Page 119 of Biker Orc Baby Daddy
"We did it," he says.
"We really did."
We turn. Walk back down the aisle. Married.
Holy hell.
The reception'sin a massive tent Colum erected next to the fountain. White fabric. String lights. Tables with centrepieces made of. I don't even know. Flowers and crystals and possibly illegal amounts of glitter.
"He outdid himself," Gunther murmurs.
"He's going to bill us for this."
"Definitely."
We're ushered to the head table. Orry's deposited in a high chair between us, already covered in frosting from a cupcake someone handed him.
"Speech!" someone yells.
"No," I say.
"Yes!" Colum's at the microphone. Of course. "Ladies, gentlemen, and distinguished orcs. Let's hear it for the happy couple!"
Applause. Gunther stands. Pulls me up.
"We'll keep it short," he says.
"Thank god," someone mutters. Laughter.
"Thank you for being here. For supporting us. For. For being part of this." He glances at me. "We're. We're really lucky."
"What he said," I add. "Also, there's cake. Go nuts."
More applause. We sit.
Dinner's served. Some fusion menu Colum designed. Orcish roast with human sides. It's. Actually good.
Gunther's family mingles with mine. My stepfather's deep in conversation with Gunther's uncle about metalwork. My mother's cooing over Orry with Gunther's mother, both of them swapping parenting horror stories.
"This is surreal," I say.
"Good surreal?"
"Yeah. Good."
The evening rolls on. Dancing. Toasts. Colum gives a speech that's half heartfelt, half sales pitch for Fishborn Financial.
Gunther and I cut the cake. Feed each other. He smears frosting on my nose.
"You're dead," I say.
"Worth it."
We dance. Slow. His hand on my back. Mine on his shoulder.
"How's the baby?" he asks.
"Kicking. A lot."
