The venue, for once, had been a compromise that actually felt fair: a historic estate with warm stone walls and a garden ceremony space. Margaret got her elegance. I got my greenery and open sky.
As my father took my arm, I felt my chest tighten—not from fear, but from the weight of the moment.
At the end of the aisle, David stood waiting.
His face changed when he saw me. Not the kind of impressed look Margaret wanted from society guests, but something softer, more vulnerable. Like he couldn’t believe he got to have this life.
I walked toward him, and the world narrowed to the space between us.
When I reached him, he took my hands.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
I smiled. “You’re biased.”
“I’m correct,” he whispered back, and I laughed through the lump in my throat.
The ceremony was simple in the ways that mattered.
Vows that felt real.
A breeze that lifted my veil like a gentle hand.
When the officiant pronounced us married, David kissed me with the kind of certainty that made my knees go weak.
In the front row, Margaret sat beside Elena.
I forced myself not to stare, but my eyes drifted there anyway.