Chapter 12

Their wedding. Happening. So right.

The sofa was supportive, and Justin’s toes were adorable in green and black striped socks, and a cool pale thread of autumn sunshine wove through fire-hair and throw pillows like music. It shimmered in guitar-strings and half-heard notes. It spun light into the fading steam from Justin’s afternoon coffee and Kris’s tea.

The day hummed like sugar, drawn out, delicious, extending forever. For the rest of their lives, just like this. Celebration, affirmation, a coming-together.

And a party. With those friends. With that family.

Kris, holding an invitation, looked up and over at Justin. His demon looked back, having heard the unspoken pulse of emotion, the decision.

“I’m glad,” Justin said.

“He won’t come,” Kris said. “Or he’ll bring the tabloids.”

“And either way it’ll be our day,” Justin said. “Nothing’ll make that anything less than fantastic.”

“I love you,” Kris said, and pulled up his father’s address.