Page 68 of The Marriage Clause

I shake my head. "Can we please go inside?"

His mouth does the thing. The almost-smile. The one that's starting to feel like it belongs to me.

"After you," he says. "But don’t get too close. I might wedge under your skin."

Too late, I want to say.

Everly finds my father within thirty seconds of him walking through the door and adopts him like he's a golden retriever she's been waiting for all her life.

"Mr. Taylor, I'm Everly. I'm the one who planned all of this." She gestures grandly at the tent, the flowers, the string lights threading through the trees beyond the terrace. "And I'm the one who's going to make sure your daughter looks like a queen tomorrow."

My father takes her hand and holds it between both of his. "If you're half as good at planning weddings as you are at introductions, I'm not worried."

Everly beams. I can practically see the adoption papers being filed in her head.

Penelope shows up with her husband Slade Matthews, center and captain of the Hawkeyes team. She agreed to be my maid of honor though she was shocked when I told her that I was getting married so quickly.

We file out onto the lawn where the chairs are set in rows and the arch stands draped in white and green against the dark water beyond.

Penelope comes to stand next to me. "I know you were going to try to get your job back but this seems a little beyond the call of duty. You just touch your nose twice if you want to bail. I’ve got a getaway car and Slade missed his calling in NASCAR. You’d make his day."

"I’m okay, but thank you for being here with me," I tell her.

"I wouldn’t miss it. I just can’t believe I didn’t see this one coming. My matchmaking skill in the Hawkeyes community needs a tune up."

"Don’t be hard on yourself," I laugh. "You’ll get the next one."

Then the coordinator walks Everett, Damien and Levi to the front. They stand under the arch—Everett centered, Damien beside him as his best man, and Levi next to him. Even in slacks and a button up with rolled-sleeves, Everett commands the entire space.

I watch as his posture stiffens while Penelope and Everly walk down next, like he's bracing for something he can feel coming. We both know what it is.

"All right, Aria," the coordinator says. "Mr. Taylor, whenever you're ready."

My father rises from the chair Colston placed for him at the end of the aisle. My father towers over me at over six feet as he straightens his jacket. He offers me his arm and I take it, feeling like a little girl all over again, needing my dad to do this with me.

We walk, taking it slow on the grass. Slower than a normal walk, because his right side is still unreliable and he compensates with carefully measured steps. I match his pace without thinking about it—the way I've matched it at Brookhaven a hundred times, in hallways and therapy rooms and the garden where he likes to sit on warm days.

But this isn't a hallway. This is an aisle.

And at the end of it, Everett Kauffman is watching us.

My father's grip on my arm tightens. Not because he's struggling, because he knows what this means.

"Steady, sweetheart," he murmurs. "We're almost there."

We reach the arch. The coordinator explains where I'll stand, where my father will kiss my cheek, where Everett will step forward to take my hand.

My father turns to me. His eyes are wet but his voice is strong.

"I'm going to embarrass you tomorrow," he warns. "I'm going to cry."

"You’re not going to embarrass me. I promise."

"And I'm going to tell everyone who'll listen that my daughter is the bravest woman I've ever known. After your mother."

I can't speak. If I open my mouth, I will break apart in front of every Kauffman on this lawn. My mother won’t be here today and he and I both know that.

He pats my cheek the way he always has since I was a little girl, gentle, rough-handed, certain.