Chapter 38 Savannah
SAVANNAH
Afew hours later, the venue has been transformed from "post-blizzard disaster zone" to "winter wonderland wedding venue" through what can only be described as barely organized pandemonium orchestrated by the matchmaking committee.
I'm standing in the bridal suite while Mrs. Lee performs actual magic with needle and thread. The backup dress fits like it was made for me, the alterations so precise I'm convinced she sold her soul to the sewing gods decades ago.
"Hold still," Mrs. Lee mumbles around a mouthful of pins, her weathered hands working with the precision of a surgeon. "Perfection takes patience."
Emma sits cross-legged on the bed, somehow managing to look elegant despite her rumpled state and the chopstick still holding her hair up. "I can't believe you're stealing my thunder."
"You literally begged me to share your wedding day."
"Minor detail." She waves a dismissive hand, her engagement ring catching the light. "The point is, you look gorgeous and I'm taking full credit."
"For what, exactly?"
"For orchestrating this entire romantic disaster, obviously. Who do you think suggested the mountain venue in December? Who insisted on inviting everyone within a fifty-mile radius? Who got us snowed in because she wanted a winter wonderland wedding?"
"So you're admitting this was all an elaborate matchmaking scheme?"
"See? Mastermind." Emma grins, then sobers slightly. "Seriously though, Sav, I'm happy for you. You've been miserable for months, and watching you three dance around each other was painful."
"We weren't dancing."
"You were waltzing. Badly. Like middle school dance level awkwardness."
Through the window, I can see the barely contained chaos happening outside.
Logan is directing what appears to be a small army of teenagers in clearing snow from the ceremony area.
Emma's cousin Jake is lobbing snowballs at his girlfriend Mia while she tries to arrange pine boughs, creating a winter decoration war zone that would make Martha Stewart weep.
Griff has somehow charmed his way into the kitchen and is coordinating with the catering staff to create a reception menu from whatever survived the storm. The man could probably convince penguins to host a barbecue in Antarctica.
Xavier stands in the middle of it all with a measuring tape and the expression of someone solving a complex architectural problem. Because of course he's turning emergency wedding planning into a geometric exercise. I bet he's calculating optimal guest flow patterns.
"Your boys work well together," Rose Kim observes from her perch by the window. She's been quietly watching the proceedings with the intensity of someone conducting a scientific study.
"The pack dynamics are excellent," Beverly adds, scribbling notes. "Alpha cooperation, shared purpose, division of labor based on individual strengths."
"Are you taking notes for your matchmaking files?" I ask suspiciously.
"Research is research," she says primly, like she's conducting a dissertation on romance instead of being nosy.
Carol Anne drifts over in her flowing purple dress, somehow managing to look ethereal despite having slept in a chair. "The energy convergence is remarkable. Four souls becoming one universal unit."
"Please don't start with the mystical commentary," Emma groans. "It's too early for spiritual observations."
"It's past noon," Rose points out.
"It's too early in my emotional processing timeline for mystical commentary."
Mrs. Lee steps back with the satisfied expression of someone who's just completed a masterpiece. "Finished. You look like a princess."
I turn to the full-length mirror that someone procured from somewhere and actually gasp. The dress is perfect: elegant but not fussy, fitted but comfortable, with delicate beadwork that catches the light like captured stars.
"Holy shit," Emma breathes, then claps a hand over her mouth. "Sorry, Mrs. Lee. Holy... sugar?"
"Language is just noise," Mrs. Lee says, waving dismissively. "Results are what matter. And these results are excellent."
A commotion outside draws our attention back to the window.
Three unfamiliar men have emerged from the main building, tall and dark-haired and moving with the kind of predatory grace that screams alpha.
They're heading toward a figure in a blue dress: Jessica Hamilton, who's been notably quiet since her breakdown two days ago.
"Who are those guys?" I ask, noting the way they seem to orbit around Jessica like planets around the sun.
Emma presses her nose to the glass. "Oh my God, those are the Castellano brothers. Dax's cousins from Portland. They got stuck in the storm."
"Castellano," Rose repeats thoughtfully. "As in Malik Carter's family."
"Derek, as in Jessica's psycho ex-boyfriend who tried to claim her without consent?"
"The very same." Emma's eyes glitter with the prospect of drama. "This is going to be interesting."
We watch as Jessica disappears into the woods with the three brothers, her body language suggesting this is voluntary and mutually desired.
"Well," Beverly says, making another note, "that's another successful match."
"You didn't match them," I point out.
"The universe did. I just facilitated optimal circumstances."
"Right. Because getting everyone snowed in together was definitely divine intervention and not just questionable weather judgment."
A knock on the door interrupts our speculation. "Ladies? Are we ready?" Father McKenzie's voice carries the kind of patient amusement that comes from forty years of managing wedding chaos.
Emma bounces to her feet, smoothing her dress. "Ready as we'll ever be!"
I take one last look in the mirror at the woman staring back at me: no longer running, no longer afraid, finally ready to fight for what she wants.
"Let's go get married," I say.
The walk downstairs feels like stepping into a fairy tale designed by caffeinated elves.
Someone, probably the teenage task force, has strung lights through the pine boughs, creating a canopy of twinkling stars.
Candles flicker on every available surface, filling the room with warm, golden light that makes everything look touched by magic.
The guests who are still snowed in have gathered as witnesses, their faces bright with excitement. The matchmaking committee has claimed the front row, naturally. The Castellano family clusters together, Derek's parents looking pleased and his younger siblings practically bouncing with excitement.
But what steals my breath is the sight of Logan, Griff, and Xavier waiting at the front of the room.
They've managed to find clean suits from somewhere (probably raided someone's luggage) and they look like something out of a magazine.
Logan stands solid and steady, his gray eyes finding mine across the room with laser focus.
Griff flashes that crooked grin that makes my knees weak.
Xavier's dark eyes are soft with wonder, like he can't quite believe this is happening.
They're mine. All of them. Finally, officially, completely mine.
Father McKenzie beams as Emma and I approach. "Ladies, shall we make this official?"
"God, yes," Emma says. "Before something else goes wrong."
"Nothing's going to go wrong," Dax assures her, taking her hand. "We're getting married, the roads are clearing, and your best friend found her happiness. What could go wrong?"
"You did not just say that," Emma hisses. "That's like asking the universe to drop a meteor on us."
"The celestial forces are aligned," Carol Anne calls out helpfully. "No meteors today."
The ceremony is simple and perfect and completely chaotic in the best possible way.
Father McKenzie speaks about love and commitment while someone's toddler provides running commentary from the audience.
Emma's vows to David are heartfelt and snarky in equal measure.
David's response makes her actually tear up, which is a minor miracle considering Emma usually cries at insurance commercials.
Then it's our turn.
Logan speaks first, his deep voice carrying clearly through the room. "Savannah, I promise to fight for you, for us, every single day. I promise to never let fear make our decisions again."
Griff steps forward, his usual cocky charm replaced by something deeper. "I promise to make you laugh every day, to never let you take life too seriously, and to love every stubborn, wonderful part of you."
Xavier's vows are precise and heartfelt. "I promise to build a life with you that's worthy of what we've found. I promise to never let you doubt that you're exactly where you belong."
My own vows come out steadier than I expected. "I promise to stop running. I promise to trust that what we have is strong enough to weather any storm. I promise to love all three of you, completely and without reservation, for the rest of my life."
When Father McKenzie asks for rings, the guys produce those stacking set of rings.
"By the power vested in me by the state of Denver and the grace of God," Father McKenzie announces, "I now pronounce you married, both couples. You may kiss your brides!"
The kiss that follows involves all three of my husbands and definitely violates several public decency laws. Emma's enthusiastic wolf-whistling from three feet away only makes it better.
The reception unfolds like beautifully orchestrated mayhem.
The teenage brigade has appointed themselves as entertainment coordinators, setting up music and keeping the younger kids occupied.
Griff works the crowd like a politician, charming stories and laughter out of everyone.
Logan and Xavier coordinate the logistics with the efficiency of a military operation.
I find myself pulled into conversation after conversation: Rita Castellano gushing about true love, the matchmaking committee taking not-so-subtle credit for the outcome, Mrs. Lee accepting compliments on her emergency alteration work.
"So," Emma says, appearing at my elbow with two glasses of champagne that definitely weren't part of the original reception plan, "how does it feel to be Mrs... what are you calling yourselves? Stone-Blackwell-Pierce is a bit of a mouthful."
"We'll figure out the logistics later," I tell her, accepting the champagne gratefully. "Right now I'm just trying to process that this actually happened."
"Best. Wedding. Ever," she declares, clinking her glass against mine. "Although I'm totally taking credit for the romantic ambiance."
"You mean the blizzard that trapped us all here?"
"I prefer 'divine intervention.' Sounds more intentional."
I laugh, watching Logan spin some teenager around the makeshift dance floor while Griff provides terrible karaoke vocals and Xavier adjusts the sound system with the patience of a saint.
"They're good together," Emma observes, following my gaze. "Your alphas. They balance each other out."
"They balance me out too," I admit. "I never thought I could handle three personalities that strong, but somehow it works."
"Because you're just as strong as they are," she says simply. "You just forgot for a while."
The evening winds down with the kind of magical exhaustion that comes from perfect chaos. Guests start trickling out as the roads clear, hugging and promising to share photos and demanding invitations to future celebrations.
The matchmaking committee departs in a flurry of satisfied commentary, already plotting their next romantic campaign.
Mrs. Lee packs up her sewing arsenal with the air of someone who's saved the day.
Even the teenage task force gradually disperses, leaving behind a venue that somehow looks better than when we started.
Finally, it's just Emma and Dax, Logan and Griff and Xavier and me, standing in the glow of twinkling lights and candle flames.
"Well," Emma says, surveying the beautiful aftermath around us, "that was definitely not the wedding I planned."
"Was it the wedding you wanted?" Dax asks, slipping his arms around her waist.
She considers this seriously. "You know what? It was better. It was real and messy and completely perfect."
"Just like us," Griff says, pulling me against his side.
"Speak for yourself," Logan rumbles. "I'm a paragon of organization."
"Says the man who's still wearing someone else's tie," Xavier points out.
"Minor detail," Logan dismisses.
As the last of the candles flicker and the lights cast everything in soft gold, I find myself curled up on the couch in front of the fireplace with my three husbands.
The venue feels different now: not just Emma's wedding location, but the place where we finally stopped fighting the inevitable and started building something beautiful.
"So," Griff says, his fingers playing with my hair, "honeymoon plans?"
"Somewhere warm," I say immediately. "Somewhere tropical where we can lie in the sun and pretend this winter nightmare never happened."
"A cruise," Xavier suggests. "Multiple destinations, luxury accommodations, room service."
"Sold," Logan says. "When do we leave?"
"Just like that?" I ask, amazed by their instant agreement. "No debates about cost or logistics or..."
"Sweetheart," Griff interrupts, tilting my chin up so I'm looking at him, "we spent months debating and overthinking and nearly lost you because of it. No more debates. Your happiness is our only priority."
"Besides," Xavier adds with a rare grin, "what's the point of having money if you don't spend it on the people you love?"
I kiss each of them in turn: soft, sweet kisses full of promise and possibility. Outside, Pine Hollow is digging out from the blizzard that changed everything. But inside this circle of warmth and light, surrounded by the men who love me enough to fight for me, I'm exactly where I belong.
"I love you," I tell them, because the words never get old.
"We love you too," they chorus, and it sounds like a promise, like a prayer, like the beginning of forever.
The fire crackles in the hearth, snow continues to fall gently outside, and somewhere in the distance, we can hear the rumble of snowplows clearing the roads that will take us home.
But we're already home. We have been since the moment we stopped running from what we wanted and started building something worth fighting for.
Universe, I think drowsily as I settle deeper into their arms, you really outdid yourself this time.