56. Kate
Kate
I stood just beyond the treeline, the soft ivory silk of my dress whispering against my bare calves with every nervous breath. The air smelled of pine resin, sun-warmed stone, and the clean mineral scent of the river far below. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat.
The amphitheater I had once only sketched on paper now lived beneath the tall pines.
Pale stone seats curved like an open shell toward the water.
Afternoon light filtered through the canopy in shifting gold coins, catching on the polished wood of instruments and the wildflower garlands wound around every post. Harps, violins, and cellos rose and fell together, their notes weaving through the deeper music of the river sliding over rocks — a constant, liquid hush that made the whole clearing feel alive and ancient.
A single clear voice cut through the hush.
One of my oldest pupils stepped forward, eyes closed, and began to sing Ave Maria. The notes floated up through the pines, pure and aching, so pure they made the fine hairs on my arms lift. My eyes burned instantly.
Drew stepped beside me, tall and steady in a dark suit that still somehow smelled faintly of gun oil and expensive cologne. He offered his arm. His expression was carefully controlled, but when I looked up I saw the soft, almost pained look in his eyes.
“You ready, Kate?” he asked, voice low and rough.
I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow. His jacket was warm from the sun. I nodded, because if I spoke I might cry before I even started walking.
We stepped into the aisle.
Cool pine needles and soft earth gave way to smooth stone under my bare feet.
Every head turned. Michael stood at the front beneath an arch of wildflowers and pine boughs, Brett at his side as best man.
Michael’s dark eyes locked on mine and never left.
He looked undone already — jaw tight, throat working, the afternoon light catching the faint sheen of emotion across his cheekbones.
The scent of his cologne reached me even from here, familiar and devastating: leather, salt, and home.
The two boys — our boys — waited near the front in tiny matching suits, each solemnly clutching a small white pillow with a ring tied to it in pale blue ribbon.
One of them had already managed to get a fistful of the ribbon into his mouth.
Brett gently rescued it without ever taking his eyes off the aisle, the corner of his mouth twitching in that dry almost-smile of his.
Remi stood a few rows back, arms crossed, the river breeze lifting the edge of his jacket.
Drew walked me the entire way. Slow. Steady. The silk of my dress brushed my legs with every step. When we reached the front he stopped, turned to me, and pressed a brief kiss to my temple. His lips were warm. I smelled the clean starch of his collar.
“Be happy,” he murmured, voice rough enough to scrape. “You deserve it.”
Then he placed my hand in Michael’s and stepped back.
Michael’s fingers closed around mine like he was afraid I might vanish again.
His palm was warm, slightly rough, and the simple contact sent a full-body shiver through me.
His thumb brushed over my knuckles once, twice, grounding us both while the last notes of Ave Maria hung in the air like incense.
The music softened into something lower, almost reverent. The river kept singing below us, a steady silver hush.
We had written our own vows.
Michael went first. His voice was low and steady, but I heard the fracture underneath it, felt it in the slight tremor of his hand.
“Kate. You ran into me on a night full of fireworks and danger and I have been yours ever since. I spent months chasing a ghost, and then I spent months trying to become a man worthy of keeping her. You are the only thing that has ever made the blood and the power and the games mean something. You gave me a home. You gave me two sons. You gave me a reason to want more than survival. I vow to protect this family with everything I am. I vow to choose you every single day for the rest of my life. I vow that no matter what comes, you will never have to run from me again.”
My throat closed. Tears slipped free, warm against the cool afternoon air. I could taste salt when I parted my lips.
When it was my turn, I had to breathe twice before the words would come. The scent of crushed pine and river water filled my lungs.
“Michael. I spent so long building walls and empires and secrets that I almost forgot how to want something just for myself. Then you looked at me like I was already yours, and every wall I had ever built started to crack. You saw me — the real me — and you never looked away. I vow to stop running. I vow to let you love me even on the days I am scared. I vow to raise these boys with you in a life that is louder with music than with gunfire. I vow that every song I write from this day forward will have your name somewhere inside it, even if no one else ever knows.”
Brett made a rough sound that might have been a cough or a swallowed curse. One of the boys babbled loudly and kicked his small feet, the soft scuff of his tiny shoes against stone making a few people laugh through their own tears.
We exchanged rings. The boys presented the pillows with solemn, wobbly seriousness while Brett hovered like a heavily armed babysitter, one big hand ready to catch either child.
Michael’s hands shook just once when he slid the warm gold band onto my finger.
The metal was smooth and heavy, still holding the heat of his palm.
Mine shook the entire time I did the same for him; I felt the faint scrape of his calluses under my fingertips.
When the officiant finally said the words that made us husband and wife in front of everyone who mattered, Michael didn’t wait.
He cupped my face with both hands — warm, slightly trembling — and kissed me like the world was ending and beginning at the same time.
I tasted the salt of both our tears and the faint sweetness of the champagne we’d shared earlier in secret.
The amphitheater erupted around us: strings soaring, students cheering, the river applauding against the rocks below in a rush of white sound.
Pine needles drifted down like confetti.
Someone’s perfume mixed with the green scent of crushed leaves.
I laughed against his mouth, tears still falling, the silk of my dress whispering between us, and felt the last missing piece of our story click into place with a quiet, perfect finality.
Under the tall pines, with music in the air and our sons at our feet, I married my Michael for real.
And this time, I wasn’t going anywhere.