Taming Her Bad Boy

We make our way down the small hallway that leads to the main town council quarters, where Cohen's mom has strategically placed sporadic bouquets of light purple and white lilies on the different surfaces of tables and cabinets about the room.

She picks up one of them that's tied with a simple strip of white lace and hands it to me. “You've always been family, Vienna.” she whispers, holding back tears. “This, today, doesn't make you family. It only confirms what we already knew.”

I haven't even turned to see Cohen yet, and there are already tears threatening to ruin my mascara. I smile and pull Cohen's mom in for a hug, and she hugs me back just as tightly. I can't bring myself to respond to that. A simple thank you wouldn't be enough, and any other words would send me into a crying fi

t.

She squeezes my hand and presses the stems of the bouquet into my fingers. I just nod, but the glistening at the rims of her eyelids tells me she understands. She's struggling just as much to keep her emotions in check.

I turn away from her, intent on seeking out my dad and finding out where we're supposed to be. My eyes rest on the man at the front of the room, however, and I take a small, sharp breath in when I realize it's him.

Cohen.

He's dressed in a simple black suit with a white dress shirt, a small purple flower tucked in the pocket of his jacket. His eyes are locked on mine, too.

I see his throat move visibly, swallowing past the lump in his throat that I know is there.

Because I have a similar phenomenon going on right now, and the sight of him in such a formal outfit with his hair gelled and his face cleanly shaven is sending a series of pulses and shocks coursing through every vein, making every synapse in my brain fire rapidly with only one message getting through to my consciousness.

Get closer to him.

It's a need I can't express, and something that seems almost innate for me to want to do.

Thankfully, the clerk is opening the book before her and she waves me forward. “Whenever you're ready.”

It's time, I think again. And this time, I don’t think about the past, or the winding, emotional road we took to get here. I just think about us, because that’s what matters.

I take my father’s arm and allow him to walk me to the other end of the room. It’s not exactly an aisle, per se, and there are no other guests fawning over the sight of me in a wedding dress.

But Cohen’s at the other end of the path we take, and as my dad kisses my cheek and whispers that I’ll always be his little girl, he’s still doing the most important part of this ceremony to me—he’s giving me to Cohen, giving his blessing for us to continue on in this life together.

And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

The rest of the ceremony happens in a blur. I know the officiant is speaking, and I’m aware that both my mother and Cohen’s mother are crying quietly, and I’m aware that my gaze never deviates from being locked with Cohen’s piercing eyes. He doesn’t look away, either.

The clerk asks me to repeat after her, and I do, with the most even voice that I can muster.

“Do you, Vienna Janine Anderson, take this man, Cohen Jacob Bradley, to be your husband?” she asks.

“I do,” I say, swallowing down the emotion that’s bubbling up inside me.

“And do you, Cohen, take Vienna to be your wife?”

“I do,” he replies steadily. “Forever.”

I’m not sure which mother, his or mine, begins to sob freely, but I don’t turn to check. Because the clerk has just pronounced us husband and wife, and I can’t concentrate on anything but the fact that I need to kiss the man before me and make him feel the tidal wave of emotions that are flooding through me right now.

Cohen’s mouth finds mine, and perhaps it’s not the most appropriate kiss for a wedding ceremony in front of our parents, but I wrap my arms around his neck and Cohen lifts me into the air, kissing me passionately as though our lives depend on it.

“You’re my wife,” Cohen whispers once he sets me back down onto my high heels. “Finally.”

“And you’re my husband.” I’m beaming just saying the words out loud.

“We did it, Vi.” There are tears brimming the corners of his eyelids. “We really did it.”

***

Cohen had his Mustang polished up in preparation for this special day. It’s sitting in front of the town hall when we emerge, and the sight of it in all its shined-up glory brings on a sudden wave of nostalgia.