Page 35 of Walkoff Wedding

I’m getting married today, and it doesn’t at all feel like the death sentence it would have been had this happened differently. I’m not afraid, or disgusted, or despondent at the prospect of marrying Grant. Not the way I was when I thought I would be in this exact scenario with Dixon.

“Cher, you look like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Amos says, reaching out and brushing his fingers along my sleeves. He’s wearing his best suit, with the most gorgeous array of colorful jewelry, and as always, I love his style.

I thought of him when I picked out this dress.

The vintage, cream-colored A-line dress I found in the thrift store is simple yet timelessly elegant. I knew it was the one the moment that I laid eyes on it. It’s not a wedding dress, but it’s perfect for… this. It has a square neckline with puff sleeves and falls below my knees in a soft linen material.

It’s me, and it’s perfect.

“Your husband-to-be is very handsome, you know. I’m not sure if you’ve stopped to notice that fact yet,” Amos muses, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Just sayin’.”

My brow arches as I peer past him at Grant, who’s standing in the front of the chapel, talking with the officiant and his friend Davis.

I’m very much aware of his handsome face, and it’s concerning. For more reasons than I am ready to dive into moments before I’m supposed to marry him.

He’s wearing a pair of black slacks, with a starched white button-down that he’s rolled at the sleeves, showing off veiny, corded forearms that would make nearly any woman drool.

Which is why I am not, in fact, checking him out from across the chapel.

“Nope, I hadn’t noticed at all, actually,” I say, dragging my gaze back to the both of them and shaking my head.

I don’t make it a habit of lying, but they don’t need to know it’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about since he walked out of his bedroom, wearing a smile that made my heart beat twice as fast.

Nope. No one needs to know that, which is why I’m keeping it to myself.

“You ready, Addie?” Grant calls from the front of the chapel, and I nod, offering him a small smile.

I’m ready to become… Mrs. Grant Bergeron.

chapter eleven

Grant

Truthfully, I never gave a lot of thought about what my wedding would one day look like. But I can guarantee my wildest imagination wouldn’t dream up a twenty-four-hour chapel in the middle of the French Quarter with a girl I didn’t think I’d ever meet in person.

Or that my marriage would be a fake one, at least not on paper.

But here I am, standing in front of an officiant with absolutely not one fucking regret.

Except that my ma might kill me, but we’ll deal with that later because right now, all I can focus on is the breathtaking girl standing in front of me and the fact that she’s about to become my wife.

Holy fucking shit.

My wife.

She’s magnificent, an actual fucking vision in a dress that could only be described as made for her. Her long, blonde curls cascade down her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face like a halo. The white fabric clings to her curves, making it hard for me to pick where to look. But when I drift up to the delicate freckles on her face and our eyes catch, my throat tightens.

“Do you, Addie Olivia Arceneaux, take Grant Alexander Bergeron to be your lawfully wedded husband? From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part.”

I can feel the tremble in her hands, and I squeeze gently, reassuring her with touch. Arranged or not, marrying someone is a huge fucking deal, and I know exactly the thoughts that are running through her head because they’re probably the same as mine.

A soft smile plays on her lips as she nods shyly. “I do.”

The officiant turns to me before reading from the script in his book. “And do you, Grant Alexander Bergeron, take Addie Olivia Arceneaux to be your lawfully wedded wife? From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part.”

“I do,” I say without hesitation.

We’re in this, for better or worse, for fake or for serious. There’s no backing out now.

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