Chapter 23 #2
The string quartet transitioned into a slower arrangement of Drake's team's fight song and somehow made it sound elegant rather than rowdy.
How much time had she spent with the musicians, finding the perfect balance between sports tradition and wedding sophistication? No wonder she'd been unavailable.
Guests murmured appreciatively at the transformation.
One of the linebackers whispered to his date, “I thought this was gonna be all footballs and beer, but this is actually nice."
Exactly what Piper had aimed for. Respecting Tess's passion without letting it overwhelm Anna's day.
The aisle glimmered with delicate lavender petals, light bouncing off gold chairs linked in symmetrical rows.
Two cakes waited in the reception space—one glitter-drenched in team colors for those pictures, and one in delicate lavender buttercream for Anna's personal photos.
Because Piper thought about everything. Planned for everyone.
Somehow, she even managed to get the dueling cakes to vibe together like they meshed.
"The trick," she'd muttered while sketching out the designs, not really speaking to him, "is making them look like they belong in the same universe without being twins."
The processional music swelled. First came Drake's teammates—massive men, somehow elegant in tailored suits. Then Anna's friends, each carrying a single stem of lavender and a rose bound with silk ribbon.
Drake stood at the altar.
Flashbulbs popped on the edges.
Then Anna appeared at the back of the aisle arm in arm with Dad, beaming in the custom gown Zach stitched together.
The collective intake of breath from the assembled guests sent goosebumps down Zach's arms. They'd nailed it.
The gown managed to be both classic and unexpected. Structured satin with subtle detailing in the seams.
That small moment of awe that always happens when the bride arrives, rippled through the guests as they all stood.
Before Anna could continue down the aisle, Piper nodded pointedly at Babushka. She rose slowly from her seat and shuffled toward the bride, clutching a small velvet pouch trimmed in gold thread.
She moved with purpose—quiet, reverent, leaving whispers in her wake.
As she reached Anna, she muttered just loud enough, "I get to vear the good scarf and judge people. It is a proper family occasion."
Babushka slipped the pouch into Anna's hands. The bride blinked, surprised, then carefully opened it.
Zach already knew what was inside. It was filled with pieces of dark rye bread and a pinch of salt wrapped in linen with red embroidery.
The Dvornakov family blessing.
He hadn't seen it given since his cousin's wedding years ago. No one would allow Babushka to give it. It drove her nuts.
"Na zdorovye," Babushka murmured loud enough for those closest to hear, pressing a kiss to Anna's cheek. Then, switching to English just enough to bridge traditions: "For strength, and for the sweetness after."
Anna's eyes shone immediately, the symbolism sinking in. She squeezed Babushka's hands, something unspoken passing between them.
Zach turned toward Piper, making his eyes wide like, "what the hell, you didn't say anything to me?"
She gave the faintest shrug.
And Anna? She tucked the embroidered cloth into the folds of her bouquet, right beneath the ribbon bindings to carry it with her like an anchor, a tether to something deeper.
The music began again and the ceremony continued.
And still, Zach's gaze didn't drift from the back as Anna made her way to the front.
Piper was there at the end of the aisle, framed at the far entrance, headset in place, clipboard clutched like her battle standard.
But her face? Peaceful. An unexpected smile tugged at her lips as she watched Anna stride down the aisle.
There was zero amount of jaded worry in her expression.
She hadn't only made it beautiful. She'd made it work. For everyone. The flowers were sentimental. The cakes told two stories. Even the string quartet had somehow made a football fight song weep. This was all her.
The vows began.
The horse, blessedly, didn't so much as sneeze during the big moment.
Anna let out a slow breath she'd probably been holding for ten minutes.
The music from the string quartet swelled as if it had been waiting its whole life for this cue. A warm breeze stirred the edge of the pergola, fluttering the ribbons.
Anna teared up. Drake looked like he might cry, too. Hell, even Zach was getting choked up.
The sunlight caught in Anna's veil as she laughed through a line she'd flubbed—something about sandwiches and soulmates. There was a ripple of affectionate laughter.
And, just before the vows ended, when the audience was glued to Drake's "I promise to always buy the weird pickles," Zach glanced to the back.
There stood Piper. Quietly dabbing her eye. One small tear and a smile so sure it made his heart ache.
He held that image in his mind like it was something sacred.
The reception drifted into being under the glow of string lights and champagne flutes clinking. The dance floor pulsed with first dances, then group dances, then the kind of wild cousin conga lines that would live on social media for decades.
Piper, now barefoot, tossed her shoes beside a planter and leaned against a marble column, champagne flute in hand. Her head tilted back as she sighed long and low, the picture of exhaustion laced with total joy.
Zach approached.
"Permission to request a dance?" he asked, stepping close enough that his voice dipped into the space between them like a shared secret.
She eyed him with playful suspicion, one brow arching, arms folded over her chest. "Just the one?"
He pressed a hand to his heart, eyes locked with hers, voice certain. "I'll take as many as I can get."
She shook her head, but her smile betrayed her. "You can have them all."
He offered his hand, his voice quiet but steady, "Then I'll never let the music stop."
With a roll of her eyes and a low laugh, she slid her palm into his. "Oh, you practiced that line, didn't you?"
Their fingers laced. The contact, small as it was, made all the worry and all the concern he'd been hanging onto about messing things up go still somewhere in his chest.
They drifted onto the edge of the dance floor as the song shifted to some classic love ballad lightened by strings and nostalgia. The world blurred around them in flickering lights.
Her hands settled on his shoulders as his arm slipped easily around her waist. Then, slowly, she leaned in, and her cheek came to rest against his chest like it belonged there. Her breath was steady, and the tension she carried seemed to melt as she pressed closer.
"I don't bite," he murmured, resting his chin gently atop her head.
She tilted her face just enough for her words to reach near his heart. "I know. That's part of the problem."
"We could try it if you want." He chuckled and ran his hand in a slow circle along the small of her back. The hush between them was fragile, honest.
Then he whispered, careful to speak gently into the curve of her ear, "You did it."
Her voice, warm and near and barely above the music, was a breath against his shirt. "We did it."
He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her temple, the brush of his lips lingering a heartbeat longer than casual.
Her fingers clenched lightly against his shoulder in response, and something about the quiet gesture pulled the floor out from under him. Not in fear, but in that dizzy, beautiful way when it feels like something might matter more than you're ready to admit.
His pulse thundered against the pressure of her cheek. Dangerously calm. Too calm. Say it now or lose the chance. Hell, say it wrong.
Just… say it.
He hesitated, swallowed once, then said low and close so it wouldn't scare the moment off, "Don't freak out, but… I might be in love with you."
The words weren't smooth. They tumbled out with the grace of a tipsy toddler like Nadia. They were messy and unbalanced and, honestly, too much.
Instant panic. His gut clenched.
He braced for her to bolt, or laugh, or maybe deliver one of her infamous strategic exits.
But none of that came.
She leaned back enough to meet his eyes.
"Oh." She blinked like someone who'd found herself halfway through a dream and didn't know whether to hold or run.
"Oh?" he echoed, already preparing to backpedal, to throw in a joke or excuse the confession as a momentary lapse in sanity.
And then she kissed him.
She simply leaned in and pressed her lips to his. Certain. Warm. Her hand slid up to cradle the back of his neck.
He froze for half a second, then sighed into it, kissing her back with every ounce of that tumbled truth.
When she pulled away, her smile was shy and nervous but real.
"I might be in love with you, too," she said.
He blinked.
"Okay… I mean—great. That's great. Just for confirmation—only 'might'?"
She grinned. "I figured I'd meet you where you were, you know? Don't want to scare you off."
The music swelled around them again as he pulled her closer, swaying a little sharper now that his heart had found its rhythm.
She didn't say a word.
She simply held on. Held on like someone who knew what it was to fall and still reached, anyway. Held on like maybe she finally believed it was real.
And she exhaled against him—not a sigh but a true release, like maybe—finally—there was room to breathe because someone else could carry even a sliver of the weight she'd tucked away in silence.
Zach closed his eyes.
And in the hush between beats, in the halo of string lights and quiet hope, he let himself sway with her. Not toward an answer. Just toward something that felt like it might be okay.
Maybe.
"I'm not good at letting things be okay," she whispered. "I always expect the break."
"Then, maybe today, you just let things be whole. Just for now."
She didn't nod. Didn't speak.
It wasn't perfect.
There were cracks and doubt all along the edges.
But damn if it wasn't real.
And for the first time in a long while, real felt like enough. More than enough.