan.
“No, what?” I say. I close my eyes, not really wanting to know the answer.
“That means that it’s time to dance!”
A second later, music is pounding out on the dance floor and a disco ball is lowering itself overhead. I shake my head, but now a voice is saying, “Ok, everyone, the bride and groom specifically said they wanted everyone out there for the first song, alright? So, you get on out there.”
I groan, looking over at Whitey, who somehow has the microphone now and is the one responsible for this latest announcement.
“Oh noooo….” I moan.
“Oh yess…” Jax says, rising and extending his hand.
I have no choice but to accept his hand and clamber onto the dance floor, where “Uptown Funk” is playing again. I start out bobbing noncommittally as my cousins sway alongside me, with Opa wagging his cane to the tune, and Rhea circles around, snapping photos when she isn’t grooving herself.
But soon the music is inhabiting me once more and I’m swaying along with Jax, shaking my hips like Sarah, throwing my hands up like Whitey and his girlfriend, Alexa, grinning like Brax.
And soon the song and I are one, and I’m twirling through Russos and Renegade Devils alike and it’s all the same to me, they’re smiling and I’m smiling, they’re enjoying themselves and I’m enjoying myself, and we’re all just people having a ball.
And who would’ve thought that one song could be playing during the three greatest moments of my life and yet, here we are, “Uptown Funk” is booming, and Jax is picking me up and spinning me, and I never want him to stop – not ever – because I’m here with my friends, family and the love of my life.
I can never be happier; it can never get better than this.
Never.