My fingers are trembling.
I slide the band onto his finger and watch it settle there.
A perfect fit.
"With this ring," I whisper, "I thee wed."
Magnus beams at us.
"By the power vested in me by the state of Florida and a questionable website, I now pronounce you husband and wife." He gestures expansively. "Kiss your bride, man."
Gunnar doesn't need to be told twice.
He pulls me into his arms and kisses me.
It’s soft at first, then deeper.
Then someone—probably Ulf—wolf whistles, and we break apart laughing.
"I present to you," Magnus announces, "Mr. and Mrs. Gunnar Sigmarr!"
The crowd erupts in cheers and applause, and Mom starts sobbing even harder.
The reception is a blur of joy.
The clubhouse is transformed—tables covered in white linens, more flowers, more fairy lights.
Music playing and food everywhere.
Laughter and conversation and the clink of glasses.
The first dance is perfect.
Gunnar holds me close, swaying to the same song that played when I walked down the aisle.
"We did it," he murmurs in my ear.
"We did."
"You're my wife."
"You're my husband."
He pulls back, looks at me with wonder.
"I've been dreaming about this moment since I was seventeen years old."
"Liar."
"I'm not. I was dead set on marrying you one day, Ingrid, whenever you would give me the chance. I told a few people that."
"And they believed you?"
"They laughed at me. Said I didn't have a chance." He grins. "Can't wait to rub this in their faces during the toast."
The toasts are everything I expected.
Hakon and Ulf take the microphone together, roasting Gunnar mercilessly.
