Chapter 28
GAGE
The first note hits and I forget how to breathe.
This isn’t the song I was expecting. The one we chose for her to walk down the aisle to. And I know without her having to tell me that this is a song she wrote for me. It’s got her fingerprints all over it.
The strings come in first. Low and slow. Not delicate or soft. Just . . . aching. Like a memory pulled itself into sound. Then the piano follows. It’s quiet and raw. A little hurt in every note, as if she poured all the parts of us into it and let them find their way back together.
It starts fragile, and I know it’s her remembering what we survived. Then it builds—more instruments, more breath—until it feels alive. Fierce and certain.
It’s her, and it’s us. The storm, and the love we built from it.
Amelia never needed lyrics to say what she feels. I can hear it in every goddamn note.
Every second of this woman’s love feels like something she’s composed just for me.
My heart misfires when she walks through the doors. She’s so fucking beautiful it ruins me. Every damn time.
I don’t look away. Not once.
I already saw the dress earlier, for five seconds, maybe. Enough to know it’s beautiful.
But I don’t give a fuck about the dress.
It’s her face. Her eyes. The way her heart shows up in all of it. That’s what affects me.
Every muscle in my body goes tight. I can feel my pulse in my throat, my jaw, my hands.
I have to wait here, but every instinct in me is pulling forward. I want to meet her halfway. Instead, I hold my ground. Barely.
Tim’s crying before she even reaches the aisle. Colin’s got that look he gets when he’s trying not to. The girls are ahead of her, giggling.
And Amelia. Christ, she’s glowing. But there’s also something else. A dreamy quality to the way she’s moving. Her smile is soft and a little too serene, and when her eyes meet mine, they’re bright. So bright.
She’s still high. Not as high as she was on the floor examining carpet fibers, but definitely not sober. And she’s trying so fucking hard to act normal that it almost kills me not to laugh.
And that’s when it hits me. Fully hits me. This is our family. But more than that, it’s so fucking real it threatens to bring me to my knees.
This beautiful woman doesn’t pretend.
She’s wild. Emotional. Stubborn as hell.
Honest, brave, and so tender it undoes me.
She doesn’t hold back. Not her love. Not her fury. Not her laughter or tears.
She cried her makeup off today. On our wedding day. She didn’t try to stop her tears or her emotions. She just let it happen. No shame. No rush to fix it. She just looked at me like I was her whole world, told me she loved me, and said she’d bury a body for me.
That moment was what love looks like when it’s not trying to be pretty. What trust looks like when it’s built.
Amelia has given me her whole damn heart and trusts me to hold it. In the good moments and the bad ones. Especially the bad ones.
When she’s overwhelmed and lashing out.
When I’ve fucked up and don’t know how to fix it.
When the world’s too loud and neither of us can breathe.
No one’s ever done that for me before. And it means more than she will ever know.
When she reaches the halfway point, her eyes flick toward the front row. I follow her gaze and see her parents. Her mother’s already crying. Her father’s not. And she didn’t get any time with them before the ceremony because they arrived later than they said they would.
I know what that costs her. I know every version of that ache. And I hate it for her.
But then her focus comes back to me and she keeps walking.
Step by step.
Toward me.
Toward us.
When she gets about ten feet away, she mouths something at me that looks like “I’m so floaty” and I can’t suppress my smile.
Fuck, this woman is my everything.
Then she reaches the end of the aisle and Colin and Tim stop beside her. They look at me—one protective, one emotional, both proud—and then they each place one of her hands in mine.
The second her skin touches mine, everything in me settles.
Noise fades. Guests blur.
It’s just her.
Always her.
Her fingers curl around mine and she squeezes. Hard. As if she’s steadying herself. When I glance down at her, she whispers, “I was on the floor earlier. Examining things. It was very spiritual. Just wanted you to be aware of that.”
I smile again. “I know, Princess. I was there.”
“Oh.” She blinks. “Right. You saw that.”
She exhales, slowly. She’s nervous.
I lean in close, bringing my mouth to her ear so only she can hear me. “You with me?”
A spark lights in her eyes. The kind that says she remembers the last time I said those words to her. When we stood in front of a stranger and exchanged vows that the world doesn’t know about.
She nods, breath shaky.
I let the corner of my mouth lift. “Good. Because if you cry again, Tim’s gonna murder me for ruining his masterpiece twice.”
A loud laugh escapes her, which causes our families to laugh too. She claps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, and whispers through her fingers, “Oh my god, I just laughed at my own wedding. That’s not normal bride behavior.”
“You’re not a normal bride.” And thank fuck.
“That’s fair.”
The officiant starts speaking, but I barely hear him. Something about love, about forever. About promises that mean something. But my forever’s right here. In front of me. Eyes locked on mine. And she’s all I can focus on.
When it’s time to speak, my voice doesn’t want to work. I get the words out anyway. I promise Amelia forever and mean every word of it.
She says “I do” like it’s the easiest thing she’s ever said. Then, she adds, “Like, so much. You have no idea. I would do it three times. Four times even.”
There’s a ripple of laughter from our families.
Her eyes flare wide and she looks at the officiant. “Sorry. Was that too much? I’m—” she glances at me, then back at him “—very emotional today.”
“You’re perfect,” I murmur.
Then it’s time for the rings.
I slide hers on slowly, deliberately, because I want her to feel what it means.
That she’s mine. That she chose me.
That now the whole fucking world gets to see it.
She stares at the ring on her finger and whispers, “It’s so shiny. Like, is it supposed to glow like that?”
“It’s just the light, Princess.”
“Oh.” She looks up at me with adoring eyes. “You’re so smart. And pretty. Has anyone told you you’re pretty today?”
I hear Ethan snort-laugh.
She takes my ring next, and with slightly shaky fingers, concentrates way too hard on getting it past my knuckle.
When it’s on, she exhales as if she just accomplished something monumental.
“I did it,” she whispers proudly. Then looks at the officiant.
“I put it on the right hand, didn’t I? This is the ring hand? ”
“Yes,” he confirms, visibly amused.
For one heartbeat, she looks up at me with so much love that I’m gone.
I lean in, mouth brushing her ear. “You finally marked me, Princess.” My voice drops to gravel. “And I swear on everything—this mark’s permanent.”
“Forever and ever,” she breathes. “Even when I’m being weird on the carpet. Even when the chair and I are in a relationship.”
My lips pull up. “Especially then.”
After that, the world narrows to five words: You may kiss the bride.
My hand slides to her jaw, my other to her waist, and I pull her in. Her lips part against mine, soft and sure, and the second I taste her, restraint stops existing.
The room disappears. Our families, the candles, the air itself. None of it matters. It’s just her mouth, her breath, her fingers curling into my jacket where they belong.
I kiss her until the cheers blur into static, until she smiles against my mouth, until the world feels exactly as it should.
When I finally pull back, she’s breathless and shining. Her lipstick is definitely smudged again, and her eyes are still that dreamy, glassy bright, but she’s never looked more beautiful.
I take a second, memorizing how she looks in this moment.
Glowing and fucking radiant.
Kissed breathless.
Still a little stoned.
My wife.