With how he’s holding my hand and leaning into me with such ease, one would think that we’d been a couple for years.
Warmth spreads through my chest as his thumb skims slowly across the back of my hand. I squeeze his fingers in response as a small smile tugs at my lips.
As the bride and groom recite their vows, we don’t look away from one another. A gust of wind rips through my curls, blowing my hair across my cheek.
We still don’t look away.
Our eyes dart back and forth as we study each other. Everything else is background noise.
We’re caught in our own little bubble, just like we have been all week.
Owen tilts his head slightly, his eyes roaming across my face with the same raw and intimate look he gave me in the shower.
Like he still can’t quite believe any of this happened. Like he’s also terrified that it will all go away in less than twenty-four hours.
He continues staring before lowering his eyes to my lips.
“What?” I mouth silently, lifting a playful brow.
He grins as his throat bobs with a quiet chuckle. Smile lines form in the corners of his eyes as his emerald gaze holds mine.
God, he’s so beautiful it physically hurts.
I inhale a quick breath as he squeezes my hand.
Not once, not twice, but three times.
The pressure of his calloused fingers against my skin sends a wave of heat up my arm. My chest tightens in response, the meaning behind his gesture settling deep in my soul.
I smile and clench my fingers around his, squeezing his hand back three times. And when I look forward again toward the ceremony, I feel a spark that I didn’t know I needed.
A tiny sliver of hope.
It still lingers in the back of my mind that tomorrow is still waiting. We won’t be in this little bubble for much longer.
But for now, we’re here.
Together.
And somehow, that feels like enough.
After the ceremonyends and the bride and groom disappear down the beach for photos, the guests slowly begin drifting toward the cocktail hour set up on the resort’s event deck.
The space overlooks the ocean, elevated just enough for the view to stretch endlessly across the horizon. String lights are woven through the wooden beams overhead, glowing softly as dusk settles over the island.
The breeze carries the smell of salt, florals, and fruity cocktails while a steel-drum band plays a cover ofRed, Red, Winefrom the far corner.
People gather in groups across the deck—glasses clinking as everyone mingles before the reception begins, gushing about how beautiful the ceremony was.
Owen stands beside me near the railing with a drink in one hand, the other resting comfortably against the small of my back.
His touch is featherlight but feels so warm and heavy against my skin.
The ocean below us rolls in slow waves against the sand, the sky now shifting into deep shades of navy and lavender as the sun finishes its descent behind the horizon line.
I take out my phone and snap a picture of the view, even though I know it’ll just become one of the thousand images in my camera roll that I’ll never look at again. But I had to at least take a picture… It would feel like a crime not to have evidence of this spectacular view.
“Not a bad place for a wedding,” Owen murmurs beside me.
