Epilogue
KIERA
As I stand in my room, the lace of my dress seems almost ethereal, a stark contrast to the solid, enduring walls that encircle me.
I smooth my hand down my dress.
People buzz around me, getting me ready for what is supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
Jake and I have been putting it off for much too long. Finally, when our little one turned three months old, our parents put their foot down and insisted that we get married. And as my wedding present, Jake bought me this home.
Even though it isn’t what we initially imagined, I’m glad our parents nudged us along. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
And the house…it’s like getting married in a little piece of heaven. Holding the ceremony in our lush garden was a no-brainer. This will be the place of our happily ever after.
It’s definitely a character on its own. The walls are sturdy, albeit marked with the patina of time, the once vibrant wallpapers faded to gentle hues of their former glory. The architecture, a blend of gothic arches and Victorian flourishes, speaks of an age when homes were built not just for shelter, but something to behold and admire. The intricate woodwork along the eaves, the grand staircase spiraling up from the foyer, each element tells a story of opulence.
And it’s perfect for us because it is also our own restoration project, so we can breathe life back into its sagging structure.
It’s as if the house is an old soul, proud and poised, knowing its worth and waiting patiently for hands willing to revive its former splendor. It is said that the house was first built by a local artist more than half a century ago. And I believe the rumors. The house itself is a work of art.
Nobody has lived here for years. In short, it’s perfect.
Outside, the expansive garden sprawls before me, a tangled canvas of green beginning to be tamed into a venue fit for a wedding as rows of white chairs are arranged, petals strewn along what will be our aisle, and it feels surreal—like a dream being stitched into the seams of reality.
I lean forward, pressing my palms against the cool marble of the railing, straining my eyes for a glimpse of my fiancé.
Where are you, Jake?
The door creaks gently, and Ellie appears, her presence a whirlwind of energy as she fusses with the fabric of her own dress, eyes scanning me. "We have less than two hours now, Kiera. Guests will start arriving soon. We need to hurry up."
As she adjusts a pin in her hair, her eyes catch my somewhat distant look. With a sly grin, she teases, "You looking for Jake, aren't you?"
My cheeks warm instantly, and I can't help but smile, feeling somewhat caught.
"N-no. Well, maybe a little," I admit, my eyes flicking back toward the window. "But actually, I was wondering about Wyatt. Have you seen him? I thought he might be with Jake."
Ellie shakes her head, her curls bouncing with the motion. "Last I saw, your mom was holding him. She's probably showing him off to every arriving guest— you know how she is."
“I hope she’s handling him okay. Wyatt can get a little cranky, especially in the afternoons. I’ve put away enough milk to last him the ceremony, and—”
Ellie squeezes my wrist. “Wyatt is okay, Kiera. You don’t have to worry about him. He's probably charming the socks off everyone around him, as usual."
I laugh. “Wyatt can’t even talk.”
“Exactly,” Ellie says, keeping a straight face. “Imagine his power.”
I end up laughing. Ellie knows what to say at exactly the right time.
"Come on, let’s get you ready. Guests will start arriving soon, and we can't have you looking anything less than perfect." Ellie’s tone is firm but affectionate as she tugs gently at my hand, pulling me away from the balcony.
As I sit in front of the vanity, the makeup artist applying the final touches to my already glowing cheeks, Tammy and Ellie flank me like the world’s most enthusiastic bodyguards. My heart flutters with nerves, the kind that makes everything feel too big, too real.
Ellie catches my eye in the mirror, her eyebrows doing a comical dance. "Remember, if you feel like running, do it toward the aisle. It’s better for the photos."
Tammy nods beside her, adding, "And make sure you run in heels. It's a life skill every woman should master. You never know when you’ll need to elegantly escape from danger—or into matrimony!"
I can’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out of me despite the jittery flutter in my chest. But then, a sudden wave of emotion crashes over me, and my eyes well up.
Ellie, ever the observer, pounces on the moment. "Oh no, don’t start crying now! The makeup artist has weapons, and she's not afraid to use them." She gestures toward the artist who waves her eyeliner pencil like a knight brandishing a sword.
The makeup artist chimes in, her tone playful but stern, "Seriously, tears are my arch-nemesis. Laugh, don’t leak!"
Tammy steps in closer, her voice a theatrical whisper. "Imagine Jake's face when he sees you. He’ll probably forget his vows. Heck, he’ll forget his own name."
Ellie rounds off the thought, her grin wicked. "Which will be super helpful, since you can just prompt him with, ‘I do’, and skip straight to the kiss."
I reach out, pulling both Tammy and Ellie into a hug, a few tears escaping despite the warnings. We huddle together, a tight circle of giggles and sniffles.
Tammy, hugging me back, whispers dramatically, "Just think, Kiera. This is the last time you can claim cold feet without it meaning a trip to the store for extra socks."
I burst out laughing, the sound mingling with my tears, as I feel lighter and more ready than before. As we break apart, I wipe my eyes, avoiding any makeup catastrophes, and meet their eyes. "Thanks, guys. Let’s do this."
A few minutes later, just as the hairdresser is finishing up putting the veil over my face, Dad peeks in.
“Wow,” he says. “Look at my little girl, all grown up.”
He sniffles a little when he says it.
“Dad, please,” I say. “Don’t cry. There are strict instructions about ruining makeup.”
“Okay, okay. No crying,” he says. “Now come on, they’re waiting for you.”
He offers me his arm, and I take it gratefully. I don’t know what I’d do without my Dad.
As I stand at the top of the grand staircase, my hand resting on the ornate railing, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the moment that will change everything. My friends, now my bridesmaids, walk ahead, their dresses swishing softly with each step.
I squeeze his arm, a silent thank you for his support, and he leans in, his voice calm and steady. "You're going to be alright, Kiera. Remember, Jake loves you more than anything."
His words are simple, but they anchor me, and as we step into the open, the choir begins to sing, their voices a harmonic echo across the grounds.
Ahead, the wedding stage is set against a backdrop of the sprawling garden, the arch decorated with a cascade of flowers and greenery, ranging from deep violets to soft pinks, all shimmering under strings of fairy lights that flicker like tiny stars come down to join in our celebration. It's breathtakingly romantic, the arch framing the sunset as if the sky itself is blessing our union.
The guests stand as we approach, a sea of friendly faces turning toward me with smiles. Then, in the front row, I see Mom holding Wyatt.
She raises his hand to wave at me, the innocent gesture making me sniffle again.
As my eyes move from Wyatt, they find Jake standing at the altar, looking up at me with a love so palpable it feels like it reaches out and wraps around me.
His eyes are bright, his smile so wide it looks like it might never fade, and in that moment, my nervousness doesn’t just fade—it vanishes. Walking toward him feels like the most natural thing in the world, like coming home.
"Look at you," Dad whispers as we near the front, his voice thick with emotion.
Jake steps forward slightly, as if drawn by an invisible force, his gaze locked on mine. "You look amazing, Kiera," he calls softly, so only I can hear, his voice threaded with awe and affection over the choir.
The last few steps feel surreal, each one echoing a beat of my heart. Dad hands me over to Jake with a gentle pat on my hand.
When time comes to say our vows,
Jake takes a deep breath and begins, his voice clear and strong, yet I can hear the subtle tremor of emotion underlying each word. "Kiera, from the moment I met you, I knew my life was going to be a wild ride. You’ve taught me that socks really can go in the dryer without getting lost, and that the mysterious vanishing of cookies from the cookie jar always has an explanation—mostly involving you."
A ripple of laughter flows through our guests, and I can't help but giggle.
He continues, his gaze never wavering, "But on a serious note, you are my compass, my laughter, my heart. You've made me a better man, and you challenge me every day to rise to be the man you believe I can be. I vow not just to grow old with you, but to grow with you, each and every day. I promise to support your dreams and to respect our differences, and to love you and be by your side through all the days and nights of our lives."
As he speaks, my heart swells, threatening to overflow with love and gratitude for the man standing before me.
Then, it’s my turn, and I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves.
"Jake, I knew I was in trouble when I realized you could out-argue me on just about everything. We met when we were children. You got your nose broken saving me from bullies. I know, I know, not the most romantic story. But you did win my heart that day. All of it. You are my rock, my safe place, and my biggest cheerleader. You have an incredible way of calming the storms that rage within me and turning my worries into laughter. You put up with all the craziness, and are patient, when I'm unreasonable. Today, I promise not only to keep snacks on hand at all times but to be your partner in all things, not ruling over nor under you, but standing beside you, in every challenge and joy. Thank you for being my home."
The officiant's voice rings out, clear and jubilant. "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride!"
Our guests' excitement bubbles around us.
Jake's hands gently cup my face, his touch tender yet full of promise. As our lips meet, the world pauses—a silent stretch of time where nothing exists but the two of us. The kiss deepens as he takes me in his arms.
Jake's friend Henry, whistles loudly, and there's a playful shout of, "Get a room!" that makes Jake laugh against my lips. Our kiss, long and warm, finally breaks, and we turn to face the crowd, his arm slipping around my waist, drawing me close.
His eyes sparkle with mischief and love as he whispers, "Guess we're really doing this, huh?"
His voice is light, but his smile tells stories of his commitment and depth.
"Really doing it," I confirm with a nod, squeezing his hand, feeling the solid band of his wedding ring against my fingers. The symbol feels surreal, yet perfectly right.
We pause at the end of the aisle, where our photographer, with an eager grin, directs us for our first pictures as a married couple. We stand close, our smiles almost too big for our faces.
Jake dips me slightly, eliciting cheers and a few more snapshots.
Next, our friends gather around us, their faces lit up with excitement.
The photographer corrals us into a group, everyone squeezing in, shoulders touching. Someone jokes about "sucking it in for the picture," and the group bursts into laughter just as the camera clicks, capturing a perfect, candid moment of collective happiness.
Then comes the highlight of the photo session—pictures with Wyatt.
My mom brings him over, his little outfit adorably matching the color scheme of our wedding. Wyatt’s eyes are wide, curiously taking in all the faces and the gentle hum of celebration around him.
Jake holds him first, cradling him easily in one arm. Wyatt grabs a fistful of Jake’s suit, and I lean in close, my cheek brushing against Wyatt’s.
The photographer coos, snapping several pictures while Wyatt looks on, his baby eyes bright and attentive. Then, I take him into my arms, and Jake wraps us both in a gentle embrace.
As the evening settles into a velvety dusk, the soft strains of a love song beckon Jake and me to the dance floor. Our steps are slow, unhurried, as we find the rhythm and sway gently amidst the twinkling lights strung above. His hand rests on my lower back, mine on his shoulder, our other hands entwined—a picture of newlywed bliss.
Leaning my head against his chest, I breathe in the moment, feeling his heartbeat steady against my cheek. "Thank you for the house, Jake. It’s truly the best gift you could have given me. I can't wait to fill it with memories, laughter, and a bit of fresh paint," I murmur, my words muffled slightly against his suit.
Jake chuckles softly, the sound resonating in his chest. "I'm glad you love it. And speaking of new projects, I’ve been meaning to ask if you'd consider coming to work with me full-time to oversee the Paris museum project. We finally got the last green light."
I lift my head, meeting his hopeful gaze.
The Paris project is a massive undertaking, and his trust in my abilities warms me more than the dance.
"I'll give it a thought," I say, the prospect thrilling yet daunting.
"Yeah," he agrees, his eyes lighting up with shared excitement. "It could be our next big adventure. But no pressure, only if you're ready."
We continue to dance, the music enveloping us in its tender melody. Feeling playful and content, I nudge him with a smile. "In the meantime, maybe we should start practicing for baby number two?"
Jake’s laughter rings out, pure and delighted. "I think we should. Let's make sure our practice sessions are thorough, though."
THE END