Chapter 31 Adrienne
Adrienne
One Year Later…
The bridal suite looks like a bomb went off., one filled with tulle, champagne, and screaming toddlers.
Brooklyn is chasing her twins in circles, Amelia is wrestling with the cork on another bottle while she tells us which specific grapes were used for it, and Dolly is brandishing a curling iron like it’s a cattle prod.
“Can we please get one more group selfie!” Milly says over the madness, her tenth request in as many minutes.
I stand in the middle of the storm, satin, corseted gown fitted to every curve, my veil draped carefully over a chair. My mimosa is untouched in my hand, bubbles going flat while my heart beats so hard I swear everyone can hear it.
“Don’t even breathe too hard,” Dolly orders, spraying another layer of hairspray around me like I’m being preserved for a museum. “If you get anything on this couture gown, I’ll personally murder you.”
I laugh, nerves fizzing under my skin. I smooth a shaky hand down my stomach and take another look at myself in the mirror. The dress is stunning; it came out better than I could have imagined. I look into my own eyes in the mirror, taking it all in.
God, this is it. In a few hours, I’ll be Adrienne Slade-Bescher.
“Where’s Amethyst?” I ask, scanning the room.
“She’s right here,” Milly says, spinning her in a little circle while Dolly gets the final touches done to her hair. My niece has half a macaron stuffed into her mouth, pink crumbs trailing down her dress. “Shit,” Milly wipes at the crumbs, hoping I don’t notice.
Brooklyn groans. “If my kids get frosting on Adrienne’s train, I’m disowning them.”
“Just blame it on their dad,” Amelia says with a grin, finally managing to pop the champagne. Foam shoots everywhere, sending Milly shrieking and Amethyst squealing with laughter.
It’s funny all the things you think you’ll care about on your wedding day just fade away when it hits you that you’re about to be a wife.
This is real. I’m about to walk down that aisle. To Scotty.
“Breathe, Barbie bride,” Milly teases, catching my wide-eyed stare.
“I am breathing,” I whisper, but my chest feels too tight. “I just… I can’t believe he’s about to be mine. Him. All of it.”
“Oh, sweetie," Milly’s chin starts to quiver. She pulls me in for a hug. “I felt the same when I was about to walk down the aisle to Trent. It’s the best feeling in the world.”
Of course, Dolly ruins the moment with a dramatic sigh. “If you cry now, I’m layering so much waterproof mascara you’ll look like a raccoon in every photo.”
The room bursts into laughter again. Juniper rushes in, assuring us that the men are actually all ready, something that shocks them all. And me, I just keep glancing at the door. Waiting for when the noise will fall away and Dad will walk in.
Because that’s when it’ll hit hardest. When my dad sees me in this gown and realizes I’m not just his little girl anymore. I’m Scotty’s.
And when that happens, I know the tears are coming, and there will be no stopping them. The chaos slowly ebbs when the coordinator pokes her head into the suite and announces, “Five minutes.”
Suddenly, everyone is scrambling with final lipstick touch-ups, fluffing skirts, and grabbing bouquets. My cousins file out in a blur of satin and perfume, leaving me alone in the echo of my own heartbeat.
The door creaks again. And then it’s Dad, standing in the doorway with eyes already glassy.
He fills the doorway in his dark suit, a sight that is only reserved for weddings or funerals.
For a moment, neither of us moves. He just stares at me like he’s still trying to reconcile the little girl who used to trail him through the pastures with a rope in her hand and dirt on her jeans with the woman in a gown, about to be another man’s wife.
“Wow,” he rasps, voice breaking. “You look… Adrienne, you look like your mom on our wedding day.”
That’s it. The tears come. I press my hands to my face, careful not to smudge my makeup, laughing through a sob. “Dad, don’t say that. You’ll ruin my makeup.”
He walks to me slowly, as if he moves too fast, the moment might shatter. When his hands cup my shoulders, warm and steady, I feel ten years old all over again.
“I need you to hear something,” he says, his voice catching. “I wasn’t easy on you about Scotty. I worried. Hell, I doubted him, even after our talk. But you… You’ve always known what was best for you. Even when I couldn’t see it.”
My throat closes. This is the man who grilled Scotty at the dinner table. The man I’ve been terrified of disappointing my whole life. And now…
“I’m proud of you,” Dad continues, his thumb brushing a tear off my cheek. “Not because of the career, or the degrees, or the Slade name. Because you fought for your heart. You didn’t settle for what looked right on paper. You waited for the man who makes you light up like this.”
I glance past him, through the open French doors leading onto the terrace.
The venue sprawls out into the mountains—rows of white chairs lined beneath towering pines, wildflowers blooming at the edge of the clearing, snow-capped peaks painting the horizon.
The Colorado sky is endless, a deep blue that makes the air itself feel holy.
And at the far end of that aisle, I know Scotty Bescher is waiting.
My lips tremble around a smile. “He really does, Dad. He makes me light up, like no one ever has. He just—he’s everything.”
Dad exhales, rough and shaky, before pulling me into his chest. For a moment, I breathe in his cologne and the crisp mountain air drifting in, letting myself just be his little girl again.
Then he pulls back, blinking fast, clearing his throat. “Let’s get you married before I lose it completely.” But then he notices my necklace. He smiles, his chin starting to quiver as he reaches out and picks up the locket. “I didn’t know you still had this.”
“Scotty found it,” I whisper. “Back when we were working on the Mustang. I thought I’d lost it years ago.”
He stares at the photo for several seconds before pulling me in for another tight hug. Then, he clears his throat, coughing. “Okay, enough of that, time for me to walk my baby down the aisle to her future.”
I loop my arm through his, steadying both of us. My heart is pounding, but it feels like the mountain itself is holding me up.
“Let’s do it,” I whisper, eyes locked on the breathtaking view that leads straight to Scotty.
The music swells. Soft strings floating across the mountain air, carried by the breeze. Dad squeezes my hand, and together we step through the open terrace doors.
The aisle is lined with familiar faces, smiling at me, dabbing at their eyes. The Rockies stretch high and endless behind the altar. The whole venue looks like something out of a dream. But all I see is him.
Scotty stands at the end of the aisle in a tux, a matching black cowboy hat, and boots that make him look both rugged and devastatingly handsome.
His hands are clasped in front of him, broad shoulders squared, but his face, god, his face nearly breaks me.
He looks wrecked. Raw. Like he’s holding back everything just to keep standing upright.
My chest aches with every step closer.
He’s mine. This man, who once swore he could never be enough. This man who made me fight tooth and nail to get through that stubborn heart of his. Mine.
Gasps and sniffles ripple through the crowd when Dad presses a kiss to my temple and places my hand in Scotty’s.
His palm is rough, steady, but shaking ever so slightly against mine.
His eyes glisten, a huge smile on his face, and when he whispers, “You are so beautiful, I can’t believe I’ma bout to marry you,” I almost forget there’s an entire audience holding their breath around us.
The officiant’s words blur. I barely hear the prayers, the readings, the laughter when one of Brooklyn’s twins yells, “Kiss already!”
All I hear is Scotty’s vows. His voice is gravelly, rough with emotion.
“I never thought I’d stand here. I figured a man like me didn’t get this.
Didn’t get you. But you fought for me. You made me believe I was worth loving.
And I swear, Adrienne, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving you were right. ”
Tears stream freely down my face now, makeup be damned.
My own vows shake as I get them out. “I used to think love had to look perfect. That it had to check all the right boxes. But you taught me that love is showing up, day after day, even when it’s messy.
You are my everything, Scotty Bescher. My safe place. My heart. I choose you. Forever.”
By the time the officiant pronounces us husband and wife, half the Slades are sobbing into tissues. Dolly is fanning herself like she might faint, Milly is openly weeping, and Dad looks like he’s trying not to tackle Scotty in a hug.
“Now,” the officiant says with a smile, “kiss your bride.”
Scotty doesn’t waste a second. He slides one hand around the back of my neck, the other around my waist, and pulls me in for a toe-curling kiss that ends with me dipped back in his arms. The crowd erupts into a fit of cheers, but all I feel is him.
My husband.
The reception tent glows like a lantern against the mountainside. Scotty’s hand never leaves mine. Not through the photos, not through the walk into the tent where everyone rises to cheer, not even when Tyler and Trent start chanting “kiss, kiss, kiss” like we’re still teenagers at a bonfire.
Our first dance is a memory I’ll never forget.
The way he looked at me as he held me, the promises he whispered in my ear as we moved across the floor.
His hands are big and sure at my waist, my cheek tucked against his chest. The song melts around us, the rest of the room falling away.
By the time the toasts begin, I’m floating.