Remy

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There will be hundreds of days in my life that I won’t remember.

But this is one day that I will never forget.

Today I marry my wife. Brooke “Little Firecracker” Dumas.

I promised her a church wedding. And a church wedding is what she’ll get.

“I swear if you frown any harder at the door, it’s going to collapse under your stare,” my PA, Pete, calls from the couch.

I swing around to where he and Riley have been watching me pace around the living room of Brooke’s old Seattle apartment. Apparently those two are amused as fuck by me. Dipshits. I don’t see what’s so amusing. Turning back to the bedroom door, I continue pacing.

For the life of me, I can’t imagine what’s taking her so long. It’s been exactly fifty-eight minutes since she locked herself up in our bedroom to get ready, when Brooke—my fucking Brooke—usually gets dressed in five.

“Dude, it’s her wedding day. Chicks take a lot of time to get prepped.” Riley thrusts his arms out in the air in a gesture that implies That’s life!

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