A small smile touches my mouth. I love how he weaves our children into his vows as if they are already a part of us.
“I will teach them the language of our love—and the language of our people. And I will spend my life showing you, and them, what love truly means.”
My hands tremble as I prepare to make my vows to him. When I speak, it’s not merely with my voice—but with everything I am.
“Alex, you walked into my life as if you’d always been part of it. And from that first moment, everything in my life made sense.”
My voice catches, but I press on, heart wide open.
“Together, we’ll build a life that’s both beautiful and grounded—one rooted in truth, held up by love, and made strong through grace. We will protect what matters most. When the storms come, I’ll meet them beside you, never behind.”
My fingers tighten around his, the emotion thick in my throat.
“Our children will know who they are. They’ll grow up with your strength in their bones and the names of their ancestors etched in their hearts. They’ll learn that tradition isn’t only something we carry—it carries us. It’s living, breathing, sacred, and so is the love that will raise them.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and I don’t brush it away.
“I am yours, Alex Sebring. Not just for now or on the easy days. But for always.”
The elder steps forward, offering us the woven bands. No gold, no diamonds. Just fibers—threaded with memory, dyed with meaning.
Alex lifts my hand, sliding the woven band over my finger, and I do the same for him.
No glitter. No gold. Just something strong. Handcrafted. Intentional.
A promise sealed not with sparkle but with substance.
With roots.
A hush moves through the circle, the wind catching the hem of my dress as Alex leans in and presses his lips to mine—soft, sure, and anchoring.
A beginning.
He pulls back enough to breathe against my ear, voice low and full of that teasing warmth only I get. “We’re married now. We don’t have to practice fa’aaloalo anymore.”
My breath hitches—part laugh, part memory.
Fa’aaloalo. The Samoan code of respect that kept us in separate beds the last time we were here. That had Alex sneaking soft kisses behind doors and me falling asleep with the ache of wanting what I couldn’t yet have. It was sacred. And it was frustrating as hell.
But now?
Now there’s nothing between us but forever.
I laugh before I can catch it—joyful, light, unfiltered.
I forgot to tell Violet that she and Elias get to practice fa’aaloalo while we’re here. She’ll love that.
Bahahaha.
I can already picture her face—equal parts betrayal and disbelief—when she realizes that instead of having a romantic week with Elias in this beautiful paradise, it’s going to be the most frustrating week of her life. The sort of frustration that only cultural respect and separate sleeping quarters can deliver.
She’ll survive.
Barely.
Laughter still soft on my lips, I turn to Alex and thread our fingers together. The celebration hums behind us—voices rising in rhythm, the scent of roasted pork and taro sweet in the air, plates passed hand to hand.
While the others lay out the feast, I take Alex’s hand and lead him away from the gathering—to the part of the fale where the mat waits.
