Chapter 29

Twenty-Nine

C illian

It had taken a few weeks to plan, but it was good to have a sister because I don't think I would have had the capability to plan all this without one. Waiting at an altar was a bit jarring by comparison, but my wife—more than anything—wanted a Baptist wedding.

"Look at this happy motherfucker," Paddy, my best man pulled at my neck in attempt to roughhouse me.

"Fuck off," pushing him off me at the start of "Her Comes the Bride" beginning to play.

A series of bridesmaids—which including my sister being the maid of honor—began to settle on the altar opposite of me and my groomsmen.

I was ashamed to admit I was holding my breath a little bit. We were already married, but there was nothing I wouldn't do for this woman. She gave me everything a scoundrel like me could want so it seemed like such a small ask to remarry in a fashion fit more for her.

A vision in white waited at the church entrance as her father took her hand and proceeded to walk her down. My palms were already sweaty and my stomach was turning in knots. Please let me not fuck this up.

There are probably a million things going on in the background, so I decided my only focus was going to be the woman walking down the aisle. My eyes were tearing up on me. Maybe it was because I knew what was coming this time. I just wasn't prepared for how sentimental the sight of her would make me.

Paddy used his handkerchief to wipe my face off, saving me from a face of heavy tears when Queenie finally approached, as I could see her smiling under her veil. My heart was about as heavy as a stone right now. It was like I could handle it but was far from handling it at the same time.

She giggled when she noticed my hands were shaking at my attempt to pull up her veil, as two smoldering eyes studied me lovingly. A fairytale princess if there ever was one.

Looking over my shoulder at my brothers, I couldn't believe my luck at getting to marry this woman again . Whether it was appropriate or not, I pulled her in as close as possible to me, as the pastor began to speak the vows.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of God, family and friends, to witness a joyous occasion, the union of Elizabeth Stanton and Cillian Sullivan in Holy Matrimony."

"You look beautiful." Bending down to whisper in her ear.

"You look very handsome." She mouthed, suppressing a sniffle as I reached in and wiped the tear falling down her cheek. The pastor kept on with the invocation, but I'd barely heard it. I was too distracted looking at my pretty wife to be paying attention before the declaration of intent.

"Elizabeth Stanton and Cillian Sullivan. As you stand here, before friends, family and God, do you take Cillian Sullivan to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love him, comfort him, honor him and keep him, in sickness and health. Forsaking all others. Be faithful to him, as long as you both shall live?"

Queenie turned to me and I swear I couldn't stop smiling. "I do."

"Do you take Elizabeth Stanton to be your wife? To love her, comfort her. To honor and keep her. In sickness and health, forsaking all others. Be faithful to her, as long as you both shall live?"

"You bloody bet I do." Next we were prompted to exchange rings, once Paddy handed them to me.

Taking her small hand in mine, I slipped the ring down her finger, caressing her hand in it. She performed the same gesture, as the rest of the summer ceremony seemed to be a blur until the pastor said, "You may now kiss the bride."

Grabbing my wife by the waist, she eagerly pulled down the back of my neck to reach her better, as our lips met in a deep, passionate, mutual kiss that was so risqué, Paddy and órfhlaith had to peel us off of each other so the ceremony could continue.

Bridesmaids from Queenie's side of the family laid an object by our feet, as I reached out for her hand. "You sure it's okay if I do this?" Wanting to respect if this was a tradition that wasn't meant for me.

"You're my husband," she said as reached in to kiss me on the cheek. "Plus, you're Irish. To other white people, you're practically Black anyway."

"Good point!" Simultaneously Queenie and I both leapt over the broom, honoring one of the many traditions she wanted to pass down.

A playful scream echoed, as I lifted my bride off her feet, taking her outside as fast as I could so she could see the surprise waiting for her.

"Oh my god, baby you didn't." She brought her hands to her mouth, inspecting her Cadillac convertible. The red one like she hinted at for weeks. I made sure to misdirect any conversation leading to it, suggesting the wedding was more important than a car, especially since she wanted a house to go with these renewed vows.

But my intention hadn't been to deny her, I just didn't want her to see it coming. "Well?" I threw her the keys. "We've got a reception to go to."

***

Hosting the reception in órfhlaith's backyard, it'd been was a mix of some Irish traditions but mostly Queenie's roots from her South and North Carolina background.

Getting an Irish band to play was fairly easy when you had cousins, uncles and family friends that can handle the fiddle, a flute or a harmonica or two. The real challenge was hiring the proper band my wife's people could snap to because wasn't no way we were letting anyone sit around all night when they could be dancing.

But it backfired greatly when came the time when the bride and groom were expected to dance. Queenie was eager, but I did fight it hard, not wanting to embarrass myself in front of her family.

"Come on, baby. We haven't even had our first dance."

"Okay, okay. But only because I can't say no to you." Heading to the center of the dance floor, an Irish jig began to play and suddenly she got nervous on me. Guiding her feet or what to do and where to go, my girl was doing a simple Irish jig in no time. The bands took turns playing Irish music and American, so I definitely got my fill, too.

Strangely, Queenie appeared more winded than usual, so I sat her down for a moment to make sure she was okay. "Do you need to rest a bit?"

"Maybe. But I do also have something to tell you. I didn't want to tell you until after?—"

"Didn't want to tell me what?" Suddenly impatient. She leaned in close to my ear so only I could hear her.

"I'm late."

"What do you mean, you're late? We got here?—"

"Cillian, listen to me. I mean, I'm late ." Heavily emphasizing the late this time.

"How late?" Finally understanding.

"Seven weeks." We'd been married seven weeks.

"You fucking serious?" As she smiled and nodded, my heart sunk into my stomach. When I didn't say anything, she squeezed my hand.

"Are you disappointed?"

"No. Of course not. Scared as hell, maybe. Only example I have of fatherhood is my own father, and he damaged me so bad, I'm afraid I'll be like him. Not to mention, I never know whether I'm being good to you or enough for you, and now I have to share you. I'm fucking terrified."

"Maybe I should have waited to tell you," her voice heavy, as if she were about to cry.

"Hey, hey. None of that." I kissed her forehead. "Just because I'm scared, don't mean it's not welcome. This is what we wanted, okay? My fears don't got shit to do with you. I'm just afraid of having someone new to protect and I just don't want to fall short. I love you. With all my heart. Nothing but greatness has entered my life since you came into it. I love you." Pressing another kiss to her on the forehead.

"You don't come up short to me. You're a good husband because you chose to be. I know you'll be a good father if you choose to be."

"I just pray I don't pass down the Sullivan curse."

"How do you think we got here?" Queenie joked.

"And with my appetite, it probably won't be our last."