Love usurped hate today.
Andrew would have been honored to simply stand there and watch it happen, but him and Rory were the best men. Marcus’s brother, Joey, and his father stood up for him. At the grooms’ request, the wedding party was dressed casually, in jeans and white T-shirts—and thank Christ for that, because the mid-August sun wouldn’t allow for a suit. Not to mention, Andrew was pretty sure none of the Prince brothers owned a fucking suit, save Jamie. But not even the most dapper of the three wore a tie today.
Just his signature vest, a two-day-old beard and a smile.
While the minister spoke, Andrew couldn’t stop his attention from drifting over to Jiya where she stood arm in arm with her parents. God, he’d thought she looked amazing last night, but she stole his breath today. She wore a vivid yellow dress that floated around her in the breeze. Little strands of hair blew across her smiling mouth, catching in the eyelashes that collected tears from her shining eyes. Her beauty was almost startling.
Maybe Andrew was just startled, period.
He’d behaved like an asshole last night. Again. Holding her, flirting with her, touching her in ways that were reserved for the man who’d give her a future. He’d behaved selfishly, letting himself experience what it would be like to keep Jiya. That wasn’t fair to her. And now that Andrew knew how right and perfect it felt to hold Jiya in his arms—like a boyfriend…or husband would—staying away from her would be a hundred times more difficult.
Andrew got the sense he was being watched and found Jiya’s mother staring at him with a curious expression on her face. He nodded at her, but she didn’t nod back.
There was a stab of disappointment in his side. When Andrew, Jamie and Rory’s mother waved at him from the front of the crowd, her face glowing and free of discoloring, Andrew couldn’t help but breathe easier, though. At least she was safe now. At least she didn’t have to live with dread every day of her life anymore.
Marcus and Jamie produced their vows in preparation of reciting them, Andrew couldn’t help but laugh along with everyone else.
Jamie’s were laminated.
Marcus’s were written on a napkin.
“I guess I should go first, huh?” Marcus said with chagrin, looking down at the ocean where it swirled around his calves. “In case I drop mine and lose it forever.”
“You’d find a way to say the right thing,” Jamie said.
Marcus touched his fingertips to Jamie’s face. “Thank God for that.” He dropped his hand away and coughed, not bothering to look at the napkin. “Jamie Prince. I’m still pretty sure this is all a dream. You stuck with me when…it wasn’t easy. When it wasn’t easy for you and I was scared. Every time I hold your hand for the rest of my life, I just want you to know it’s not some small thing. I’m thankful for the way your hand feels in mine. I’m thankful for the way it makes me feel. Right here.” He pressed the napkin to his chest. “I’m going to love you and feed you potstickers and make sure you’re never lonely or afraid. Not for a single day. Ever again.”
Jamie used a shoulder to wipe his eye, quickly and efficiently. “Jesus. What did you have written on the napkin?”
“Roses are red, violets are blue…” Marcus deadpanned.
Everyone laughed, including the grooms.
“My turn.” Jamie tossed his laminated vows out into the ocean where they were swept up and carried to shore on a bubbling wave. “Marcus, looking back, sticking with you was the easiest thing I’ve ever done. You weren’t the only one who was scared. But if I was scared, it was because I thought I’d have to be without you one day.”
“Never going to happen,” Marcus said gruffly.
Jamie nodded. “I believe you.”
Marcus kissed his groom before it was allowed, and through laughter, the minister rushed through blessing their union. Andrew and Rory looked at each other, realizing simultaneously their own eyes were wet, and hurriedly wiped away any evidence of emotion. Rory shoved Andrew and told him to fuck off, but he was smiling—and after that, the whole day was a blur for Andrew.
When Marcus and Jamie decided to give everyone a week’s notice that they were getting married, Andrew had scrambled to find a place that would hold around fifty people, had a little more class than the Castle Gate and most importantly, boasted a fully stocked bar. Both sides of the family had Irish blood, not to mention the guest list included CrossFit enthusiasts and sanitation workers. If they made it through the afternoon without a brawl…well it wouldn’t be an Irish wedding. Bottoms up.
Andrew had gone ahead to the reception venue while everyone took pictures on the beach. He was giving final instructions to the wait staff when Jiya walked in carrying a bubble-gum pink box containing the wedding cake—which, thanks to the time constraints, would be enough for two bites per person, at best. “Hey,” she said, handing it over to the staff to be refrigerated. “Can I do anything for you?”