I wouldn’t have had the chance to fall in love with my husband.
“Fucking hell,” I exhale, resisting the urge to scrub my hands over my face. “So you knew the truth about that night all along? And you just let me lie about it?”
She nods, trying to tamp down a smirk and losing. “It was funny watching you keep trying to dig yourself out of it.”
“God, you’re such a—” I cut myself short before I say something too mean, then finish with, “Honestly, you’re a conniving genius and you deserve a medal for this bullshit.”
Daphne doesn’t hold back a grin this time as she stands. “I’ll settle for a shout-out in your toast at the reception.” Her gaze drifts to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. “Speaking of, it’s about that time. You ready to marry this man again?”
That’s not even a question in my mind. “Yeah. I am.”
“Are you at least sober?”
“Not even a sip of alcohol today,” I swear. “Learned my lesson.”
“Good.” She brushes off the front of her dress, letting the silence hang for a moment as an air of seriousness settles back in. “I’m glad you two found each other. Thomas is exactly who you needed.”
I agree. It feels like sheer luck, and I’m glad that whatever force controlling it decided to be on my side. Because—as scary as it is to admit to myself—I’ve fallen for Thomas. I mean, Iliterally ran in heels for that man. You can’t tell me that’s not love.
“Congrats, Stella,” Daphne says, softer this time. “Now go get your happily ever after.”
When Iris told me the wedding would be held on the manor grounds, I didn’t think I’d be having another church wedding. But lo and behold, there’s an old stone chapel not far from the house, surrounded by lush rolling hills and the best views millions of pounds can buy.
It’s barely big enough to hold the hundred people invited to the ceremony, and certainly wouldn’t fit the hundred more expected to be at the reception, but it’s perfectly rustic, covered in ivy and flowers brought in from greenhouses around the country. It’s nothing like the sweepingly modern church I chose for my first wedding, and yet this feels so much more like me.
Outside the chapel, I stand with my mom and dad on the narrow pathway leading down from the house, listening to the happy murmurings of the people already inside. I’m slated to make my entrance in a few minutes, and I’m using these last moments of peace to try to ease my nerves. Then again, I’m not sure how peaceful it’s going to be with the way my mother is looking at me and wringing her hands.
We haven’t spoken one-on-one yet, even though she’s been here since yesterday for the wedding rehearsal and the dinner after. There have been plenty of opportunities, sure, but every time we face each other, the words die out for both of us.I’m sorry for pushing you away, I want to tell her.I couldn’t keep facing your disappointment.But that sentiment won’t leave me until I hear what she has to say first. I’m stubborn and I got it from her.
“I need to say something before we go in,” she announces.
I try to share a glance with Dad to see if he can give me any hints as to what this is going to be about, but he’s pointedly looking away.
“Okay,” I exhale as I grip my bouquet tighter. “Go ahead.”
Mom purses her lips for a moment, like she’s trying to conjure something difficult. But then her expression relaxes and she’s reaching out to grip my shoulders, pulling me in so she’s all I can see.
“I’m sorry I doubted your feelings for Thomas,” she says. “And I’m so, so sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me because of that. I never wanted you to have to choose between him and us.”
It’s clear who I chose, though, considering this is the first time we’ve had a real conversation since Thanksgiving. But she’s still shown up for one of the biggest days of my life and I’m just happy to have my mom with me.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, and I mean it. There’s no animosity on my end, nothing that will overshadow my connection with Thomas. “I get why you doubted us. But you’re here supporting us now and that’s all I want.”
She frowns a little, probably surprised that I’m letting this go so easily. When her smile lifts again, it’s full of both love and relief.
“I hope he makes you happy,” she murmurs as she pulls me tightly against her. “That’s all I want for you, Stella.”
I hug her back and whisper, “No one’s ever made me happier.”
When I pull back again, the wedding planner is standing off to the side, waving to get my attention. It’s finally time.
“You ready?” Dad asks, eyes already shimmering with tears, but if he cries, I’ll cry too.
“I’m ready,” I reply, and then link my arms through his and mom’s.
It’s a tight squeeze through the doors of the church and down the aisle, but I barely notice. I’m too focused on Thomas at the altar—on my future in front of me.
We spent last night apart in a show of respect for tradition, and in the dark of my bedroom, I feared all the things that could go wrong today. What if he turned and bolted, just like Étienne? What if he wasn’t there when I showed up? What if he stayed but obviously didn’t want to be there?
