Chapter Forty The Wedding
Chapter Forty
The Wedding
Scarlett
I always thought that if I got married, I’d elope.
Courthouse, black dress, maybe a bouquet of snacks.
But standing here—barefoot in the grass under a canopy of string lights, holding hands with the man who once called romance novels “training manuals,” while Rip trots down the aisle—I don’t want to be anywhere else.
It’s perfect.
Messy, loud, our kind of perfect.
Harper’s crying into Lucy’s shoulder. Bennett is holding the rings and looks more nervous than we do. Chase’s teammates fill two rows, all massive and oddly emotional. My parents are here too—seated together, talking softly. That alone feels like a miracle.
And then there’s Chase.
Captain of the Dallas Stampede.
The guy who once bribed a bookstore to restock my novel.
The man who kissed me like a promise and then kept it.
And somehow, impossibly, he’s mine.
The officiant is saying something—something about partnership and patience and always putting the toilet seat down—but I’m not really listening.
Because Chase is looking at me like I’m his whole world. And I’m looking at him like he’s mine.
When it’s time to say our vows, he goes first.
“I knew I loved you the second you threatened to throw a latte at me,” he says, and everyone laughs. “You were chaos wrapped in sarcasm, and I couldn’t look away.”
I roll my eyes through a tear.
“You’ve made me better,” he says, his voice thick. “Not perfect. Just… real. You challenge me. Steady me. And every time I look at you, I’m reminded that I don’t want to face this world without you next to me, preferably while yelling at a referee.”
Laughter erupts again, and now I’m crying. Awesome.
“My vow,” he finishes, “is that I’ll show up. For all of it. For you. For us. Always.”
I sniff once. Twice. Then clear my throat.
“My turn.”
Chase smiles and waits.
“I used to think love was a trick ending,” I say. “Something that looked pretty on paper but always fell apart in real life. But then you showed up. With confidence, with swagger, with a stupidly good jawline and a dog I’m pretty sure loves me more than you do.”
Rip barks softly, and the crowd loses it.
“You didn’t save me,” I say. “You saw me. You made space for me. And then you stayed, even when I tried to push you away with every defense mechanism in the book.”
I reach for his hand. “So here’s mine… I’ll keep showing up too. I’ll write every chapter with you, even the hard ones.”
A pause.
“And I’ll try really hard not to kill you if you leave laundry on the floor.”
He laughs, his eyes bright. “Fair.”
We kiss. Someone cheers. Rip spins in a circle like he knows it’s official.
And just like that, we’re married.
I thought I’d feel scared—instead, I feel settled.
Happy.
Ugh, I’m probably one of those people now.
Whatever. Hashtag—worth it!