Epilogue
Harper
Standing outside the ornate mahogany doors of The Wintergate Estate’s grand banquet hall, I exhale deeply, my breath visible in the December chill.
My father’s arm feels solid beneath my trembling fingers as I smooth the delicate lace of my gown.
One year ago today, I was meant to marry another man in a sterile hotel ballroom that never felt right.
Thank goodness the universe intervened, saving me from the biggest mistake of my life.
The doors swing open with a gentle creak, releasing a wave of warmth scented with cinnamon and pine. We step onto the ivory aisle runner where flickering candles cast golden halos on the faces of everyone I love.
I smile as Ford, handsome in his tailored black tuxedo, wipes away tears upon seeing me, his brown eyes never leaving mine. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart,” Dad whispers, his voice catching as we approach my future husband.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
Gina stands proudly as my matron of honor, her emerald silk dress catching the candlelight, emerald teardrop earrings swinging as she gives me a reassuring wink.
Joel stands beside Ford as his best man, the brothers standing shoulder to shoulder, Joel’s boutonniere slightly crooked from their nervous hug moments before.
The day has had its share of hiccups that Gina handled with grace. None of that matters now. What counts is fulfilling Ford’s promise, whispered against my ear on a snowy night six months ago, to give me his last name.
The look on my groom’s face—eyes widening, lips parting in a soft gasp—confirms I chose the right dress: a sleeveless A-line gown with a corset bodice that cinches my waist to an hourglass and cascades into layers of tulle and satin that whisper against the floor with each step.
Delicate lace overlay traces intricate patterns across my shoulders, tiny pearls and crystals catching the light like morning dew.
My bridesmaids stand in rich emerald green silk gowns that shimmer when they move, each carrying bouquets of pristine white roses with sprigs of winter holly, while I clutch a lush arrangement of deep burgundy peonies and blood-red roses bound with ivory satin ribbon trailing between my fingers.
The mahogany chairs, each draped in crisp white fabric tied with thick burgundy velvet bows, form perfect rows leading to the arch that Ford from a tree, adorned with hundreds of twinkling white Christmas lights that cast a constellation of stars behind us.
Dad places my hand in Ford’s, and he beams as he takes it. I stand before him, with snow gently falling outside the window behind him. This evening couldn’t be more perfect.
“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Ford Crawford and Harper Wallace.”
Tears blur my vision, and I can’t remember feeling this happy or excited about the future as the reverend continues.
“The couple has chosen to write their own vows. Ford, would you start?”
I hand my bouquet to Gina as he takes both of my hands in his.
His palms are warm against my chilled fingers, his thumbs brushing lightly over my knuckles in that familiar way that always steadies me.
I smile up at him as he releases a long breath that stirs the loose tendril of hair against my cheek.
His Adam’s apple bobs once before he speaks, voice low and resonant enough that it seems to vibrate through our joined hands.
“Harper, I have dreamed of this moment for most of my life. I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you, when I saw you walk across the cafeteria to buy a soda from the vending machines. I’ve always hoped I’d have the chance to make you mine.
Giving you my last name is just the beginning.
Our life will be filled with joy, love, passion, and happiness.
Breakfasts on the porch swing, dancing in the kitchen at midnight, holding each other through every storm.
Making you happy is my ultimate goal, and I am determined to succeed.
You are all I need in this life, and I cannot wait to call you my wife. ”
Wiping my tears would be futile, so I simply smile through them with a sniffle as Ford slips the wedding band onto my finger. “And Harper…”
My voice trembles as I begin, fingers tightening around his. “I never knew a love like ours could exist outside of the movies, but here we stand beneath these twinkling lights with our loved ones watching. I am so glad the universe brought us together. Finally, if you ask everyone else in here.”
Laughter spreads across the room, and I laugh through my tears.
“You love me for exactly who I am, and you never try to change me. I can’t imagine spending my life with anyone but you, Crawford Stokes. Your love is all-consuming, sometimes overwhelming, and the greatest gift I could ever ask for. I will love you for eternity and then some.”
I slide his wedding ring onto his finger, laughing together as tears glisten in our eyes. He wipes my cheeks, and I reach up to brush away a stray tear with my thumb.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Ford pulls me close, his strong hands at my waist, and dips me backward until my curls nearly brush the ivory runner. His lips find mine in a kiss that tastes of promises and champagne, stealing my breath completely.
The room erupts in thunderous applause and wolf whistles that seem distant beneath the drumming of my heart.
When he finally rights me, my cheeks flushed and lips tingling, I slip my fingers between his.
We turn toward our guests, a sea of beaming faces and teary eyes, and Gina passes me the bouquet, my fingers trembling.
Together, we glide down the aisle, my dress whispering secrets against the floor, and push through the heavy mahogany doors into our future.
Ford drapes the plush white mink shawl across my bare shoulders, his warm fingertips lingering against my collarbone.
He guides me through the French doors onto the estate’s stone terrace, where fat snowflakes drift lazily from the sky.
The crystalline flakes catch in my eyelashes and melt against my flushed cheeks as thousands of fairy lights twined through the surrounding evergreens transform the garden into a winter wonderland.
His breath forms delicate clouds between us as he searches my eyes. “Are you happy, Mrs. Stokes?” he asks.
“I’m perfect,” I reply, pulling him in for a kiss. “This is more than I ever wanted.”
“That’s how I feel every day I’m with you.” We kiss again, the snow swirling around us, and I can hardly believe this is real life.
“Thank you for never giving up on me,” I say, intertwining my fingers with his. “If you hadn’t held out for us, we might not be here.”
“I’d wait for you forever, Harper.”
“Oh good, you’re not having sex in the coatroom,” Gina quips with a smirk, and I laugh, regretting telling her what happened at her wedding. “We’re ready for you in the receiving line.”
“There’s still plenty of time for us to hit the coatroom,” Ford says, helping me up the stairs. “And you look stunning, baby.”
The entire town has shown up for our wedding, including Asher and Kenzie, as they line up to extend their best wishes.
Asher offers a half-hearted handshake and hug, his palm clammy against mine, his cheap cologne unable to mask the faint scent of stale beer. His jacket has a noticeable stain on the lapel, and the shadows beneath his eyes tell their own story.
I have to stifle a laugh, pressing my lips together. It’s as though he’s wearing a neon sign that reads SINGLE AND LIVING IN MY MOM’S BASEMENT. It only took two months for his divorce to be finalized.
Kenzie steps through the receiving line a few people behind him, her hair back to her darker color as she approaches in a figure-hugging merlot dress.
Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes when she says, “You make a beautiful bride, Harper. Congratulations and best wishes,” her manicured fingers lingering just a moment too long on my arm.
“Thank you, Kenzie,” I respond before hugging her.
Since her wedding, she’s attempted to change her ways.
Sh’e’s still manipulative, but she’s hones about it.
Seeing how far people were willing to go to ruin her day showed her the mistakes she’s made.
It helped her realize that she wanted Asher for all the wrong reasons and didn’t actually like him.
We enter the reception hall, where crystal chandeliers cast honeyed light across the sea of round tables draped in ivory linen. Cheers erupt as silverware clangs against champagne flutes, the sound like delicate wind chimes in a summer breeze.
Ford’s arm tightens around my waist before he dips me backward, my curls cascading toward the polished oak floor. His lips find mine, tasting of mint and promise. When he rights me, my cheeks flush with warmth that spreads to my fingertips.
Laughter ripples through the crowd like sunlight on water, and I feel a profound gratitude that not a single whisper mentions the coincidence of our wedding falling exactly one year after Kenzie and Asher’s doomed ceremony, or how today marks the anniversary of when I was supposed to marry someone else entirely.
In this moment, wrapped in twinkling lights and Ford’s steady gaze, it’s just us. Ford and Harper Stokes.