15. Elise
— ? —
Elise
Six Months Later
We get married on a Saturday in September.
Not at the Reid estate - God, no. Not at the Monarch Hotel, either, with its memories of champagne and humiliation. We choose somewhere new. Somewhere ours.
A small vineyard outside the city, with rolling hills and ancient oaks and a ceremony space overlooking the valley. Fifty guests instead of two hundred. No string quartet, just a friend of Dominic’s who plays guitar and owes him a favor.
Maya is my maid of honor. She cries through the entire ceremony, which she will deny until her dying day.
“I’m not crying,” she hisses when I catch her wiping her eyes during the vows. “There’s something in my eye.”
“Both eyes?”
“Shut up and marry your man.”
I do.
The officiant is a woman Dominic defended years ago - wrongfully accused, charges dropped, now ordained and delighted to return the favor. She keeps the ceremony short and sweet.
“Do you, Dominic Reid, take this woman to be your wife?”
“I do.” His voice doesn’t waver. Neither do his eyes, fixed on mine like I’m the only person in the world.
“And do you, Elise Monroe, take this man to be your husband?”
I think about the last time I stood at an altar. The white dress, the two hundred guests, the man who promised me forever while sleeping with someone else.
This is nothing like that.
This is real.
“I do.”
“Then by the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” She grins. “You may kiss your bride.”
Dominic cups my face in his hands - gently, reverently, like I’m something precious - and kisses me.
The guests cheer. Maya sobs. Somewhere, a cork pops.
And I think: This is what it was supposed to feel like all along.
***
The reception is small and perfect and everything our wedding was supposed to be.
We eat. We drink. We dance under string lights while the sun sets over the vineyard. Dominic spins me across the floor and dips me dramatically, making me laugh so hard I nearly fall over.
“Careful,” he says, catching me. “I just married you. I’d hate to break you already.”
“You couldn’t break me if you tried.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“It’s a fact.”
He grins, pulling me close. “I love you, Mrs. Monroe-Reid.”
“I love you too, Mr. Monroe-Reid.”
“Wait, that’s not-”
“If I’m hyphenating, so are you.”
He laughs. “Deal.”
We dance until my feet ache and my cheeks hurt from smiling. Then we slip away while the guests are distracted, driving to a hotel suite we booked for the night.
Tomorrow, we’ll fly to Italy for two weeks. But tonight - tonight is just for us.