Chapter 39
CHAPTER 39
A rcher
Three Months Later
Weddings at Buttercup Hill have always been special events, and not just because they take months to plan. It’s the overwhelming beauty of the vineyards which stretch for miles under warm sun and perfect skies, to be sure. But there’s a different kind of magic that settles over the venue when the bride walks down the aisle toward her forever partner.
I never understood that until today, the day when I’m standing under an arch of roses, nervous as hell, waiting for the most amazing woman I’ve ever met to walk down the aisle and marry me.
If there isn’t some amount of fairy dust, fortune, and magic involved in me finding a woman like Ella Fieldstone and getting her to agree to spend her life with me, I don’t understand anything about the world.
My siblings walk down the aisle with their husbands, wives, fiancés, girlfriends. All of them managed to get themselves paired off before I found someone, even though I’m the oldest. I never expected to be standing here at all, let alone the last of the pack, so I’m grateful.
PJ walks down the aisle first in a short black dress with a full skirt that flounces as she moves. It suits her—playful and appropriate at the same time, which she manages to be at work and in her life with Colin, who I have a new respect for, now that I’ve seen him make an ass of himself on the ice. He gives me a little salute before taking his post to my left, and PJ kisses me on the cheek before moving to my other side.
Jax strides down the aisle, faster than he should, and faster than the music that’s supposed to give him his cue. I watch Ruby pull on his arm to slow him down. He looks down at his feet and takes measured steps as she looks at me and smiles.
Dash escorts Mallory, gripping her elbow as she holds her flower bouquet in her hands. Her black dress is strapless and loose-fitting—to me, it looks like a long black sack, but Ella has already explained that it’s made by some designer who Mallory loves, so what do I know? All I can see is that my youngest brother looks as happy as I feel, which is all I care about.
I will always wear the mantle of family caretaker, even on my wedding day. It makes me feel goddamn peaceful seeing that my siblings are paired up, looking happy.
Trix looks especially tall in her heels and a long black silk dress that winds around her ankles as she walks on the arm of Ren in a dark suit. He catches my eye before going to stand with the other groomsmen, and maybe it’s bromance talking, but I swear he winks at me.
Finally, our half brother Graham walks in with Fiona, who seems to be keeping a rather large distance between them. Fiona is at an age where she does not like boys, and apparently that applies to relatives too. They both wear plastered-on smiles and walk twice as fast as Jax. I’m not the only one who notices. By the time they reach me at the altar, half the guests are giggling at their awkwardness, but neither of them seems to care.
Dad sits in the front row in his wheelchair. He has a far-off look on his face, and the doctors warned us he may not know where he is, but I want to believe he does. And that he’s a little bit proud.
Our mom made excuses for why she couldn’t be here, with promises to visit in a month or two, but I’m too happy today to think too hard about it. I realize now that it must have been pretty awful for her to live with Dad if it caused her to move across the country from her kids and never come back. It’s not something I’m willing to think about on an otherwise perfect day.
The only thing missing is the woman I need by my side so badly that I’ve started to sweat up here. Dash hands me a handkerchief, and after I finish mopping the sheen from the back of my neck, I look down and notice it’s monogrammed with the letter C. It’s Dad’s , he mouths. My heart leaps into my throat and threatens to strangle my breath.
And that’s when the string quartet ends their jazz medley and starts playing the song Ella chose for her walk down the aisle. She wouldn’t tell me what she chose and swore she’d never admit it even if I guessed it right, so I didn’t bother to try.
As soon as the first notes sound, I know it’s “Little Wing,” the Jimi Hendrix song that was playing at the party where I thought I was cool enough to introduce myself to Ella Fieldstone. As I listen to the string rendition of the song, the lyrics come back to me, and I realize how appropriate they are.
A hush falls over the crowd and I struggle to pull air into my lungs, not wanting to be the groom who sees his bride for the first time and fucking falls over. Ella appears at the end of the aisle, which seems so much longer now than it did when each of my siblings walked down it just minutes ago.
Her hair is wild in that way I love it, trailing down her back with flowers woven into the strands. Her dress, a whisp of silk that hugs every curve, is beautifully simple, letting her radiance shine through. Her flowers are a loose bouquet that I picked with Beatrix this morning and left on her doorstep. She’s holding them against the back of Polly, our sleeping daughter, who’s nuzzled against her mom’s chest, as she has been nearly constantly since the adoption went through a month ago.
Ella says she feels like she was magically transformed into a mother, and it’s true that being a mom seems instinctive. But really, no transformation was needed. She already was an amazing mother—she just needed someone to take care of. Two of us, really.
Ella’s parents wait for her at the last row of guests, and when she reaches them, they each grasp one of her arms and guide her the rest of the way down the aisle, where Ella seems to glide between the white chairs and rows and rows of friends who’ve shown up for us today. When they reach me, they each kiss Ella on the cheek and give me a hug. I’ve gotten to know them a little bit in the months since we decided to keep Ella’s original wedding date, and they’ve already become family.
Ella looks directly into my eyes, and the certainty and love I see in hers allows me to let out a long breath. I feel steadier. The nerves disappear when she hands Polly to me, and I feel the warmth of our daughter against my chest.
I lean in and whisper something that isn’t part of my vows. It’s not for anyone else. Just her. “I didn’t think it was possible to have love more than I already do with you, but this girl…” I kiss Polly on the head. “I realized that I have even more to give. And so much to be grateful for.”
“You were made to be a dad,” she whispers back, eyes tearing .
I wipe away the solitary tear that rolls down her cheek. “I adore you both so much.”
“You okay?” she whispers, always in tune with how I’m feeling, even when she’s only been next to me for five seconds.
“I’m a little wobbly,” I admit.
She laughs. “Oh no, you too?”
Ella hands her flowers to Beatrix and finally turns to face me. I take her hands, and it steadies us both. As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing else to say or do. This is the kind of homecoming I never dared imagine for myself. I don’t need anything else.
But for the first time, after barely taking an interest in the hundreds of weddings on our property over the years, I understand the reason for saying the vows aloud in front of the people who love us most. There’s something about having them bear witness.
I glance out over the vineyards at Buttercup Hill and back at my gorgeous, soon-to-be wife. Then I look down at our daughter. Our daughter. And it’s all I’ve ever wanted.
I lean close to Ella and whisper something that has just occurred to me. Once more, it’s not part of my vows, just something I want her to know. “I didn’t think instalove was real, but then I met you.”
She smiles. “Look at you using rom-com language.”
“I’m in love with the rom-com princess. Seems appropriate.”
“Your rom-com princess is in love with you too.”
And the ceremony begins.