"I want to build a life with you. With Karla. With all the chaos that comes with it. I want to wake up beside you every day and still be in awe that you chose me. So, will you do me the honor of being my wife?"
Tears slid down her cheeks, glittering in the sunset.
"Yes," she whispered. Then louder, "Yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes."
I slipped the ring onto her finger, stood, and pulled her into me. Her arms wrapped tight around my neck, and I kissed her like I’d waited a lifetime.
The wind howled around us, the world bathed in golden light, and for the first time, everything was still.
This was it.
She was my beginning.
And my forever.
As we stood on that cliff, the sun dipping beneath the edge of the earth, Brittany leaned into me, her head on my chest.
"You know what I realized today?" she said.
"What’s that?"
"I’m not afraid anymore. Not of love. Not of moving forward. Not even of becoming someone’s wife."
I kissed her forehead. "You’ve always been brave. You just forgot for a while."
She smiled, eyes on the ring glinting in the last of the sunlight. "We’re really doing this, huh?"
"Yeah, baby," I said, holding her tighter. "We really are."
I never believed I deserved a happy ending. But this — this woman, this moment, this life — it was better than any ending.
It was a beginning.
Epilogue
Brittany
The scent of roses drifted in the air like music—faint, sweet, intentional. Everything around me glowed. Not from the chandeliers dripping with crystals or the thousands of fairy lights strung like stars across the glass dome above us, but from the warmth in my chest, the kind that only love this real could bring.
I stood in the bridal suite, staring at myself in the mirror. My dress—custom Chanel—was everything I had ever imagined and more. Inspired by Sofia Richie’s timeless gown but elevated, more sophisticated, with delicate hand-embroidered lace at the bodice, a drop waist that hugged every curve with regal confidence, and a dramatic cathedral-length veil trailing behind me like a queen’s shadow. I looked... like someone else. No, notsomeone else. Like the version of myself I had fought so damn hard to become.
"You’re glowing," Corinne whispered behind me. She adjusted my veil, her eyes glassy. She looked breathtaking herself in a sleek champagne satin gown that clung to her statuesque figure like liquid moonlight.
I swallowed, blinking back the tears. "I’m scared I’ll ruin my makeup."
"Who cares," Tate said, bursting through the doorway in his dusty-rose tailored tux, holding a flute of champagne in one hand and my bouquet in the other. "You’re the bride. Ruin the damn makeup. Sob. Scream. Marry that man and let us ugly cry with you."
Sylvia laughed from her chair, reapplying her lipstick. "Tate, sit down before you spill champagne on the bride’s veil."
"Bride butler privileges!" he announced, prancing to my side with a mock bow. "Your bouquet, Your Royal Hotness."
I took it, smiling at the soft pink peonies and ivory gardenias, wrapped in white silk ribbon. My hands trembled slightly.
“Deep breath,” Corinne said gently. “You’re not just marrying anyone. You’re marrying Aceson. He’s your home.”
A knock interrupted us.
“Karla wants to see her bride,” someone called from the door.
