It was not an easy task to plan a wedding in three months and eight days. But the motivation was there. And Sophie was psychotically organized enough to bring the plans to fruition. Her parents were aghast at first, but she eventually talked them out of their panic with a convincing lie about how long she and Dean had been together and a great story about his fascinating career as a logistics coordinator for a long haul rail-freight company. She'd thought about going with travel nurse or consulting accountant, but she also knew that a five word conversation between her characteristically rugged fiancé and her exceptionally perceptive parents would blow a hole in that story near instantaneously.
She sewed a dress from old tablecloths that she found in a thrift store and somehow cajoled a Byzantine Catholic priest from three states over - the nearest available - to come marry them in a field by a scrapyard - which was definitely a breach in official church protocol. She called her little sister and they selected flower arrangements together over the phone. And she baked six key lime pies each with a D and an S piped in Swiss meringue on top.
Sophie woke that morning after an awful night's sleep. She'd gotten too used to having Dean next to her in Bobby's lumpy guest bed, so the quiet and plush hotel room with her sister at her side felt…wrong. Sam hadn't lied, and the scar on her lower lip did look rather badass, Sophie thought as she applied her makeup and tried to wrangle her curls into looking attractive. She wanted to get there early, check that Bobby had the icons in all the right places. It wouldn't do to get married with the Virgin Mother in the wrong spot.
And when she arrived everything was perfect and beautiful. The icons she'd found in ten different eBay listings looked shockingly cohesive. The flowers she'd ordered by phone were gorgeous. The chairs Bobby had dug up from his basement looked surprisingly presentable.
And it hit her. She was getting married.
Eighteen months before she'd had her first grand mal seizure at her fiancé's funeral. And now. This.
She saw Dean step out onto Bobby's back porch and felt a rush of conflicting emotions. She was a good, superstitious, Polish Catholic. She wasn't supposed to see him before the wedding. Then again she also definitely wasn't supposed to be marrying someone who wasn't baptized either…
So when he hurried down the porch steps and wrapped her in his arms she didn't protest. She just kissed him.
"I couldn't sleep without you," he whispered against her forehead.
"Me either," she agreed.
"I want this done so I can get that dress off of you," Dean murmured in her ear.
Sophie laughed and pulled away.
"Go on now," she said, "My mom's gonna catch us together and start ranting in Polish. You don't want that. I promise."
And so he kissed her forehead, winked, and walked back to the house.