Chapter 48 Let’s Get This Show on the Road
LET’S GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD
ASHLEY
Makeup is done. Hair is done. I’m… done. In more ways than one.
Our makeshift “photographer” session in the courtyard went surprisingly well. Roger totally seemed to know what he was doing, posing us under the bougainvillea and paying attention to details most people would have missed. And Luna…
God.
Her dress is soft and romantic, fitted through the bodice and flowing into a skirt that moves when she breathes.
My old veil lands right below her shoulders, and my wedding shoes—those delicate ballet slippers—are the perfect blend of elegance and simplicity.
Her hair is swept up with loose curls escaping around her face, makeup dewy and fresh, eyes bright and brave.
My sister looks like a princess finally getting her happily ever after—and if I let myself think about that for more than two seconds, I’m going to cry and wreck the forty-five minutes someone just spent making my face look this good.
Now we’re back in the bridal prep room, and there’s a soft knock before Babs sticks her head in.
“Ten minutes!” she sings, eyes sparkling. “They’re starting to seat everyone.”
Our mom crosses the room to Luna, hands pressed to her cheeks. “You look so beautiful,” she says, voice thick.
I watch Mom hug her, and there’s no edge, no strain. Just pride. Love. Maybe a little awe.
“Come on, Renée,” Babs says, touching Mom’s elbow. “There’s an incredibly handsome groomsman who wants to seat you in a few minutes.”
There’s a flurry of kisses and whispered “I love yous,” then they’re gone. Tay squeezes my arm on her way out.
“See you out there,” she says, and then she’s gone too.
The room feels oddly quiet once the door closes.
It’s just me and Luna.
She turns to me, eyes shining. “Well?”
I swallow. “You look…” My voice wobbles, so I start over. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
And I’m not faking that. Whatever else is crashing and shifting inside me, I am so, so happy for her. For them.
We hug, careful of makeup and hair pins and veils and all the fragile things holding this whole day together.
“I can’t believe you guys are already married,” I murmur over her shoulder.
She pulls back and presses a finger to her lips. “Shhhh.” Her eyes dart to the door. “No one can know. Seriously.”
I think of everyone sitting outside. Of the people who flew in, who took time off work, who booked cabins and packed dresses and suits and expectations. All here to watch them say vows that, legally, they’ve already said.
“Rocky knows,” she says. “But he’s the only one.”
I raise a brow. “Well, yeah. I suppose the officiant would need to know if this was legal or not.” Still…
The wedding might be fake but their love isn’t.
“But no one else,” she says firmly.
I hold her gaze. “It doesn’t even matter,” I say quietly, squeezing her hands. “Today is your wedding day. Period. Okay?”
Her expression softens. She nods once. And for an instant, we’re back in elementary school, making a pact to hide some of our Halloween candy—just the two of us against the world, two little girls, sisters, sharing a secret.
Another knock at the door.
“Come in,” Luna calls.
The door opens—and Beckett steps in.
For a second, for me anyway, all the air in the room shifts.
He’s in a tuxedo, black and perfectly fitted, white shirt crisp at his throat, bow tie straight. His hair is tamed but still a little unruly at the front, like he ran his hands through it one too many times. He looks at me with those blue eyes that have been undoing me since I was nineteen.
And just like that, I’m right back at our own wedding, standing at the end of an aisle, heart pounding, watching this beautiful man waiting for me. I see flashes—holiday parties, charity events, friends’ weddings—both of us dressed up, hands linked, believing we had it all figured out.
He takes a few steps toward me.
“You look…” He stops, blinks, then finishes, softer, “Stunning.”
Suddenly I’m hyperaware of everything I’m wearing.
The pastel sage dress skims my body, same easy, romantic style as Luna’s, but simpler—clean lines, a soft, fluttery skirt that brushes my calves when I move.
My hair is swept up into a neat chignon, not a strand out of place, and I can feel the faint breeze from the open door on the back of my neck.
There’s a moment, humming with things we haven’t said, things we’ve said too many times, and promises of things to say in the future.
He clears his throat and drags his gaze to Luna. “Is the bride ready?”
Luna pops up from behind me like she’s been waiting for her cue. “I am so ready,” she says, grinning. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The moment breaks—but it doesn’t disappear. It just slips into the background, following us out the door.