She reaches the platform, and I take her hand. It’s trembling, or maybe that’s mine. “I have one more thing to say,” I tell the room, but I’m looking only at her. “Actually, I have one more thing to ask.”
Her eyes widen, and I hear my mama gasp somewhere behind us. She knew I was going to ask, she just didn’t know when.
This is it. This is the moment I’ve been planning for months, rehearsing in my head, playing out a thousand different ways. I reach into my pocket, and my hand closes around the small velvet box that’s been burning a hole there all evening.
I get down on one knee, right there in the center of my gallery, in front of everyone we love, and I open the box.
The gasp that ripples through the crowd is like a wave, but I’m only aware of Snow, of her sharp intake of breath, of the way her whole body is shaking.
“Snow, will you marry me?” I ask, my voice breaking on the words.
For one terrifying moment, she’s completely still. Silent. And then she’s nodding, frantically, tears streaming down her face.
“Yes,” she chokes out.
The room erupts in applause and cheers, but I’m focused on sliding the ring onto her finger. It fits perfectly, like I knew it would.
Snow throws her arms around my neck, and I stand, lifting her off her feet, and kiss her. When we break apart, I see our parents rushing forward. My mama hugs Snow first, then Rain, then they’re all hugging both of us. River shakes my hand with tears running down his weathered face. My dad claps me on the shoulder and says, “That’s my boy.”
Snow pulls back to look at me, her mascara running, her hair falling out of its updo, her smile brighter than any photograph I’ve ever taken. “You proposed in your gallery,” she says, laughing through her tears. “In front of everyone. On opening night.”
“I wanted everyone to know,” I tell her. “I wanted our parents to be here. I wanted to do this in the place we built together.”
“It’s perfect,” she whispers. “You’re perfect.”
“I’m not perfect. But I’m real. And I’m yours.”
“Mine,” she agrees, looking down at the ring on her finger. “And I’m yours.”
This is real. This is my life. And it’s better than any fantasy I ever pretended to live.
Epilogue
Snow
Iwake to the smell of coffee and my mother’s cinnamon rolls, a scent so deeply embedded in my childhood memories it feels like a dream. For a moment, I’m disoriented, the unfamiliar weight of the handmade quilt heavy on my legs. Then, my eyes flutter open, and I realise I’m in my childhood bedroom, the morning sun filtering through the same faded floral curtains that have hung here for thirty years.
It’s my wedding day.
The farm is humming with a happy, chaotic energy that is the perfect embodiment of our two families colliding. I pad barefoot into the kitchen and find a scene of beautiful, harmonious chaos. My father, his graying ponytail bouncing as he gestures with his hands, is in a deep, earnest conversation about the merits of dovetail joints with Wyatt’s dad. In the living room, my mom, wildflowers in her hair, is laying out tarot cards for Wyatt’s mama, who is leaning forward with a delighted, conspiratorial grin on her face. The Four of Wands. Celebration, homecoming, and harmony. It’s perfect.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and slip out onto the front porch, the worn wooden planks cool beneath my feet. I look down at the sapphire ring on my finger, remembering the night Wyatt proposed. Six months ago, at his gallery opening, in front of everyone we loved. I’d been so surprised when he called me up to the platform, thinking it was just another sweet acknowledgment like at the Huntington Arts Center. But then he got down on one knee, right there in the center of his dream made real, and asked me to spend forever with him.
For a heartbeat, I couldn’t speak, overcome with emotion, and then I said yes.
I smile at the memory, turning the ring on my finger, watching it catch the morning light.
Nico finds me a few minutes later, looking impossibly chic in a silk jumpsuit, a glass of champagne already in her hand.
“Morning, bride,” she says, her smile as bright as the morning sun. “Ready to do the damn thing?”
“More than ready,” I say, leaning my head against her shoulder for a moment. We stand in a comfortable silence, watching as Wyatt’s Texas cousins help my parents’ friends string fairy lights from the branches of the ancient oak tree in the backyard.
“Six months ago, you were a mess of happy tears after that proposal,” Nico says, her voice soft with wonder. “And now here we are. Actual wedding day. Life’s pretty amazing, huh?”
“I wouldn’t be here without you,” I say, my voice thick with a gratitude that is too big for words. “I mean it, Nico. You saved me.”
“Nah,” she says, waving a dismissive hand, though her eyes are shining. “You saved yourself. I just provided the snacks and the getaway car.” She hands me a small, beautifully wrapped gift. “Speaking of which.”
