It doesn’t take me long to face the getting-ready chaos outside my bedroom door. It’s exactly what I need to quiet my nerves.
Nadira wields the curling iron with alarming confidence. “Trust me, Laney. Volume. This is your wedding day—go big or go home.”
“She’s already home,” Emma points out, carefully applying mascara. “Natural beauty is perfectly fine.”
“Natural beauty enhanced by strategic product application,” Nadira counters.
I catch Georgia’s eye in the mirror, and we both suppress smiles.
An hour later, I’m staring at my reflection. The dress is simple—ivory lace over silk, with sleeves that fall off my shoulders. Nadira’s given me soft waves. Emma’s makeup is natural but luminous.
“Ryder’s going to lose his mind when he sees you,” Emma says.
A soft knock, then Dad’s voice: “Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
He appears in the doorway, wearing a suit I’ve never seen before, looking handsome and distinguished. When he sees me, his eyes immediately shine with emotion.
“Oh, Sunshine,” he whispers, voice breaking.
Emma diplomatically ushers Nadira out, giving us privacy.
We stand here for a moment, both feeling more emotion than words can express as we hold each other.
“Twenty years,” he finally manages. “I missed twenty years. But honey, being here today, getting to walk you down that aisle—” His voice catches. “This is everything.”
“I’m grateful too,” I tell him. “For all of it. Even the years we lost. Because they led us here.”
He takes a shaky breath, composing himself. “You ready, Sunshine?”
I take one last look in the mirror. My hair, my dress, my face—all ready. But deeper than that, my spirit is steady.
“What are we waiting for?” My voice wavers, but my heart is sure.
The hum of conversation fades to a hush as I take Dad’s arm, the scent of pine and wildflowers thick in the air. The walk down the aisle is surreal.
Everyone stands as Dad and I appear at the top of the meadow path. A simple acoustic guitar version of “At Last” drifts through the mountain air.
But I barely hear it. Because at the end of that aisle, under an archway bursting with wildflowers, Ryder is waiting.
He’s wearing a suit tailored specifically for his frame—dark gray that brings out the green of his skin. His hair is pulled backneatly, and his amber gaze is locked on me with an intensity that makes my knees weak.
As we get closer, I see the shine in his eyes, the way he draws a slow, steady breath like he’s fighting to keep it together. Kam, standing as best male, offers him a handkerchief. Ryder just shakes his head with a quiet laugh.
I guess I’m crying enough tears for both of us. Through the shimmer of tears, the meadow watercolor light, but I can still see Ryder’s giant form.
When the officiant asks, “Who gives this woman in marriage?” Dad’s voice wavers.
“I-I do.”
Just those two words, but they carry the weight of twenty years of waiting, of hoping, of never giving up on his daughter.
He kisses my cheek, then places my hand in Ryder’s.
Ryder’s hands dwarf mine, warm and solid and steady.
“Hi,” I whisper.
