The Den

The Wedding Nobody Asked For

BOOM!

"OH YEAAAHHH!" The thunderous voice echoed through the apartment.

"Stephen's here," I called to Alex, who merely nodded, already alerted by the distinctive laughter booming from the hallway.

Stephen sauntered into the kitchen, looking unexpectedly polished in a tailored suit. His eyes widened as he scanned my outfit, his hands flying dramatically to his chest. "Oh girl, no. Go change. Right now. You're not getting married in that monstrosity." His voice carried the perfect blend of horror and authority.

"Stephen, leave the girl alone. She's a grown woman capable of making her own decisions." The voice that interrupted flowed like honey—elegant, smooth, and embodying everything I aspired to be. She glided into the kitchen with effortless poise, her wavy chestnut hair catching the light, amber eyes warm with kindness. Every movement she made seemed choreographed in its perfection, the human embodiment of grace.

"Sierra, this is my wife, Vanessa," Stephen announced with unmistakable pride.

My brain short-circuited. I blinked rapidly, trying to process this information. "She," I pointed at Vanessa, my finger trembling slightly with disbelief, "is married—to you?" The question tumbled out as if I were attempting to solve complex rocket science equations rather than comprehend a simple relationship.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Stephen clutched his heart, playing the offended party with theatrical flair. "I'll have you know under all this man meat is a very sensitive, loving man!"

"Did you eat him?" I quipped, flashing my most dazzling smile to soften the jab.

Vanessa's laughter tinkled like wind chimes. "I see why Alex likes her. She's funny and she doesn't scare easy." She winked at me conspiratorially. Surely she wasn't suggesting people were actually frightened of the human Kool-Aid man standing before us?

We hadn’t planned on a courtroom wedding. Honestly, I thought Alex would go for the gothic cathedral with gargoyles and lightning aesthetic, but no—apparently, he wanted “low profile.”

Low profile. With Stephen in attendance.

The courtroom was empty except for a very nervous judge, who clearly hadn’t officiated anything like this before. He kept fumbling his notes, probably because Stephen had already “volunteered” to stand right next to him, wearing his suit like it was a stage costume.

“Do you, Sierra—” the judge began.

“Hold up, hold up,” Stephen cut him off, wagging a finger. “No one’s marrying anyone until I get my speech. I’ve been working on this since Rome.”

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stephen…”

“No, no, don’t ‘Stephen’ me, Alex. This is my moment.” He dramatically produced a crumpled napkin from his pocket, cleared his throat, and began: “Marriage is like eternal damnation—long, binding, and occasionally filled with screaming—”

“Stephen!” Vanessa’s sharp whisper carried across the courtroom, her heels clicking as she marched up beside him. Her smile at the judge was warm enough to melt butter. “What my husband means is, love is eternal and sacred. And he’s very proud of you both.”

The judge blinked at her, then at Stephen, who looked like he’d just been told recess was canceled. “Yeah. That’s… totally what I meant,” he muttered.

I was trying not to laugh, but it was useless. Especially when Alex, in his attempt to appear composed, leaned down and whispered in my ear, “If he ruins our vows, I’m staking him at the reception.”

“I heard that!” Stephen snapped. “And staking me won’t kill me, but it will ruin my tux, so maybe think before you act, Romeo.”

The vows should’ve been serious, but by the time I got to mine, I couldn’t help it. “I promise to love you, even when you brood dramatically in the dark corner of the room. Even when your taste in music is questionable. Even when you think low profile means dragging your loud werewolf neighbor to court.”

Alex’s lips twitched into that rare smile that turned my insides molten. “And I promise to love you,” he said, voice soft and steady, “even when you’re stubborn, sarcastic, and make me question every rational decision I’ve ever made.”

The judge looked ready to flee, but he gamely pressed on. “Do you, Sierra, take Alex—”

“BOOM!” Stephen clapped his hands so loud it echoed like a cannon shot. “I object! Just kidding—yes, yes, continue.”

The judge’s eye twitched. “Do you, Sierra, take Alex as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” I said.

“And do you, Alex—”

“I do,” Alex cut in firmly, glaring at Stephen before he could open his mouth again.

“By the power vested in me—”

“AND ME!” Stephen shouted, arms thrown wide.

“—I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the judge finished hurriedly.

Stephen whooped like we’d just won the Superbowl. Vanessa rolled her eyes but kissed his cheek anyway, as if she’d already resigned herself to wrangling him for eternity.

Alex leaned in close, his lips brushing mine. “Well,” he murmured, “low profile failed.”

“Yeah,” I whispered back, kissing him. “But at least it wasn’t boring.”

Instead of a proper reception, we ended up back at Alex’s place. Stephen had claimed he “catered.” Translation: half-empty takeout containers scattered across the counter.

Vanessa calmly rolled up her sleeves and started making it look like food. If anyone deserved sainthood, it was her.

And then the guests started arriving.

I don’t know who gave out invitations (spoiler: Stephen), but suddenly the house was full of supernatural freeloaders. Werewolves, vampires, a demon who looked like acne in human form—all of them crammed into Alex’s living room like it was open mic night.

One werewolf howled “CONGRATULATIONS” and knocked over a lamp. Another tried karaoke. Someone danced on the coffee table.

Alex looked like he was reconsidering eternity.

Meanwhile, I leaned against him, sipping champagne and watching the chaos. “You said you wanted low profile.”

His mouth twitched into the faintest smile. “Remind me to never let Stephen organize anything again.”

“You’ll forget,” I said.

“Probably.” He kissed the side of my temple, his voice soft enough that only I heard. “But you won’t let me.”

And in that moment, even with werewolves howling and demons arguing over karaoke, it was perfect.

---

The Shadow at the Edge

It wasn’t until later, when the party reached fever pitch, that I noticed it.

By the window stood a man I didn’t recognize—sharp suit, blank face, eyes too dark, too still. He never moved, never blinked.

When I asked Alex who he was, Alex frowned. “What man?”

I looked back. The window was empty.

And maybe it was just the champagne. Maybe it was nothing.

But deep down, I knew weddings attract more than joy. They attract attention. The kind that doesn’t congratulate you.

And the kind that doesn’t leave.