“But of course.” She smiles and lifts her head a little higher.
“Do I even want to know what you’ve done to the deck?”
“Maybe, maybe not.” She looks at Paige and winks. “You got this, Paige? I’m going to go make sure everything’s ready out there.”
Paige smiles. “Yeah, we’ll come out when the music starts.”
“The head piece is in that drawer.” Mom points to a nightstand beside the bed. “I figure she’ll give you less hell about it than me.”
Mom walks out of the cabin, and Paige pulls a crown from the nightstand.
“Ta-da! Are you ready for this, duchess?” she asks, a grin that’s pure mischief on her face.
It’s legit beautiful, even if it’s also totally over-the-top, covered in seashells and pearls and two silvery chains that edge across my forehead on each side.
“Whoa. It’s pretty but it still feels like too much. She wants me to wear a crown?”
Paige sighs. “She sold Mag on the theme. That’s the only reason I went along with it, but your groom bought it.”
“He did?”
There’s a knock at the door. Something tells me to flip the lock which turns out to be a good thing when someone tries barging in.
“Brina, let me in,” Mag says behind the door.
“No way! It’s bad luck to see me before the wedding.”
“This isn’t something I thought I’d ever do. I need your opinion on my tux.”
“Nope. It was your idea,” I say. “Go to the deck and wait for me where you’re supposed to be before Mom goes into stage manager mode.”
“I can’t get one damn kiss before the ceremony?” he growls.
Heaven help me, I smile like a fool.
“I have my dress on already. Do you want to ruin our marriage before it even starts? Go.”
“Sabrina—”
“Mag, vamoose. You’ll see me soon.”
“Not fair,” he grumbles. “You know I can’t deny you.”
I’m still a little weak in the knees as I hear his heavy footsteps fading.
The music starts a minute later. I have Paige check to make sure the coast is clear so Mag can’t sneak a look before he should.
Showtime.
He’s standing next to the judge where he belongs.
Jordan walks Paige up the aisle and stands beside his brother. He’s getting taller by the month, and I think he’ll be slaying hearts left and right in a couple years. I love how he smiles, proud to be the best man.
Dad walks me up the aisle as the music begins.
“Take care of my little girl,” he whispers softly, leaning in to Mag, placing my hand in his.
“Already done,” Mag says with a smile so genuine it sets my heart on fire.
Someone—meaning Mom—has built an arch for us. It’s draped in glowing sea foam and pale blue tulle netting. A freaking chandelier hangs from the top.
Being married on Mag’s yacht was supposed to be a compromise.
He wanted something elegant that people—meaning the press and social media—would think was appropriate for a rockstar CEO. Mom wanted something over the top fit for one of her books.
I just wanted close friends and relatives and nothing else.
Dad wanted to pay for it, and I worried Mom’s ideas combined with my groom’s might bankrupt their newfound wealth.
But we decided Mag’s yacht, a beast he owns and pays for, would be a happy compromise with close friends, family, and Mom involved in everything else.
Looking at the arch with layers of silk plastered with seashells and coral, I smile.
Fair is fair.
Mom got her over-the-top dream wedding, and I got the perfect man.
My hand slips into Mag’s now, but I’m so nervous it’s more like he’s holding me up than just holding my hand. Then everything we rehearsed arrives in a giddy blur.
I manage to say, “I do,” at all the right times.
But the courage to get the words out comes from him.
“Now for the moment you’ve been waiting for—you may now kiss your bride!” our officiant announces.
Mag pulls me closer and meets my lips with this own.
His lips are all fire, leaving nothing but scorched happiness in his wake. His tongue pushes against my lips, tracing my mouth, etching our love into my being.
Sure, I’m full of sappy phrases today, but hey, what’s a mermaid princess to do on her big day?
My arms wind around him tight.
He holds me tighter, bending me back, deepening the force of his tongue on mine.
A few laughs burst out from somewhere around us, but I can’t even think.
We break away reluctantly, and the music swells with wild applause.
Mag straightens up, pulling me with him. I take several deep breaths before my lungs work again.
Our guests shift around, lining both sides of the staircase as we make our way. Birdseed scatters around us like confetti as we go down the stairs to the next deck for the reception.
Mom did an amazing job here, too.
Our wedding cake is three tiers and fades between aqua and seafoamy green. It’s decorated with edible shells of rich frosting instead of flowers. The groom on top holds a paddle wheel and the brunette in the wedding dress beside him is a mermaid holding herself up on a curled tail instead of legs.