I stood at the entrance to the aisle, alone.
My father had asked to do the honors, but I’d gently told him no. Not out of anger, though. As I’d explained to him, this moment wasmine. Today, I would givemyselfto the man I loved.
The music started. I took a breath and stepped forward.
Every face turned toward me. Friends and family, colleagues and neighbors, people who had become part of my life in ways I never could have predicted.I saw Thomas in the front row, his smile warm with approval. I saw Bas standing beside him, his eyes suspiciously bright.
I scanned the crowd for one more face.
On Thomas’ opposite side, on the aisle, stood my father. Our eyes met across the distance, and he nodded and smiled.
I smiled back, then turned my attention to the flower-draped arbor, where Rascon waited with a smile so wide it looked like it might split his face. He wore a charcoal suit with an ivory tie, and he’d never looked more handsome.
I reached him, and he took my hands, and Cru began to speak. Yes, he’d become ordained so he could marry us. I heard maybe half of what he said. The rest was lost to the rush of blood in my ears, the pounding of my heart, the overwhelming awareness of the man standing in front of me.
Then it was time for the vows.
Kick went first. He cleared his throat and squeezed my hands.
“Isabel. You taught me that love isn’t about rescuing someone. It’s about showing up. Every day. In the small moments and the hard ones. In the middleof the night when the baby won’t stop crying and in the morning when the coffee’s not ready. I promise to show up for you. Every day. For the rest of my life.”
It was my turn to say what I’d written and rewritten a dozen times, but standing here, looking at his face, they came easy.
“Rascon, I spent my life running. From expectations, from disappointment, from anything that felt too much like hope. You’re the reason I finally stopped. Not because you caught me—but because you made me want to stay. I promise to stay. With you. With our daughter. With this life we’re building together. Forever.”
Cru pronounced us husband and wife. Kick kissed me, and the crowd erupted, and somewhere behind us, Anaïs let out a delighted shriek that made everyone laugh.
The reception wasongoing chaos in the best possible way.
Tables had been set up beneath a tent on the lawn behind the house. Lights that would glow like stars once the sun went down were strung inside. Music played from speakers hidden in the garden, and thewine flowed freely—Whitmore and Avila vintages side by side. Soon, Miremont would be poured, maybe in time for the next wedding.
Anaïs was passed from aunt to uncle like a tiny celebrity, accepting adoration with the regal disinterest of someone who knew she was the most important person in the room. When she finally got fussy, Lucia swept her away for a bottle and a nap, and I was free to circulate.
I found myself near the bar when I noticed Bas.
He was talking to Gemma Engel, our wedding planner. She looked polished and professional with her dark hair swept back in a sleek chignon and a headset hooked over one ear even now. She’d been putting out fires all day—literally, when one of the candles had gotten too close to a centerpiece—and she looked like she was running on caffeine and sheer willpower.
Bas had turned on the charm. I could see it from twenty feet away—the easy smile, the relaxed posture, the way he got just close enough to create intimacy without crowding her. It was his standard move. I’d seen it work on countless women over the years.
But it wasn’t working on Gemma.
She said something polite but firm, then she excused herself and walked away, already speaking into her headset about something involving the cake.
The expression on Bas’ face made me pause as he watched her go.
“Interesting,” I murmured.
Alex appeared at my elbow, following my gaze. “Poor Bas. Shot down in flames.”
“I doubt it happens often.”
“You’re right.” Alex grinned. “And it might be good for him.” She leaned closer. “I’ve been thinking. Now that you’re settled here, we should start a Wicked Winemakers Ball for the Russian River Valley. Raise money for the children’s hospital, the way we do in Paso Robles.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“I know. And I already have someone in mind to organize it.”
I held up my hands. “Oh no. Not me. I have a vineyard to restore and a baby to raise and?—”
