Chapter Twenty-Four The Wedding
Christian
T he morning of the wedding feels surreal. I step outside onto the back porch of the house, the early sunlight casting long, golden shadows over the lawn. The property looks beautiful. There are white chairs set up in neat rows, a simple arch decorated with green vines and soft white flowers at the end of the aisle. It’s understated, just like Haven wanted—small and intimate, with only close family and friends.
I take a deep breath, my hands resting on the wooden railing as I watch the final preparations unfold. The florist is adding the last touches to the arch, and the string quartet is setting up near the back. A few guests have already arrived, mingling quietly. Haven’s family is here—her mom, Garrett, and a few others from Blue Ridge—and my father and grandfather have arrived as well. Looking around, I spot my dad off by himself, standing next to a large oak tree, staring out over the open fields making up a good chunk of my property.
Making my way down the porch steps, I cross the wide yard toward him. His hands are in his pockets, and I can tell from the way his shoulders are slightly hunched that something’s on his mind. I approach slowly, and he turns when he hears me. There’s a soft smile on his face, but I can see the weight behind it.
“You look good, son,” he says, his voice calm but carrying that familiar note of fatherly pride. “Ready for the big day?”
I nod, though my heart is racing in my chest, more from anticipation than nerves. “Yeah. It feels... right. But it’s a lot, you know?”
He chuckles softly, nodding. “It’s always a lot when you’re making a commitment like this, but from everything you’ve told me, Haven’s a good woman. You two are going to make it.”
I smile at that, feeling reassured. My father has always been straightforward with his advice, and hearing him speak so highly of Haven means a lot.
“She is. She’s everything.”
We fall into another brief silence, the weight of the moment sinking in. Then, he turns to face me more fully, and I see that look in his eyes, the one that says he’s been thinking about something heavier.
“What is it?” I ask, even though I already have a sense of what’s coming.
He hesitates for a second, glancing down at the ground before speaking. “I’ve been thinking about Theresa.”
The name hangs in the air between us, sharp and unwanted. It’s like a pin prick on the surface of this perfect day.
“I don’t want to bring her up today,” he continues, his voice steady but laced with concern. “But I just need to know you’re prepared, Christian. You know how she can be.”
I exhale, running a hand through my hair as I stare out toward the mountains. “I’m prepared, Dad. Theresa isn’t going to ruin this for me. She can’t accuse me of marrying Haven purely to win custody of Oliver. Not anymore. Haven and I both genuinely want this.”
He nods, but I can tell he’s still worried. “I know you’ve got it handled. I just don’t trust her. She’s been stirring the pot for months now, and with the custody case still lingering, I don’t want you blindsided. She’s unpredictable, and that makes her dangerous. Her and her mother, Agnes.”
“She’s not going to do anything today,” I reply, my voice firmer than expected. “I won’t let her.”
My father studies me for a moment, then steps closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, son. For standing strong through all this. You’ve handled it well, better than most people would’ve.”
I nod, grateful for his support. “It hasn’t been easy, but Haven is making it all worth it.”
He smiles again, this time with genuine warmth. “Good. That’s what matters. You’ve got a family now, and that’s what you need to focus on. Don’t let Theresa’s shadow hang over you.”
I meet his gaze, raising my chin. “I won’t. I’ve spent enough time worrying about her. Today, it’s about Haven, Oliver, and me. That’s all.”
He gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting go, his eyes softening. “You’re doing the right thing, Christian. I know this all started as a matter of convenience, but I think you two will make each other happy.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I murmur. “I think so too.”
We start walking back toward the house, the preparations still humming in the background. My father talks about the ceremony, about how proud he is to see me standing at the altar today. His words are grounding, and I feel more settled with each step, knowing that I’ve got him standing behind me.
The anticipation builds inside me as the minutes pass. Today is the day. I’m about to marry Haven. The weight of that hits me hard, but not in a way that makes me nervous—more in a way that makes everything feel right. She’s become my anchor, my home. Today, I make that official.
When we get back to the house, Oliver is on the back porch waiting for me. When I reach him, he tugs on my pant leg, looking up at me with wide, excited eyes. He’s dressed in a little suit, his hair combed neatly, and he’s clutching the small satin pillow that holds the rings.
“Daddy, am I doing it right?” he asks, his voice filled with serious concern.
I smile, crouching down to his level, adjusting his bowtie. “You’re doing perfect, buddy. You’re the most important part of today.”
He beams, holding the pillow a little tighter. “I won’t drop the rings, I promise.”
“I know you won’t,” I say, my heart swelling as I ruffle his hair gently, though I’m careful not to mess it up too much. “You’re going to be the best ring bearer ever.”
Marie walks over, looking stunning in her pink maid-of-honor dress, and gives me a quick nod.
“It’s almost time,” she says with a soft smile. “Haven’s ready.”
She’s ready…
The thought makes my breath catch in my throat as the nervousness I was trying to push down begins to surface. Let’s do this.
I nod and turn to head up the aisle. The guests are seated now, and I spot Leila in the front row, sitting in her wheelchair with a nurse on one side of her and Garrett standing on the other, his hand resting protectively on the back of the chair. Her mom looks fragile, her skin pale, but there’s a brightness in her eyes and her smile is wide. This day means as much to her as it does to me and Haven.
Reaching the altar, I stop and stand under the arch, my pulse quickening as I hear the soft rustle of movement behind me. The music starts, the quartet playing a gentle, familiar melody. I glance over at Oliver, who stands tall and proud beside me, his little hands gripping the ring pillow with all the determination in the world.
Then I see her.
Haven steps into view, and everything stops.
She’s wearing the dress she found in New York, the one that took her breath away, and now it’s taking mine. The delicate lace hugs her in all the right places, and the soft, flowing fabric moves like water as she walks. Her auburn hair is swept back, loose tendrils framing her face, and the look in her eyes when they meet mine…
I can only stare at her, stunned.
Her stepfather, Peter, walks beside her, his arm linked with hers, steady and supportive as they move down the aisle. She’s smiling, that soft, radiant smile that I’ve come to love, and I feel the world narrow down to just her. Just us. When they reach me, her stepfather squeezes her hand and kisses her on the cheek before stepping back, letting her go. Haven steps forward, and we just look at each other, the weight of the moment settling in. I can see the emotion in her eyes, the same mix of excitement and disbelief that I’m feeling.
The officiant begins, and I hardly hear the words. All I can focus on is Haven, her hands in mine, the way her thumb brushes against my palm, grounding me in the moment.
The vows feel like a blur, but I mean every word. I promise her everything—love, support, partnership—every promise that I’ve felt growing inside me since the day we decided to make this arrangement something real. Haven’s voice is steady as she says her vows, but I can see the glint of tears in her eyes, and it takes everything in me not to kiss her right then and there.
When the rings come, Oliver steps up, beaming with pride as he hands me the pillow. His eyes are wide, watching closely as I slip the ring onto Haven’s finger, and then she does the same for me.
The moment hangs in the air, filled with anticipation. Then the officiant speaks the words I’ve been waiting for: “You may now kiss the bride.”
I don’t hesitate. I pull Haven close, my lips meeting hers in a kiss that makes me hungry for more. When we break apart, she’s smiling up at me and my heart clenches with some emotion that is both familiar and foreign. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was love, but that can’t be it. I’m not capable of that… not anymore.
Though if I were, there’s no one else I’d rather feel it for than Haven.
***
The reception is in full swing, the soft glow of string lights illuminating the dance floor where laughter and music blend into the warm evening air. Haven is laughing, her head thrown back as she twirls with Oliver, her dress billowing out around her as he tries to keep up. I stand back, a drink in hand, watching them, feeling a deep contentment settle into my chest. This is everything I’ve ever wanted—everything I didn’t know I needed.
I glance over at Haven’s mom, who’s sitting in her wheelchair near the dancefloor, her nurse by her side. She’s smiling, her eyes bright as she watches her daughter. It’s a good moment, a perfect moment, and I’m savoring it. This is everything Haven and I had hoped for when we started this wild plan. Everything and so much more.
But then, like a dark cloud sweeping in from nowhere, I hear her voice.
"Isn’t this a sweet little scene."
My heart drops and a cold shiver runs up my back. No… no, it’s not possible. I turn, my entire body tensing. Theresa stands in front of me, tall and willowy, her posture sharp and unyielding, like she’s carved from ice. Her blonde hair—bleached to the point that it looks unnatural—catches the light from the lanterns around the reception, gleaming like some kind of polished trophy. She’s always been meticulous about her appearance, every detail controlled, from the subtle shimmer of highlighter on her cheekbones to the perfect red of her lips. Even now, with her icy blue eyes narrowed and her lips curled into a smirk, she’s every bit the picture of precision.
Her dress, a sleek, tailored number that clings to her thin frame, is designed to turn heads, and I’m sure it did when she walked in—though for all the wrong reasons. She looks like she stepped straight out of some high-end magazine, her makeup flawless, her nails manicured to perfection, but beneath that glossy exterior, I know what lurks—a calculating, manipulative mind that thrives on chaos and control, and I can see it in the way she holds herself now, chin lifted just slightly, daring me to try to stand up to her.
Her eyes meet mine, cold and calculating, and I feel a familiar tightness in my chest—the kind of tension I used to feel when I was with her. She has that way about her, the ability to make you feel like you’re always being judged, always just slightly off balance, but that doesn’t work on me anymore. Not today.
Her gaze flickers briefly to the crowd behind me, then back to my face, the smirk deepening.
"Christian," she says, her voice smooth and sharp, like a blade wrapped in silk. "I see you’ve been busy."
The way she talks with amused condensation only fuels my anger. I struggle to hold it in, knowing that reacting the way she wants me to will only feed her satisfaction.
What the hell is she doing here?
The guests are starting to notice her, whispers spreading like wildfire through the crowd. My grip tightens around the glass in my hand as I stride toward her, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Theresa," I say, my voice low, barely keeping my anger in check. "This is not the time or the place."
She chuckles, glancing around at the guests again. "Oh, I don’t know. It seems like the perfect time to remind everyone what a farce this whole thing is."
A few heads turn in our direction, the hum of conversation slowly dying down as people start to focus on us. I feel the blood drain from my face, but I have to keep control.
"Leave," I say, stepping closer, keeping my voice firm but quiet. "This is Haven’s day. You don’t belong here."
Theresa laughs, and it’s a cold, cutting sound. "Oh, please, Christian. Everyone here knows you’re just doing this to make yourself look good for the custody battle. You think a wedding and a pretty little wife are going to save you?"
I glance back toward Haven, who’s now stopped dancing and is looking in our direction, confusion and worry etched across her face. I need to handle this, and I need to handle it fast.
"You need to leave, Theresa. Now," I repeat, my voice sharper, on the edge of breaking. "Don’t do this here. Not today."
She steps closer, and the heat of her anger is palpable. "What, are you afraid everyone here is going to figure out what a fraud you are? That this little arrangement you’ve got going on is just for show?"
Before I can respond, I hear a sudden gasp behind me, and then Haven screams, “Mom!”
I whip around and my heart drops as her mom slumps forward in her wheelchair, her face pale, her hands clutching the armrests as her body goes limp. Garrett is at her side in an instant, shouting her name, trying to catch her before she collapses completely.
Haven and Marie rush toward her as her nurse moves into action, trying to stabilize her.
Panic grips me, and everything else disappears—Theresa, the guests, all of it. I run toward them, my heart racing as Haven kneels beside her mother, her hands trembling as she tries to hold her steady. Marie stands behind Haven, looking terrified as she gazes down at Leila.
"Mom, please," Haven whispers, her voice breaking as tears well up in her eyes.
The nurse is already shouting instructions, calling for help, but I can see the fear in her eyes. This isn’t just a fainting spell. Haven’s mom is in real trouble.
Garrett grabs his phone, dialing for an ambulance, while I kneel beside Haven, my hand on her back, trying to offer some kind of comfort even though I feel completely helpless. Haven’s sobs tear through the quiet air, and all I can do is hold her, watching as her mother’s breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps.
I look up at the nurse, who’s checking Leila’s pulse, her face tense.
“She’s not responding,” the nurse says, her voice tight with urgency. “We need to get her to a hospital. Now.”
Everything moves in a blur after that. Guests are scrambling to help, people calling for cars, and within minutes, we’re rushing Leila to my car. I glance back toward the reception one last time before we leave, and there’s Theresa, standing there, watching. The look on her face is unreadable—maybe she didn’t mean for things to go this far, but it doesn’t matter. She caused this, and I’ll never forgive her for it.