I somehow heard the scattered “ahs” from the people seated, but their responses weren’t the important ones, not at that moment. It was only Timothy that I wanted to hear from. He was the one who needed to know that I was 100% committed to him. I accepted his being a pooka, his being rich, and everything else that had stood between us. He needed to know that I would do whatever was required to stay together no matter what . . . and no matter where we had to go when our time in San Jose was over.
My soon-to-be-husband nodded that he understood my meanings, and I knew that he was reading my emotions as well, because besides the words, I was also sending him all my love with the full force of my thoughts.
Timothy squeezed my hand and leaned forward to meet his lips to mine. Then, as if it were practiced, the two of us simultaneously turned to face the wedding officiate, our individual promises now given. The yellow-clothed Santa took his cue from that, cleared his voice, and went on with the ceremony.
“I have to ask this question. Sorry, Penelope and Timothy. But does anyone have a reason why these two should not be legally wed? If so, you must step forward and speak now or henceforth hold your peace.”
Silence throughout the room assured us that no one would dispute our wedding. The officiate took in a breath, and said, “As there are no objections . . .”
“Wait!” came a voice from the back of the room. “I object.”
The disruption came from even further than that . . . from the outer door, the one where Terry and Bob were standing guard. And from the sound of that voice, Timothy and I both knew who had caused the commotion: Jack Peterson had somehow found us again and had come to halt the proceedings.
The officiate stopped. Timothy and I turned to face the door, as did every seated guest. Heads were spinning. Whispers were rampant. Several people stood up and allowed their heads to swing back and forth.
Bob and Terry latched onto the man. In seconds they were trying to bolt Peterson’s hands behind his back, only it wasn’t easy because the man was hurt and could barely stand. We could see that Peterson’s right foot and leg were covered in a big white cast, and his crutches, once knocked from his arms, were dropping to the floor.
It was too late to stop the man’s interference. The wedding had been paused as efficiently as Peterson had desired. Timothy waved the guards to bring the jerk of a vampire hunter into the house. I guessed that it was wisest to get the man’s objections over as quickly as possible. But what could Peterson say? Would he call Timothy a vampire again?