Chapter 46
SOPHIE
By the time the sun sets over the vineyard, everything looks like a scene straight out of a bridal magazine. Golden light spills over the rows of vines, twinkling string lights stretch from pole to pole, and the soft hum of music floats through the air.
Claire was stunning. I mean, she’s always beautiful—but today, she was radiant.
Her lace gown hugged her perfectly, the delicate train trailing behind her like a whisper.
Her hair was swept up into a soft bun with tiny pearl pins tucked throughout, and when she walked down the aisle on our dad’s arm, the entire crowd audibly gasped.
Even I did.
I spent most of the ceremony blinking back tears. Not the ugly kind, but the kind that settles in your chest when you realize a moment is going to stick with you forever.
And so far, I’ve successfully avoided both my parents’ awkward questions and Zach’s family. It’s taken a few well-timed bathroom trips, some strategic conversations with relatives I actually like, and a lot of sticking close to Ava.
Now the ceremony’s over, cocktail hour is winding down, and the reception tent is glowing with soft light.
Long tables are decorated with greenery runners, candles, and delicate gold accents.
Claire didn’t want a designated “wedding party table.” Instead, she scattered us throughout the room, wanting us to be with the people who mattered most to us.
Which is why I’m sitting at a round table near the dance floor. Ava’s to my left, already halfway through a glass of champagne and eyeing the appetizer trays like a hawk. To my right is an empty chair—the one meant for Beck.
I smooth my dress over my thighs, nerves buzzing under my skin in a way that has nothing to do with Zach or my parents. He’s coming. He said he’d make it as soon as the game ended.
Ava nudges me. “Stop checking the door every five seconds,” she whispers.
“I’m not,” I whisper back.
She gives me a look.
Okay, maybe I am.
Just as I’m taking a sip of champagne, a voice I’d hoped not to hear slides up behind me.
“Is this seat taken?”
I freeze for half a second before turning. Zach stands there in his suit, hands shoved into his pockets like he owns the place. He gestures to the empty chair beside me, his smile smooth in that practiced, empty way I used to mistake for charming.
“Yes,” I say evenly. “And not by you.”
His jaw ticks, just slightly, before the smile returns. “Doesn’t look like lover boy is coming. Kinda seems like you got stood up, Soph.”
A dozen retorts rise in my throat, but none of them stick. Instead, something settles inside me.
Beck would never.
Zach shifts his weight like he’s about to say something else, but a low, familiar voice behind me cuts through everything.
“Hey, pretty girl.”
My heart stutters.
I turn, and there he is. Beck. Freshly showered, dressed in a dark tux that fits him way too well, hair slightly damp, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Before Zach can even process it, Beck leans down, tips my chin up gently, and kisses me.
When he pulls back, he murmurs against my forehead, “Sorry I’m a little late.”
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “You’re right on time.”
Beck straightens and gives Zach a cool, unreadable once-over that says everything without a single word.
Zach’s forced smile falters.
Beck slides into the empty seat beside me, his hand resting casually on the back of my chair. The energy shifts in an instant, from uncomfortable to safe.
Zach lingers for half a heartbeat too long before muttering something under his breath and walking away.
I exhale slowly, and Ava leans toward me with a grin that’s about to split her face. “God, I love a good entrance.”
Beck settles into the chair beside me, his hand still resting on the back of my chair. The warmth of his presence chases away the last trace of Zach’s unwanted energy.
I angle toward him, unable to stop the grin tugging at my lips. “Hi.”
He gives me that half-smile, the one that makes my chest do this ridiculous fluttery thing. “Hi.”
“Did you win?” I ask quietly, knowing how much it means to him, but also because it feels like us to talk about football in between champagne toasts and string quartets.
His smile falters, just barely.
My stomach drops. “Beck?”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “We dominated the second half. Defense was locked in, offense kept rolling. It was a good win.”
The way he says it tells me there’s something more that I missed.
I reach out under the table and squeeze his hand. “What happened?”
He exhales slowly, eyes dropping to the candle flickering between us. “Logan went down right before halftime. Non-contact. His knee twisted, bad. Trainers took him straight to the ER.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper.
He nods once, jaw tightening. “They were talking ACL, maybe more. I haven’t heard anything yet.”
My heart aches for him. For Logan. For the way Beck’s voice goes a little rough when he talks about his best friend.
“Beck…” I squeeze his hand again, a little tighter this time.
There’s worry in his eyes, but also that undeniable strength I’ve come to know, and love, so well.
“I’ll go see him after this,” he says quietly. “If he’ll let me. He told me to come here. Typical Logan, bossing me around, even while he’s being carted off.”
I give a soft laugh, because I can hear Logan saying exactly that.
Beck’s thumb brushes over my hand once before he lets go, sitting back as the room starts to stir with energy.
But the look he gives me lingers, equal parts tired, relieved to be here, and holding something heavy underneath.
And I know without him saying it: tonight, I’m not just his date to a wedding. I’m his anchor.
The servers begin setting plates down not long after Beck sits beside me. The band plays softly in the background, and the tent glows with warm candlelight.
When the server sets a steak dinner in front of Beck, I see the way he automatically leans back, polite but cautious.
“Oh, uh, no thank you,” he says to the server.
I lean in. “Beck—it’s safe.”
He looks at me, unsure.
“Everything’s gluten-free,” I explain. “Certified kitchen. Claire made sure of it. She said there might be a few guests with dietary restrictions, and she didn’t want anyone to stress. The steak dish is completely gluten-free, down to the sauces and butter.”
His expression softens. He picks up his fork, takes a bite, and instantly relaxes. “Damn,” he mutters. “That’s good.”
“Told you,” I grin.
Under the table, his hand finds mine. He squeezes gently. “Thank you,” he says softly, not just for the food. For thinking of him.
The band’s first slow song starts just after dinner plates are cleared away.
The tent is lit with hundreds of soft white lights, casting a warm glow over the dance floor as couples begin to pair up.
Claire and her new husband spin in the center of it all, radiant.
It’s the kind of moment that makes even the most cynical person believe in fairytales for a few minutes.
Beck turns to me, that small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Dance with me?”
My heart does that silly skipping thing again. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He stands and offers his hand. I slide mine into his, and he leads me onto the dance floor with that easy confidence of his—like he belongs here, even though I know this isn’t his usual scene.
The music is soft, slow. He rests one hand against my back, warm and solid, and pulls me close. My arms loop around his neck, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his suit jacket.
For a few perfect minutes, everything fades.
The worry about Logan.
The weight of my parents.
The tension of Zach’s presence.
It’s just us, swaying in the soft golden light, his heartbeat thrumming against my chest, his thumb drawing lazy circles against my back.
“You look absolutely beautiful tonight, Soph,” Beck says, his eyes taking me in.
“You don’t look too bad yourself, Harrison,” I murmur, tilting my head back to look at him.
He smirks down at me. “Why, thank you.”
I laugh softly, resting my head against him again, breathing him in. He smells like fresh cologne and a hint of the soap he always uses after games. Safe. Familiar.
The song ends too soon, and we step off to the side of the dance floor, fingers still loosely intertwined. Beck leans down to say something, but the moment shatters when I see them making a beeline toward us.
My parents.
“Great,” I mutter under my breath.
Beck straightens subtly beside me, his hand finding the small of my back—not possessive, just there. Supportive.
“Sophie,” my mom says brightly, though the edge in her voice is unmistakable. “We didn’t know you added someone to the guest list.”
My dad stands slightly behind her, arms crossed. “We were under the impression your seat was open.”
I take a quiet breath. “Beck’s my date. Claire made sure he had a seat.”
My mom’s smile tightens. “Well, that’s certainly…unexpected.”
Dad’s eyes flick over Beck, assessing. “You know Zach’s family is here. It’s a little disrespectful to bring someone else.”
My stomach twists. “I don’t see how it’s disrespectful to bring my boyfriend to my sister’s wedding.”
Mom’s voice drops lower. “Sophie, we’ve been over this. Zach is a good match—”
Before she can finish, Beck steps in calmly, his tone level. “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, I appreciate you letting me be here tonight. I don’t want to cause any issues. Sophie and I are just here to celebrate Claire.”
His steadiness grounds me.
But my parents aren’t easily swayed. My dad’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t about Claire right now. It’s about appearances.”
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, a familiar voice cuts in.
“Actually,” Claire says, heels clicking against the wooden floor as she walks up, still somehow radiant even with her veil pinned back, “it’s exactly about me.”
Mom whirls toward her. “Claire, we’re just trying to talk to your sister—”
“No,” Claire says sharply, but not unkindly.
“You’re trying to make a scene at my wedding.
” She folds her hands in front of her, posture all bride-queen authority.
“You had months to talk about Zach. You had years to control what we did. But tonight? You can either find your seats and enjoy the reception, or you can leave.”
The air goes still.
Mom blinks like she’s been slapped. Dad’s mouth opens, then closes.
Claire gives them a tight, polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Those are the options. Your call.”
After a tense beat, Dad clears his throat and mutters something about “finding their table.” They retreat toward the far side of the tent, Mom still throwing me one last pointed look over her shoulder.
I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Claire looks at me, her expression softening immediately. “You okay?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. I think so.”
Her gaze shifts to Beck, who’s still standing beside me. “Glad you could make it,” she says with a small smile.
He grins back. “Wouldn’t have missed it. Congratulations.”
Claire squeezes my hand before floating back into the crowd like the composed, no-nonsense bride she is.
I turn to Beck, and the look on his face is pure, quiet support.
“I think I love your sister,” he murmurs. “But remind me to never get on her bad side.”
“Yeah,” I breathe, a laugh slipping out. “Me too.”
Just as dessert plates are cleared and the dance floor starts filling up again, Beck’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and his expression tightens instantly.
My stomach sinks. “Logan?”
He nods, already swiping to open the message. His eyes move across the screen slowly, jaw clenching.
I lean closer, keeping my voice low. “What does it say?”
He exhales through his nose, eyes still on the screen. “He’s at his buddy Cam’s place near campus until Monday. That’s when he can get in to see the orthopedic surgeon.” He swallows hard. “ACL, MCL, and meniscus. Triple tear.”
I whisper, “Oh, Beck…”
He locks the phone and rubs a hand over his jaw. For a second, his mask slips just enough for me to see the weight behind his eyes.
“That’s…a career changer,” he says quietly, not to me exactly, but to the space between us.
I reach for his hand under the table. He squeezes back, his thumb running over my knuckles once like he needs the anchor.
“He’ll have you,” I say softly. “Whatever happens. He’ll have you.”
Beck nods slowly, his throat bobbing. “Yeah. Yeah, he will.”
The band shifts into their final set, and Claire and her new husband appear at the entrance of the tent, hands intertwined, ready for the send-off.
Guests gather outside with sparklers in hand, the air cool and crisp.
Beck and I stand shoulder to shoulder, the glow of the sparklers reflecting in his eyes.
Claire beams as she and her husband run through the tunnel of light, laughter echoing behind them as the car pulls away into the night.
For a moment, it’s just the two of us at the edge of the crowd, a little bubble of quiet amid the celebration.
I turn to him. “Hey,” I say softly. “We actually have a room here tonight. Claire wanted me to have a place to stay in case things ran late.”
He blinks, surprised. “You do?”
I nod, trying—and failing—to fight the blush creeping up my neck. “Yeah. And…if you wanted to stay…I mean, you don’t have to drive back tonight.”
He shifts, that soft, crooked smile playing on his lips. “I don’t have clothes with me, Soph.”
My face warms even more, but I meet his gaze anyway. “I—um—grabbed your overnight bag from my dorm this morning. Just in case.”
For a beat, neither of us says anything.
His eyes find mine, searching. The cool night air swirls between us, full of possibility. There’s something in his look—unspoken but clear. A promise. Not necessarily of tonight, but of more. Of trust growing, hearts inching closer.
“Yeah?” he says softly, voice dipping.
“Yeah,” I breathe.
The noise of the crowd seems to fade around us as the moment stretches on, charged yet tender. His hand finds mine again, fingers lacing through with quiet certainty.