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  When we turn the corner to walk through the open door of the waiting room, she stops me so we’re the last of the group left in the corridor.

  “If you’re not one hundred percent about this, then you need to leave right now because this is your very last chance before you see her,” she says softly.

  I narrow my gaze. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because I’m a girl, and I know how it feels to see the person you love standing there waiting to marry you.”

  “You ran to him. Faith isn’t gonna run to me.”

  “Didn’t she do that already by flying halfway across the world and telling you she did it for you?” she counters, arching a perfectly shaped brow.

  I tilt my head. “Do you bust my brother’s balls as much as you do mine?”

  She giggles. “Yeah, except once I’ve finished with his, I play with them.”

  A smirk threatens to make an appearance, stopping in its tracks when she scowls at me, finger pointed right in my face. “Don’t even say it.”

  “Okay. I’ll just think it.”

  She dips her chin, but I don’t miss the small smile on her lips. “Bet you’re not thinking about running now, are you?”

  Damn, she’s right.

  “Thanks, Ronnie,” I say, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

  “Anytime, Bry,” she whispers. “Now, let’s walk in so she can blow your mind.”

  “Well it’s not like she’s gonna be blowing my—”

  All rational thought escapes my brain the very second I enter the room and lay eyes on my bride-to-be wearing an elegant knee-length jade dress with matching lace cut-outs across the chest and two triangle sections stretching from her ribs to her hips on either side. Bright red heels match her fuck-me red lipstick, and to finish off the ‘Bryant, you’re totally fucked now’ look, her hair is pinned up in a sea of soft brown curls.

  I literally stumble as I try to act like she hasn’t just knocked me on my ass. The first time she did that, I was eight and didn’t know that girls could make you feel funny inside. I wish that was the only feeling I had right now.

  Forcing myself to tear my eyes away from Faith, I catch all of the guys and their knowing smirks. I turn my back on them and walk over toward my future wife and Delilah, who is shooting daggers at me.

  “Delilah, nice to see you,” I say, stepping in to kiss her cheek.

  “You hurt her, I’ll castrate you,” she hisses in my ear. I pull back, schooling my expression, and nodding my agreement. “Good.” She turns to her sister. “I’ll just go over there and leave you to talk.”

  When it’s just the two of us left, I meet her eyes, unable to not look at her. Is this some crazy wedding voodoo? Is there something biologically inherent in males so when they see their mate—or supposed mate—they feel this overwhelming need to claim them then and there?

  Or maybe it’s my brain telling me that this is the best idea I’ve ever had.

  “Are you okay?” Faith asks. The first words she says to me aren’t whether I’m sure I want to do this, or whether we should just forget about it and go get a beer instead. Then again, Faith never used to put herself first; it was always everyone else. This is the girl who literally gave her jacket to a homeless woman on the streets of Sacramento and then reluctantly accepted mine when I put my foot down.

  Except for that one day when she didn’t think of anyone except herself.

  I shake my head because if I start thinking about the past, I’ll never get my head back in the present and right now, I want to be here. Worst-case scenario, this will be the only lasting good memory I’ll have of my time with Faith. Even if we end up hating each other when all is said and done, I’ll have this afternoon, this time when—even just for a moment.

  What did she ask me again? Oh, that’s right. If I was okay?

  “Shouldn’t I be asking you that, babycakes?”

  Her eyes soften. Her sharp intake of breath is the slap in the face I needed. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear you call me that again.”

  “Maybe I’m getting nostalgic in my old age,” I quip.

  “Since we’re the same age, I guess that means I’m old too,” she says, a gleam of amusement brightening her features.

  “That’s not something a husband should say to his wife though, is it?” I tease.

  “Well, you’ve got about ten minutes before we’re due to go in so I’ll give you a pass this time.”

  I nod a silent thanks, unable to stop my lips from twitching. She looks over my shoulder and stills, causing mine to follow the path of her gaze and spotting our party of six witnesses gawking at us with their mouths open.

  “Why do I suddenly feel like we’re the latest sideshow attraction?” she murmurs as if for my ears only.

  “Oh no, Faith, we’re the headline act.” I turn to face her, blocking her from our family members so we’re as close to being alone as we’re gonna get.

  “Are you sure about this?” she asks.

  “Are you?”

  “Well, it would be extreme lengths to go to.”

  “You think?” I ask, my brows nearly hitting my hairline.

  “I want to prove I meant what I said, Bry. Whether that be by tying myself to you today, or any other hoop you need me to jump through. I’ll do it. Jamie’s wedding gave me the push, but it’s a plan that has been in the works for a long time. I was just talking myself into booking the ticket, quitting my job, and coming home to win you back.”

  Her words plug the hole in the last sliver of doubt I had left. “Well, if you’re willing to go this far, and look that good, then the least I can do is go through with this.”

  “Such a sacrifice,” she says, her tone unreadable, but she doesn’t sound happy.

  “Look, I didn’t mean—”

  “Bryant Cook and Faith Baker?” the clerk calls out, breaking the moment completely.

  No, you did that when you put your foot in your mouth, dumbass.

  “That’s us,” Faith says, plastering a fake smile on her lips before walking towards the courtroom door.

  I turn to watch her go, earning a scowl from Delilah, who quickly follows her sister, a frown from Ez, who follows behind her, and a combination of dumbfounded, worried, and concerned looks facing me from my own support crew of Jamie, Jax, Cohen, and Ronnie.

  “Let me guess—you said something idiotic,” Cohen says dryly.

  Jax grins. “Or dumb.”

  “Dumb and idiotic?” Jamie says.

  Thankfully, Ronnie has my back. “Or without thinking first?”

  “How about we say ‘all of the above’ and get in there, so it’s not the groom walking down the aisle to the bride for the first time in the history of our family,” I sigh.

  Ronnie grimaces. “Ah… sorry to say, but she’s already in there.”

  Dammit.

  “And there is no aisle,” Cohen deadpans.

  “How would you know?” I ask, moving toward the door to find my soon-to-be wife.

  Cohen’s at my side. “We had to attend a heart attack call-out last year. Turns out the groom decided to pre-game his Viagra and it wasn’t a heart attack, but a panic attack caused by him thinking his dick would explode.”

  I snort, covering my mouth to try and control myself as we walk in, my eyes meeting Faith’s confused ones.

  “I got your mind off of your fuck up. My job is done,” Co says, moving from my side, Jax taking his place.

  I look around the surprisingly small room, taking it all in. The one and only time I’ll ever be in marriage court.

  “Sorry I’m late,” April says, near running into the room. “I had a quick—but important—stop to make.”

  I look at the small bouquet of white roses in her hand and smile at her, quickly closing the distance between us and taking the flowers from her. “Thank you, April.”

  She leans up on her toes and kisses my cheek. “Every woman needs flowers on her wedding day, Bry. Ronnie sent me a t
ext when she realized Faith didn’t have a bouquet.

  “Maybe this will make up for my slip of the tongue from before,” I say under my breath.

  “For the record, I’m betting on you,” she says before winking at me and finding a home at Jamie’s side.

  “Can the bride and groom please step forward,” an older man wearing a black gown says.

  After a hug and a kiss from Delilah, Faith meets my eyes and walks toward me. I close the distance, feeling compelled to make this the best it could possibly be.

  “These are for you,” I say, placing the bouquet in her outstretched hand. When she looks back up at me, her eyes are glassy. That meant something to her. Thanks to my sister-in-laws.

  I hold out my bent elbow, feeling her arm slide against mine. I can’t control the sense of rightness that comes over me.

  We take the last few steps toward the judge, stopping just in front of him.

  “Are you ready to begin?” he asks.

  I nod, unable to talk. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Faith do the same.

  “All right then, let’s begin. We are gathered here today to witness the joining together of this man and this woman in marriage.”

  We face each other when we say our vows, Delilah holding the flowers after Ronnie spoke up and insisted we hold both hands. Out of the entire fifteen-minute civil ceremony, the moment we pledge our lives to each other is one I know will be imprinted on my brain until the day I die

  Hearing the words “I do” from Faith Baker’s soft lips, her eyes wet with unshed tears, the conviction with which she said them—it hurts my heart in the best possible way, affecting me far more than I could ever have anticipated.

  “Bryant, do you take Faith to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, until death do you part?” the judge asks.

  I give her hands a gentle squeeze, so slight and small, the others may not have seen it—which makes it all the better—because I know she felt it. A single tear trails down her cheek, her lips parting as I pledge my life before a Cook County appointed judge. “I do.”

  “We will now exchange the rings.”

  I reach into my pocket and hand over a platinum band for Faith to give me, before palming the ring I have for her.

  “Faith,” the man says, nodding her way. “Please take his hand and repeat after me.”

  Before I can overthink it any further, the judge calls me back into the moment. “Pay attention, son. This is the good part,” he says with a very slight smirk.

  “With this ring, I thee wed,” Faith says, my sole focus on watching those six words formed by her soft ruby-red lips. I feel the cool slide of my wedding band being positioned in its new home at the base of my finger.

  “And Bryant, repeat after me…” The judge’s words fade into nothing as I hold the princess-cut solitaire diamond ring out, gently cradling Faith’s hand in mine but watching her reaction closely as she locks eyes on the very same ring I proposed to her with twelve years ago. Her tear-filled gaze snaps up, her eyes wide, her mouth dropped open as I put my silent promise where it always should’ve been. We stare at each other, everyone else in the room fading away, so it feels like we’re the only ones here. Now I wish we were. I’m hit with the sense of rightness I needed. This is right. Does it really matter how the hell we do it?

  Before we know it, we’re pronounced husband and wife. Then I remember the five words I managed to completely forget about.

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  Well, shit.

  Then five more words ring around my head, my dad’s favorite saying to us kids when we were growing up. Go big or go home.

  With nothing else for it, I step forward, frame Faith’s face in my hands, and gently press my lips to hers.

  And this is one kiss I vow to never let myself forget.

  Faith

  “How could you ever think this was a good idea, Faith?” Ezra says. We’re in Dad’s truck, on our way with everything I own—which, admittedly, isn’t much—to my new ‘home’ with my husband.

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  Ez reaches over to squeeze my hand. “How about you try, Faith, because you don’t leave for twelve years then come back and marry the man who we both know would never do something like this on a whim.”

  I turn to face my big brother. “You think I did this?”

  At least he’s honest enough to shrug.

  “Nice, Ez. Real nice. So yesterday’s show of support was what? Out of pity?”

  “C’mon. What do you expect? None of us can understand it. You broke his heart; he came home with a dark cloud over his head that took years to go away. He’s been getting out there and living his life until we told him you were coming home.”

  “And then?”

  “He got really drunk in Vegas, came back and went radio silent for a week. Suddenly he’s taking a sabbatical, choosing the next house to flip with Jamie, and proposing to you the very first time he sees you again. How does any of that sound?”

  “Third-life crisis?” I ask, genuinely curious and intrigued by what Ezra has just revealed. Somehow it gives me a little bit of comfort. I’m pretty sure his marriage proposal was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but Ez is telling me there were signs suggesting Bryant may have put at least some thought into this. Since he’s still so closed off—except for that moment we shared during the ceremony—I’d be a fool to read too much into it. My name is Faith, not Hope, and if I have too much of the latter, I may just lose a lot of the former. The only thing that got me through was the belief that Bryant would give me another chance. Jamie’s wedding may have been my excuse to come back, but my time staying away was definitely up.

  “We’re all just worried,” he says softly.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Ez. I’m not a naive kid anymore.”

  He gives me a narrowed glance. “I meant we’re all worried about both of you. There was a time when we thought you and Bryant getting married and living happily ever after was a forgone conclusion. And then—”

  “And then I fucked it all up.”

  He opens his mouth but snaps it shut, a muscle in his jaw clicking. Ez and I are very similar, except for the fact that Ez falls head over heels freely and for the wrong women, whereas I met the love of my life when I was eight and had a come-to-Jesus moment at twenty-two. I needed to break free, and screwed everything up in the process.

  “Faith, we don’t think that.”

  I laugh because honestly, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day. “Ez, did you not see Mom praying this morning? The woman who has not stepped foot in a church since your last marriage disaster.”

  “Do you mean wife one or wife two? ’Cause both were pretty epic failures.”

  “Both?” I say, a smile playing on my lips. “I actually think I heard Mom ask God to give Bryant the patience to live with me. Then I heard her tell Marcy that I was never the best housekeeper… or cook… or roommate in general, so as long as Bryant can fend for himself, he should survive.”

  Ez grins, snorting as he fights a laugh.

  “And then they came up with a cooking schedule so that ‘poor Bryant’ could receive food care packages from the moms to ensure he maintains a balanced nutritional diet.”

  “Oh God,” Ez says, laughing out loud now.

  “Wait, it gets better. They’ve also looped in the wives, aka April and Ronnie, and the sisters, aka Delilah and Abi, to visit us once a week for a ‘welfare’ check. Like they actually think we’re at risk!”

  Ez turns his head slightly and quirks a brow. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Do you remember the time you made brownies?”

  “I was fifteen!”

  “Delilah was making three-course gourmet meals at twelve.”

  “She’s a freaking chef now, Ez.”

  “What about the time you wanted to make a romantic meal for Bryant when you were eighteen and the fire department was called?”

  “The oven was faulty.�
�

  “And when you made tuna casserole for that neighborhood BBQ and half the street went down with food poisoning?”

  I sigh. “Look, I get it. I’m not that good with seafood.”

  He presses his lips together as if trying not to laugh at my grossly misleading statement. I may have completed a bachelor’s degree with honors, added on one year of my master’s at the top of my class, then finished my Ph.D. with so many recommendations that my CV reads like a Wikipedia page of leading zoologists, but cooking has always been my downfall. When we were at college, the only reason I didn’t starve to death was Bryant’s culinary skills.

  “Does everyone forget the gift Marcy Cook gave the women of Chicago when she taught her boys how to cook?”

  “Oh no, especially since those food talents have gotten those Cook brothers a lot of ass over the years.”

  “Thanks for the reminder, Ez.”

  His mouth gapes open. After pulling to a stop at a red light, he turns his face and looks at me like I’m the world’s biggest idiot. “Oh, so you don’t like the fact that Bryant hasn’t spent the last twelve years living as a monk while you were experiencing life as a single girl in Australia? C’mon, Faith. He’s a man, not a fucking angel.”

  “I know,” I hiss. “Doesn’t mean I need to have that fact rubbed in my face.”

  “So you marry the guy at City Hall with no discussion about what’s happened in the years you’ve been apart—relationships, sexual partners, anything? Well, color me surprised.”

  “Ezra Kane Baker, that is not nice.”

  He shakes his head and turns his attention back to the road, making a right turn into my new neighborhood. “And she full names me,” he mutters, his lips turning up into a half-grin. I can’t help but snicker, because full naming a Baker always stops an argument. It’s a rule Delilah, Ez, and myself came up with and shook on when we were fifteen, fourteen, and twelve respectively.

  But I owe my brother an explanation. The breakup with Bryant wasn’t easy on anyone—including our close-knit families. Neither one of us divulged the whys, hows, or whens. I know that by staying away for so long, the big question still lingers. The two of us getting hitched with no warning and two days after seeing each other face-to-face for the first time in twelve years has, in fact, raised more questions, most of all, for me.