Epilogue
EPILOGUE
LENORA
2 YEARS LATER
I ’m getting married today.
Me.
You’d think after months of planning, of listening to Holden make ridiculous requests just for the amusement of making my father pay for them, of stressing out about seating arrangements and picking out my dress… It really didn’t sink in until now.
I woke up this morning as Lenora Vogel, and when I go to bed tonight—hopefully fucked into a coma by my new husband—I’ll be Lenora Ellinger. The sound of that, even in my head, makes me smile because it really does sound so good . It’s not something I ever expected to be excited over, a wedding, a ring, a new name… I am, though. Really excited.
Probably because it’s all part of becoming Holden’s wife.
“You look so pretty, Len,” sniffs Honor, standing back to look at me, her hand resting atop her very swollen stomach.
I blanche. “God, sit down. You’re going to go into labor during the ceremony if you don’t chill out.”
It’s not just me being dramatic, either. There really is an unfortunately high probability of this occurring. When we set the date for the wedding almost a year ago, I was thrilled to find a day that didn’t correspond with any major holidays, family members’ anniversaries, birthdays, or scheduled life events. Save-the-dates were sent, the venue was booked, a caterer was picked.
Then, my maid of Honor announced that she was pregnant.
Her due date? Tomorrow.
“She’s not going to go into labor,” Sophie reassures me from her place on the couch.
I glare at her. “Don’t jinx it.”
“ You just jinxed it!”
“I’m the bride, I can jinx whatever I want. Besides.” I wave my hand toward Sophie’s also swollen—but thankfully not ready to pop—stomach. “You aren’t exactly an authority on responsible birth control use.”
Beside her, Jo, who is both a bridesmaid and the official flower girl wrangler, grins. “I’m not pregnant, Leni! Do I get to be maid of honor if her water breaks all over your veil?”
“No, you’d be maid of Josephine. It doesn’t sound nearly as good,” quips Sophie cheerfully, and everyone laughs.
Realizing I was excited to get married was almost as awesome as realizing I had people I could ask to wear matching cream-colored dresses and throw me a party where everyone drinks out of penis shaped cups.
A quiet knock sounds on the dressing room door, and we all look around in time to see my brother-in-law poke his head in, smiling around at us. “It’s time.”
There is a flurry of last-minute hair fluffing and bouquet gathering as we all prepare to leave. Julian holds the door open for us, kissing his wife’s cheek as she passes and offering me a one-armed hug. “You look beautiful, Leni.”
“You’re kind of a sap, you know that, Julian?” I ask, aware that my pulse is suddenly fluttering frantically and my silky white dress is pulling and chafing in places it definitely wasn’t earlier. Holy crap, I’m nervous. Why am I so nervous? We love each other, we live together and work together—though it’s thankfully been a long time since I was his administrative assistant—and I want to marry him.
A lump appears in my throat as a horrible thought occurs to me.
“What if he changes his mind?” I hiss to Jo, who seems to have taken it upon herself to be my shadow for the day and run interference between me and my well-meaning but overbearing family members.
I’ve never had a best friend before, and I don’t think she has either, but it’s pretty cool.
Jo scoffs, elbowing me playfully. “Last night, he called Ellis three times to remind him to bring the favors we made. Holden isn’t going anywhere.”
Okay, that’s a little helpful. I nod, the lump lessening slightly.
The venue for the wedding is our city’s newly constructed botanical garden, which would be cool enough on its own, but the fact that my future husband designed it adds a whole other element of awesome. The facility only opened to visitors last month, and we are the very first couple to get married here.
Our group stops before a big, stained glass door, and I lean in close to make out the rows of assembled guests, their chairs lined up amongst stunning flower beds. At the very front of the aisle is a stained glass pergola, where the officiant is standing beside an unmistakable, tall, blond figure. Holden is talking to Dad and Ellis, but even from here, I can see the tension in his shoulders.
Maybe I’m not the only one who’s nervous.
“I’ll let them know you’re ready?” Julian asks, pausing with his hand on the door handle.
My mouth opens, but no noise comes out.
“She’s ready,” Honor assures him wryly, appearing at my side and wrapping her arm around my shoulders to give me a squeeze. “Deep breaths, Len. You’re marrying Holden, remember? Everything is awesome.”
“You’re not going to reason with her right now,” Jo tells her mildly. “She’s feeling the things, and when she’s done feeling the things, she’ll be fine.”
Julian heads back outside, and we all lean in to watch through the rippling, colored glass as he crosses the grass, pausing to speak to the string quartet that’s set up off to the side, before jogging over to where Holden is standing with his groomsmen and our flower girl. A few seconds later, Dad breaks away from the group, heading our way with a clearly overexcited Zoe at his side.
“Please don’t cry,” Honor orders him as he slips inside, his gaze finding her, then me. “She’ll probably hit you.”
“I’m going to cry anyway,” he reports gruffly, stepping around her to pull me into his arms. “You look stunning, Len.”
Outside, the quartet begins to play, and my panic, which has been simmering below the surface all day, swells alarmingly. Dad must be able to see it because he guides me to our place at the back of the line with a gentle smile. “Far be it for me to offer words of reassurance about a man I didn’t want you to marry?—”
I huff. It’s been a long time since the days my father actually disapproved of me and Holden. He’ll never admit it, which I suppose is his parental prerogative, but I think by now he knows a good thing when he sees one. Unconventional or not, our relationship is amazing. We take care of each other and laugh every single day. There are no lies or half-truths, no gaslighting or pettiness between us.
We really love each other, enough to face our own bullshit to make it work.
Motherhood definitely isn’t in the cards for me, but I’m about to have a niece and a much younger sister. If someone asked me what I want for them to find in a partner someday? Yeah. I’d say this.
“He loves you, Len,” Dad tells me quietly as the doors open and Zoe skips out onto the lawn, her dark hair streaming behind her as she heads up the aisle, throwing handfuls of pink flower petals into the air as she goes. “And you love him. If I wasn’t sure about that, I’d be pulling the car around and getting you out of here.”
I swallow, staring straight ahead as I attempt to will away the burning behind my eyes. It doesn’t work. “So, are you going to call him son?”
This question earns me a dark look as, with a big smile over her shoulder at us, Sophie follows Zoe. “Don’t push it.”
“You did pay for the cotton candy cart for the reception because he wanted it.”
“He told me you wanted that!”
I throw my head back and laugh as the tightness in my chest begins to loosen, replaced with warmth instead. Neither of us speaks as we edge closer to the door, watching as Jo walks down the aisle, and then Honor.
It’s surreal as we watch the two of them reach the pergola, and the guests get to their feet as the music changes to something sweet and slow.
There were moments I felt like this when I was dancing, when things fell into place and every movement felt so right. I haven’t experienced anything like it since. Now, though, as Dad and I take the first step through the doorway and into the sunlight... Hell yeah. I’m right on.
Holden’s face confirms it.
By now, I’ve gotten a lot of adoring looks from my husband-to-be, but none of them have been anything like this one.
I hear a watery laugh break from my lips, and the corners of my vision are blurry with tears as we reach the first row of chairs. There are so many people here. My mom and her wife are in the front row mopping their eyes, dance friends I haven’t seen in years, distant cousins, and our colleagues from E&V. All of them present to witness the finale of a love story that was wrong on paper but so, so right in reality.
Holy shit, I’m ridiculously happy.
When we finally make it to the end of the aisle, the waterproof mascara gets its first true test as Dad gives my arm one last squeeze and kisses my cheek. “So proud of you.”
My bottom lip trembles as I watch him step forward to pull Holden into a brief, manly hug before stepping off to the side with the other groomsmen. Is it unconventional? The father of the bride doing double duty as best man? Absolutely. This is my wedding, though, and to me, it feels like a fairy tale.
“Ready?” I ask as I look up at the man who is about to be my husband, my heart fuller than I knew possible.
Holden’s answering smile is breathtaking, and, apparently too impatient to wait for the vows to be over, he gathers my face in his hands, leaning down to kiss me fiercely. There are a few giggles and slow claps from the assembled guests, but he takes his time, showing me exactly how ready he is.
At last, he pulls back, gazing down at me with such obvious love it’s hard to breathe. “I’ve been ready,” he murmurs, using his thumbs to wipe away the tears that have managed to escape down the sides of my face. “Let’s get married, princess.”