16. Skye
— ? —
Skye
The bathroom just smells like crayons and Josh’s bubble bath. There’s no Chanel or fancy flowers here, and definitely no bridal suite the size of my apartment with a bunch of stylists fighting over my hair. It’s just my bathroom, my mirror, and my life.
It’s perfect.
“It’s crooked.”
Shelby kneels behind me, her fingers working the buttons at the back of my dress. Simple white cotton. Nothing sewn onto my skin. Nothing that costs more than a thousand dollars.
“It’s not crooked.”
“It’s definitely crooked. Hold still.”
I actually laugh, the sound bouncing off the tile, startling us both.
Four years ago, these exact words in a different bathroom. I was shaking so hard she could barely get the buttons closed. I was carrying a secret and a stolen phone and a heart that was already breaking.
Today my hands are steady.
“There.” Shelby sits back on her heels and surveys her work. “You look disgustingly happy. It’s offensive.”
“Sorry to offend.”
“You should be. Some of us are still single and bitter.”
“You have a fiancé.”
“He doesn’t count. Actually had to move my wedding date again because he leaves his socks on the bathroom floor.” She stands, brushing off her knees, and her eyes meet mine in the mirror. “You good?”
“I’m good.”
“You sure? Because I can still get the car. New Zealand is lovely this time of year.”
“I’m sure.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment. Then she nods, and something settles between us. The last crack from the retreat, finally sealed over.
My mother appears in the doorway, already crying.
“Oh, honey.” She presses both hands to her mouth. “You look beautiful.”
“Mom, don’t. You’ll make me start.”
“I can’t help it.” She crosses the tiny bathroom and cups my face in her hands. “My baby girl.”
These tears feel different. There is no underlying tension, no hidden worry disguised as joy, just a mother watching her daughter marry a man who deserves her.
We started talking constantly again three months ago and not just calls that end in a minute.
Morning calls, just like before everything fell apart, except now I actually answer them.
I told her everything. Josh. Jaime. All of it, spread out over weeks of conversations that left us both wrung out and somehow closer than we’d ever been.
“No champagne toast?” Shelby’s voice cuts through the moment. “The bride is supposed to toast.”
“The bride is pacing herself.”
Her eyes narrow like a sniper acquiring a target. I turn away before she can read my face.
“Mama!” Josh bursts through the door in his tiny suit, dinosaur-print bow tie already askew. “Chompy needs to practice!”
He’s been rehearsing ring duty for a week. Chompy has served as the stand-in groom for approximately fifty ceremonies, each one more elaborate than the last.
“One more time,” I say. “Show me.”
Josh straightens his bow tie with exaggerated seriousness. “Dearly bee-loved. We are gathered here today.” He presents Chompy with an invisible ring box. “Do you take this dinosaur to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“Chompy’s a boy.”
“Chompy is a dinosaur.” Josh considers this deeply. “Today he’s a bride.”
My mother laughs through her tears. Shelby snorts. And I kneel down to straighten his bow tie one more time, breathing in the smell of his hair, the last quiet moment before everything changes.
A knock at the door. My father stands in the hallway, his suit slightly rumpled, his eyes suspiciously wet.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
Four years ago, he asked me the same question. I lied. I squeezed his arm hard enough to leave bruises and lied through my teeth while my heart shattered in slow motion.
“I’m perfect, Dad.”
This time it’s simply true.
He offers his arm. No trembling.
“Then let’s go get you married.”
***
The courtyard has been transformed.
String lights crisscross overhead, catching the late afternoon sun.
Folding chairs line a makeshift aisle scattered with wildflowers.
The tenants from the building fill the first few rows, neighbors I’ve nodded to in hallways and held doors for, people who watched Jaime move into 4B with moving boxes and a mattress on the floor.
Miss Lydia, Shelby’s cousin, dabs her eyes in the front row. “My babies,” she whispers as we pass. “Both my babies, all grown up.”
At the entrance to the aisle, Eleanor intercepts me. It’s a miracle that she actually agreed to come to our wedding and I can see in her face how much it pains her not to comment on how cheap this wedding is.
I tense. But her eyes are wet, and her hands clasp mine before I can pull away.
“I need to say something. Before you walk down there.”
“Eleanor-”
“He once lost you, and I watched my son break, and I was too much of a coward to face that.”
I don’t know what to say.
“I was wrong about you. I was wrong about most things I was sure of.” She squeezes my hands. “You made him better. You gave me a grandson. And I will spend the rest of my life being grateful you gave us a second chance.”
She releases me and steps back, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. I’m still processing when Richard appears.
Jaime’s father. The man who looked at me on my first wedding day and called me an embarrassment. The man who audited every decision I made for four years and found me lacking.
He clears his throat. Adjusts his cufflinks and looks profoundly uncomfortable.
“I audited you when I should have valued you.” The words come out stiff, formal, like he’s reading from a presentation. “The error was material.”
It’s the closest thing to an apology Richard Miller has ever given anyone.
“Thank you,” I manage.
He nods once, sharply, and then Josh appears at his elbow.
“Grandpa! You said you’d tell me about the dinosaur bones!”
“The museum wing,” Richard corrects, but he’s already being dragged away, his dignity crumbling under the assault of a three-year-old’s enthusiasm. “The osteology collection, not just bones, there’s a complete Tyrannosaurus skeleton that-”
They disappear into the crowd, and I’m left standing at the edge of the aisle, my father’s arm steady beneath my hand.
***
The music begins. It is not Pachelbel’s Canon, nor is it anything predictable, basic, or expected.
An acoustic string cover of the metal track I clean the apartment to. The one I blast through my headphones while I scrub the bathroom and pretend I’m not exhausted. The exact anti-Pachelbel I wished for four years ago, standing in a church full of lies.
I chose this, every part of it.
My father guides me down the aisle, and I don’t look at the guests. Don’t count the faces or wonder who’s watching. I look at the end of the aisle, where Jaime stands in a simple gray suit, tears already streaming down his face.
Last time, I couldn’t read his tears. Couldn’t tell what was real and what was performance. Today I can read them clean.
Nothing behind them but me.
We reach the altar. My father kisses my cheek, his eyes wet, and steps away to join my mother. The officiant opens her book.
And then it’s just us.
The vows are simple. No speeches written by committee. No promises crafted to impress a church full of strangers.
Jaime goes first.
“Four years ago, you asked me twice for the truth.” His voice breaks on the word. “And I made you apologize for asking. I made you doubt yourself. I made you feel crazy for seeing what was right in front of your face.”
I don’t look away.
“For the rest of my life, you will never have to ask twice for anything.” He takes my hands, his grip warm and steady. “You ask once, and I answer. You need something, and I’m there. No more secrets. No more management. Just the truth, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
My turn. I take a breath.
“I buried the woman you met.” The words come out fierce.
“I had to. She wasn’t strong enough to survive what came next.
” I squeeze his hands. “But you didn’t fall in love with her.
You fell in love with the woman who came back.
The one who raised your son alone. The one who ran from you and fought you. ”
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
“I choose you.” I hold his gaze. “Eyes open. No storm as an excuse. Just me, choosing you, in front of everyone who matters.”
The officiant smiles. “The rings?”
Josh appears at our side, his face scrunched with concentration, the ring box clutched in both hands like a sacred artifact.
He presents it with great ceremony. Then, into the absolute silence of the courtyard, he stage-whispers:
“Is it kissing time?”
Laughter erupts. Jaime’s shoulders shake. I press my hand to my mouth to keep from losing it completely.
“Almost, buddy,” the officiant says gently. “Just one more minute.”
The rings slide on. The words are spoken. And then, finally, it’s kissing time. He kisses me soft and sweet, his hands on my face, and the courtyard erupts in cheers.
The reception unfolds under the string lights. Folding tables covered in white cloth. Food from the diner where we had our third date. Champagne I’m not drinking, which Shelby notices immediately and files away with a look that promises interrogation later.
She’s liberated her phone from the basket at the gate. One photographer allowed, one photo released, and apparently it’s already everywhere.
“The headline’s up.” She holds out her phone, grinning. “Listen to this: THE GROVEL IS COMPLETE: BILLIONAIRE WHO SIGNED IT ALL AWAY MARRIES HIS WIFE IN THE WALK-UP HE BOUGHT TO SAY SORRY.”
“Catchy.”
“The will’s mentioned too. Everything to Josh, properties to you. They’re calling it the most expensive apology in history.”
“Worth every penny,” Jaime says, appearing at my elbow. “Ready for the first dance?”
“One second.” Shelby scrolls further. “Oh, this is good. Page six says Leslie’s suing the tabloid she sold her lies to. Represented by no one.” She looks up with savage satisfaction. “Godspeed, you psychotic harpy.”
Jaime takes my hand and leads me to the center of the courtyard.
The music starts. Something slow and just for us.
We sway together, his arms around my waist, my head against his chest. The string lights blur overhead. The guests fade to a warm murmur at the edges of my vision.
I had it all planned once.
Four years ago, standing in a bridal suite that smelled like Chanel and bad decisions, I imagined this exact moment. Pull him close during the first dance with my lips to his ear. Whisper the secret and watch his face light up.
The moment was stolen at the altar. Lost in a church full of lies and a phone full of evidence.
I pull him close and rise up on my toes. Press my lips to his ear.
“We’re having a baby.”
He stops dead in the middle of the dance floor.
Pulls back to look at me. His eyes search my face, looking for the joke, the trick, the catch that doesn’t exist.
His face does exactly what I imagined four years ago. And then something better, because it’s real.
He spins me. Lifts me off my feet and laughs into my hair while the guests watch in confusion, having no idea what just happened, which makes it entirely ours.
“Happy tears,” I tell the nearest table when he sets me down, both of us wiping our eyes. “The real kind.”
Across the courtyard, Shelby watches me not drink from my glass. Her eyes narrow. Her mouth forms the words. I KNEW IT.
I grin at her. She grins back.
Josh appears between us, wedging himself into the dance.
“Family hug!” he demands. “Why is everyone crying?”
Jaime kneels down, lifting Josh onto his hip.
“Buddy. You’re going to be a big brother.”
Josh considers this, his brow furrows. His lips purse.
“Can it be a T-Rex?”
I laugh until my ribs hurt.
“We’ll see what we can do,” Jaime manages.
The three of us sway together under the string lights. Josh’s head drops against Jaime’s shoulder, exhausted from a day of ring-bearing and dinosaur negotiations. The music plays on. The guests laugh and dance and celebrate around us.
“Love you,” I whisper.
“Love you more,” Jaime whispers back.
“Love you most,” I counter.
And Josh, half-asleep and fully triumphant, takes the last word.
“Love you mostest.”
THE END