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My mom steps out first.
Isabel is right behind her, a graceful figure in dusty rose chiffon, her arm looped through Sofia’s, who’s all long legs and glossy waves in a sage-green wrap dress. The three of them look like a renaissance painting—sisterhood in motion. Timeless. Forgiven.
We exchange soft smiles. No drama, no tears. Just peace. Healing dressed in highlighter and heels.
And then… it’s time.
They lead me outside and—
Oh.
The aisle is magic.
Boho-chic Pinterest could never. A winding carpet of woven jute and scattered white rose petals cuts through the emerald grass, framed by short lanterns and long-stemmed wildflowers in vintage jars. Pampas grass sways with the wind like it knows it’s having a moment, and macrame hangings dangle from overhead branches that twist and frame the path like something out of a storybook.
The chairs—just twenty or so—are mismatched but charming, draped with gauzy throws and arranged in a soft semi-circle around the small wooden dais. The setting sun backlights it all in molten gold, slanting through the leaves like God himself RSVP’d.
Fairy lights sparkle overhead, strung between old oak trees like constellations trying to bless us. The scent of honeysuckle rides the breeze, wrapped around notes of wood smoke and citrus. Everything is green and blooming and alive.
And at the end of it all—
Fletch.
My breath stutters.
He’s standing beneath a floral arch woven with eucalyptus and pale blush roses, a dusting of baby’s breath tangled around the beams like stars caught in a dream. He’s in a tailored charcoal suit, no tie, hair loose around his ears, like he forgot to be anything other than breathtaking.
Thorin claps a hand to his back, whispering something that makes his shoulders shake with silent laughter. But when Fletch looks up—his eyes find mine.
And that’s it. Game over. I’m undone.
His jaw ticks, his eyes shining even as he tries so damn hard to hold it together. The muscle in his cheek jumps like it always does when he’s overwhelmed and trying not to show it. One blink. Then another. His lips press tight, like if he opens them, he might just break apart.
I’m the only thing he sees.
And I’ve never felt more seen.
The people we love are gathered around—Reese glowing and impossibly pregnant in a gold silk dress, one hand over her belly. Thorin beside Fletch, steady and loyal in black. Carson and Benji are here, arms slung over their girls—Mika in velvet navy, Ally in champagne sequins, both beaming like they’ve waited years for this moment.
Alex is here too, surprisingly not behind a camera or holding a schedule. He’s holding Penelope’s hand instead. They whisper something to each other, then look back toward us. Toward this.
My dad’s arm is solid under mine as we step into the aisle. And just before he lets me go, he turns to Fletch—my rock, my best friend, my forever—and clasps his hand.
“Take care of her.”
Fletch doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t blink.
“As long as I live.”
The breeze stills as my dad places my hand in Fletch’s, like the universe knows this is the moment it’s all been building to.
The moment the storm finally meets the shore.
My fingers curl into his without hesitation—because they know the shape of him. They’ve always known.
And when I look up?
Fletch is a mess.
