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The ceremony would be brief and minimalistic compared to the grand reception planned afterwards. Neither man had wanted to walk down the aisle in a big processional, so instead they would each come from smaller rooms on either side of the large museum hall they were renting for the evening. They'd meet by the altar once the guests were seated, they’d exchange vows—traditional ones, to Stevie’s surprise—and then they'd walk down the aisle together after the service as husband and husband.
A lovely wedding: sweet, simple, and every second laden with emotion.
Stevie placed her bet on David crying right out the gate, before the service even started.
Ted thought the tears would start as soon as David met Patrick at the altar, where they would ‘altar’ their relationship forever, and how was this man intelligent enough to have a doctorate?
Alexis put her money on the moment when David began to say his vows, while Patrick thought he’d hold it together through his own vows but lose it when it was Patrick’s turn to say them back.
Johnny didn’t seem too sure, but put his $20 on the kiss just for fun.
Moira, of course, thought David would get weepy as she sang for the recessional.
—
“I’m not going to give any of you the satisfaction,” David said without context as he came into their ready room ten minutes before the service was set to begin. “And also? You’re all terrible people.”
Fuck. Stevie really wanted that money. “Hear me out: I’ll split the pot with you if you can make yourself cry before the ceremony starts.” She frowned at her face in the mirror until David, impatient, clucked at her and grabbed the makeup brush from her hand.
“You didn’t think I’d even make it to the altar?” He said it shrilly as he applied powder, but it was obvious that David was only fake-offended; she didn’t think anything could really bother him today. He was positively buoyant—he’d woken up at 7:00 a.m., for no reason.
“The other spots were taken.” They hadn’t been.
“Well, joke's on all of you, because I’m not going to cry,” David insisted again. He looked good in his suit, though it was sort of off-putting to see him in light gray and maroon rather than his customary black and white. “If any of you knew me, like, at all, you’d know that I am physically incapable of genuine emotional displays if someone’s taking photographs of me. And I took seven different anxiety medications last night to keep myself from barging into your little den of inequity-“
“Oh my god, stop. You know you’re marrying a complete prude, right? It was ridiculous. He hardly even looked at the stripper, and he was too scared of being hungover today to have more than three beers. Biggest waste of money ever.” Although it had been fun to watch Patrick get all flustered and red during the lap dance.
She elected not to tell David that.
He smiled tightly. “Anyway, we’re not talking about you procuring young... young pieces of meat for my fiancé to ogle, thank you, my point was that I’m completely calm. I’m zen.” He gestured for her to close her eyes and brushed something lightly over the lids. “Also, Alexis agreed that I get the money if I don’t cry until the reception. So.”
He might actually manage it, Stevie realized. David had a remarkable stubborn streak when it came to bets and dares. It was how she’d managed to get him to go camping with her (‘bet you couldn’t handle it’) and how she’d gotten him to shut the hell up once they were out there (‘bet you can’t go the rest of the trip without complaining about the bugs’).
“Who told you, anyway?”
“Clint.” He swept the brush through one of the little-used pots from Stevie’s makeup kit. “Because my future in-laws, unlike all of you, are nice people.”
Biting her lip, Stevie admitted, “Marcy bet that it would happen when you exchange the rings.”
“Oh my God, I’m surrounded by monsters.”
—
Stevie didn’t have a view of David’s face during the ceremony—she was standing beside him, on his left—but she could tell he was keeping it together. His hands never went to his face. He wasn’t fidgeting.
He blew past her and Ted’s bets easily. They began the exchange of vows, Alexis’s bet, and David got through it with his voice completely steady: “I, David Rose, take you, Patrick Brewer, to be my husband; to have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.”
Stevie blinked back a tear and looked past him. Patrick’s voice was husky from the start as he began, “I, Patrick Brewer, take you, David Rose...”
His voice trembled.
No. That asshole.
But yes, Patrick—who had bet on this exact moment for David to start crying—was throwing the game.
“...to be my husband.” His voice broke.
At the exact moment a single tear rolled down Patrick’s cheek, hastily swiped away, David’s shoulders began to shake.
—
“That was masterful,” Stevie said, eyes narrowed, as she cut in on a Brewer cousin to dance with Patrick at the reception.
“Hmm.” Patrick was staring at David dancing with Alexis, and barely seemed aware that someone new was in his arms. Jesus, these two.
Also, his eyes were suspiciously damp.
Stevie stopped moving. “Of course. You didn’t throw the bet, did you?”
Patrick’s eyes didn’t move from his husband as he smiled. “Honestly? That bet was the furthest thing from my mind. I’m going to enjoy the extra $100 for our honeymoon, though.”
Shaking her head, Stevie went back to spinning slowly with him. “I can’t believe he only cried because you did. We took bets on the wrong sap.”
“Don’t tell him,” Patrick said, finally smiling at her instead of mooning over David. “He thinks I’m an evil genius.”