We’re stepping forward together—as husband and wife but more than that. As two people who’ve burned and risen and chosen each other in the ash.
And I let it hit me because for the first time in years, I’m not afraid to be seen. Not when she’s the one standing beside me.
We take the first step together down the aisle—slow, deliberate, her bouquet brushing against my jacket sleeve.
And as the string quartet swells behind us—“Can’t Help Falling in Love” filling the air—I lean in close.
“Tonight,” I whisper, lips grazing the shell of her ear, “I’m going to find that tattoo.”
She smiles—a whisper of victory in the curve of her lips. Not because she doubts me. But because she doesn’t.
“Happy hunting,” she whispers back.
And I walk into the rest of my life, hand in hand, with the only woman who’s ever made me fearless.
Chapter 25
Magnolia Sebring
The reception is still humming—champagne fizzing, candles flickering, floral fragrance heavy in the warm Sydney night—but it’s winding down.
A soft landing after the high.
Alex’s hand finds mine as we make our final rounds, saying goodbye to friends and family. Smiles are brighter with the blur of wine. Hugs linger longer. His mother pulls me in tight and whispers something in Samoan that I don’t catch all the words of, but I don’t need to. The kiss to my face says it all.
My cheeks are flushed—not from the champagne but from this beautiful emotion. This joy is overwhelming, a reward for surviving all the storms we didn’t think we could.
Violet catches me by the wrist before we slip away, still holding the bouquet I made sure she caught. Her eyes are dewy, her lipstick faded. “I made sure it’s perfect,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Everything you asked for.”
Gratitude snags in my throat. “Thank you.”
She winks. “Now go ruin that lingerie in the best way possible.”
Outside, our guests form two lines beneath an archway of soft golden lights strung between the courtyard hedges. In their hands: lit sparklers, golden and fizzing, casting warm trails of light into the night.
Violet wraps her arms around Elias and mouths something into his ear, and his smile spreads.
The air crackles as we step into the path together, fingers laced. The sparklers hiss and glow, framing us in firelight and joy.
The photos will be stunning.
Alex leans in, voice low. “Promise me we’ll still light things up this way when we’re old and gray.”
I smile. “Only if you promise to still chase me to the bedroom.”
“Never doubt it.”
Laughter and cheers swell around us. Someone shouts “Kiss her!”—and he does. Quick but charged, a small preview of what’s to come when we get upstairs.
We pause at the edge, kiss once for the crowd—quick but full of heat—and break into a soft jog through the glowing, glistening tunnel of sparkles.
We slip through the side door into the quieter wing of the hotel, where the carpet softens our steps and everything slows to a hush. The private elevator waits. Alex steps in first, turns, and offers me his hand.
“Mrs. Sebring.”
“Such a gentleman,” I say, and he tugs me to him before the doors glide shut.
The elevator hums to life, and I lean into him, voice low, sweetened with memory. “You remember the first time we took this ride?”
