II Shiloh
Six months later
“There,” Mama said, adjusting the delicate sprigs of baby’s breath in my hair. “Beautiful. Just…beautiful.”
I turned to look in the mirror in the bride’s dressing room at the Highland House, tucked deep in the redwoods.
My reflection looked back—a daughter, a great-granddaughter, a niece, a friend, a business owner, a mother, and soon, a wife.
And in that moment, I realized that all those things weren’t me; they were reflections of the love I had in my life.
That was who we all were—reflections in the eyes of those who loved us.
I looked to my mother. With Bertie and Rudy’s help, she’d moved to Santa Cruz before August was born.
She found an apartment and got a job as an assistant manager in a bank.
Aside from helping me prepare for August’s arrival, she used her marketing skills—those she had set aside for so long—to help me promote the store.
And once she was settled, she went to a therapist twice a week.
I joined her for half of those visits, and together, we healed.
It was a slow process, but I learned to stop thinking of myself as walking evidence of my father’s depravity and to start thinking of myself as an embodiment of my mother’s strength.
I stopped looking for him in the faces of strangers, because he didn’t mean anything to me. He wasn’t a reflection in that mirror.
I clasped my mother’s hand and looked to Bibi, sitting on a sofa with Bertie. To Letitia, chatting with Violet and Luisa by the window, where the sunshine streamed in. I had everything I needed.
I heaved a breath and smoothed down my dress.
It was pale-pink satin, sleeveless, and tightly fitted around the bodice with a tulle overlay.
Floral embroidery in periwinkle, lilac, and sage green cascaded over the full skirt.
Letitia had pulled my natural hair into a loose, elegantly messy bun with tendrils falling softly to frame my face.
“Do you think Ronan will like the dress?” I asked the room. “It’s not exactly conventional.”
Bibi cackled from her seat. She looked beautiful in red with a lightweight beaded jacket over her shoulders. “Since when have you two been conventional? Doing everything backward from the get-go.”
“She has a point,” I said, grinning at Mama in the mirror. “Wearing white wouldn’t fool anyone. We have a toddler.”
I smiled, thinking of that toddler, who was currently on the men’s side of the building, readying for his role as our little ring bearer.
“Girl, that dress is stunning,” Letitia said, looking pretty stunning herself in her lilac bridesmaid dress.
Violet nodded, coming to stand with me. My maid of honor already had tears in her eyes. “Gorgeous,” she agreed. “Mostly because you look so happy.”
“I am. I never thought…” I shook my head. “I’ll cry and mess up my makeup.”
Luisa, my employee turned friend and third bridesmaid, rushed over with a tissue. “That’s my Bat-Signal.”
I laughed. Luisa Coelho was an artist in her own right—doing makeup tutorials on YouTube—and had lent her services, giving me a subtle look that complimented the softness of my hair and dress.
I looked at the assembly of amazing women in my life, marveling at how blessed I was. How it seemed like too much happiness for one person.
A knock came at the door, and Holden Parish stuck his head in, covering his eyes.
“Is it safe?”
I laughed. “You’re good.”
He peeked open one eye, then both, and clutched his heart. “The sheer volume of beauty in one room is rather excessive, don’t you think?”
Aunt Bertie chuckled. “What a charmer. Where did you find him, Shi?”
“No one found me, my dear lady,” Holden said. “I sprang full blown from Ronan and Miller’s imagination.”
I exchanged grins with him, and he winked.
After graduation, Holden had disappeared, leaving River Whitmore to wait for him like I had with Ronan. Holden had been all over Europe, killing his own demons, purging them and putting them between the pages of an award-winning novel.
Now he was back and was one of Ronan’s groomsmen, along with Miller and Hector. He looked devastating in a soft-gray suit, no tie, the top buttons of his white dress shirt undone. A sprig of pale-purple, yellow, and baby-blue wildflowers—a miniature version of my bouquet—was tucked in his lapel.
“The coordinator is busy with some flower emergency.” Holden flapped his hand. “I’ve been sent to tell you…it’s time.”
I blew out a breath, butterflies taking flight in my stomach.
“That’s our cue.” Bertie, resplendent in deep purple, helped Bibi to stand. They kissed my cheeks—Bibi’s eyes full, seeing me like she always had. Straight into my heart. She said nothing but patted my cheek, and I pressed into her hand, the love for her overflowing.
The other gals hugged me, and everyone slowly made their way out, Luisa shooting Holden—her partner up the aisle—an appreciative smile.
Holden leaned into me. “Since rehearsal dinner last night, that girl can’t stop making eyes at me. Not that I blame her.”
“It must be such a burden, being as beautiful as you are.”
“It really is,” Holden said seriously, his green eyes twinkling. “If it gets worse, I’m going to have to jump River in the middle of the ceremony to show I’m spoken for.”
“Pretty sure you were going to do that anyway.” I laughed and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Shoo. Behave yourself.”
He shot me another wink and went out, leaving me alone with Mama.
She faced me and took a steadying breath. “You sure you don’t want Uncle Rudy walking you down the aisle? Or Bibi? There’s still time to get her back. I know she’d be honored.”
I shook my head and slipped my hand in hers. I’d thought about it, but Bibi and I had talked it over.
“A parent gives the bride away. There is no better way to show Marie that you see her than to let her do this.”
I agreed.
“You’re my mama,” I said with a teary shrug.
She felt the weight of everything in those three words, her eyes shining too. “Thank you, Shiloh.” She hugged me close.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do.” She pulled away, her smile beautiful. “I know a second chance when I see one.”
June Seong, my wedding planner, rushed in and delicately cleared her throat. “Excuse me, ladies.”
She’d done such an impressive job with the grand opening of my shop, her name was the only one on my list to handle the wedding.
As I knew she would, June made it the beautiful, somewhat rustic event I’d dreamed of.
Unfussy, set in the backdrop of the forest, with just enough touches to give it an understated elegance that wasn’t too fancy, nor too casual.
“Crisis averted,” she said. “Your flower girls showered your ring bearer with all their petals, much to his delight, but everything is ready now.”
I grinned. While Ronan was incarcerated, Maryann Greer had been promoted at her work and moved from the Cliffside apartments to a better place, but we never lost touch. She and her twin girls were frequent visitors at our home, Cami and Lily treating August like their baby brother.
“You both look gorgeous,” June said, sizing us up. “Ready?”
Mama and I nodded and followed June outside.
The day was warm but with a breeze rustling the leaves in the trees to keep it from being too hot.
I couldn’t see around the corner to the flower-laden awning in the clearing amid the redwoods that served as our altar, but I could hear the soft sounds of Miller’s guitar as he accompanied the procession down the aisle—Cami and Lily, then August, then our bridesmaids and groomsmen.
The music changed to Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus,” and I heard the rustling of fifty guests as they rose from the white folding chairs that faced our little awning. I laced my hand around Mama’s arm, and she gave it a squeeze. Then we walked.
I’d already seen the wedding preparations, of course, at the rehearsal yesterday. But seeing the finished product, with everyone Ronan and I loved in the world gathered together, stole my breath.
And Ronan…
My heart ached to see him standing there, devastating in the same soft-gray suit, no tie, his hands clasped in front of him stiffly. His eyes widened to see me come down the aisle, and his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
I had to bite the inside of mine to keep the tears in check. We arrived at the end of the aisle, and the officiant—Eleanor Hutchins, a friend of Bibi’s from one of her church groups—smiled down at me from her small podium.
My mother gave me away, placing my hand in Ronan’s, and when I looked up into his eyes, nothing could stop the tears from blurring my vision.
“Shiloh…” he whispered gruffly.
I knew how he felt, the overwhelming perfection of the moment washing over me too.
I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, anchoring us to the present, sharing our strength.
I felt the power of our partnership that had seen us through so much together and that had carried us through when we were apart.
Eleanor began the ceremony, giving a little speech about the power of enduring love, and then had us repeat the traditional vows.
It would have been too much to ask Ronan to write his own to be recited in front of fifty people—it wasn’t his way.
Ronan made vows to me every day: in the work he did to help create our perfect life, in the way he loved our son, and in the grasping embraces in our bed at night.
The intensity of his gaze when he looked at me held all his promises, and I knew deep in my soul that this love was going to last forever.
“And now the rings,” Eleanor said, and the entire congregation awwwed as August, in a miniature version of the men’s suits, climbed off Mama’s lap and toddled up.
“Hi, Mama! Hi, Daddy!” he exclaimed loudly, setting the crowd off again and making my eyes shine.
“Hi, baby,” I said, taking two boxes from his hands and passing them to Eleanor. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
“Okay, bye!” he said, job done, and rushed back to my mother’s lap.
I exchanged a grin with Ronan, but nerves twisted my stomach. We’d both wanted to keep our rings a secret until this moment.
“Ronan,” Eleanor said, handing him one of the boxes. “If you will take your bride’s ring.”
My heart pounded as he opened it, and inside lay the silver-gold ring with our birthstones, glinting up at me in the brilliant sun.
I stared. “You? You made that order?”
He nodded, taking the band from the box. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “This one helped.”
Grinning proudly, Holden twiddled his fingers at me, and then I knew why the Parisian order had felt familiar.
I shook my head, marveling, as Ronan leaned in. “Is it tacky that you made your own ring?” he whispered. “I just couldn’t imagine giving the job to anyone else. But…I designed it. If that counts for anything.”
“You designed it,” I whispered back. “That counts for everything.”
We locked eyes, and I nearly kissed him before it was time. Eleanor cleared her throat; we were holding up our own wedding.
We straightened, and Ronan took my hand and repeated the words, “With this ring, I thee wed,” then slipped the ring over my finger. It fit so perfectly; I couldn’t imagine how I’d lived twenty-two years without it.
Then it was my turn to reveal the ring I’d made for Ronan—a wide band of hammered black gold with a vein of twenty-four-carat gold gleaming down the middle.
To me, it represented the heart of gold that beat inside the chest of the man standing across from me, whose love and goodness shone brightly, even through the darkest of nights.
I opened the box, and Ronan’s jaw tightened again. He shook his head at me. “It’s perfect,” he whispered. “It’s…”
His thought trailed, and I was glad when Eleanor had me recite the words to Ronan so that he could recover.
“By the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Eleanor turned to Ronan. “You may kiss your bride.”
Ronan took my face in both hands, his eyes meeting mine for a split second—speaking volumes—before he leaned in to kiss me, the crowd erupting in sniffles and cheers.
“I love you,” he whispered against my lips. “God, Shiloh…”
“I love you,” I whispered back. “I love us.”
I felt a tug at my dress. August was there, reaching for us. Ronan scooped him up, and the three of us walked down the aisle together, my husband carrying our son, pieces of my heart existing outside my body, yet I’d never felt more whole.