There’s no cinematic sunrise pouring through the windows. No violent wind sweeping across the Highlands. Just a quiet grey light pressing gently against the glass, soft and steady.
The Scotland estate is older than it looks in photographs. The stone carries weight. Everything looks ancient, even the people. Rolling hills disappear into the mist. My parents stood here once before. I’ve seen the photograph enough times to memorise the angle of their bodies beneath the arch that used to stand where ours now does. My mother’s hair caught in the wind. My father smiling in a way I never saw growing up. That version of them existed. Before everything changed, before i came along.
Juliette chose this place. She saw how special the pictures were to me and decided to have it on the same ground. I think about that as I sit at the edge of the bed, my dress hanging across the wardrobe door. Today isn’t about erasing my parents with us, but rather being there with them.
Victoria and Aryan are already in the room when I step out of the bathroom, hair loosely styled, face bare except for the smallest adjustments that make me look like I slept more than I did. I didn’t want anything heavy. I wanted it as light as this day is.
Victoria goes quiet when she sees the dress.
It’s ivory, but not bright. The bodice is structured, clean lines that hold shape without suffocating me. The neckline curves gently, exposing just enough collarbone to feel intentional. The sleeves are long and fitted, tapering neatly at my wrists. The skirt falls straight before softening into subtle movement at the bottom. It doesn’t feel like a costume.
“You look…” Victoria starts, then stops.
Aryan finishes it for her. “Like she’s about to descend into heaven.”
I laugh at them and they help me into it carefully. Victoria buttons the back with precise hands. Aryan smooths the fabric along my shoulders like he’s checking for invisible flaws.
“Are you scared?” Victoria asks quietly.
“No,” I say honestly. “I’m not scared of anything.”
There’s a knock at the door and Adam steps in slowly, already dressed in charcoal grey, tie slightly crooked because he refuses to let anyone fix it properly. He stops when he sees me.
For a second, he doesn’t say anything.
Then he exhales. “Right. Okay.”
“That bad?” I ask.
“That devastating.”
He steps forward and adjusts one of the cuffs at my wrist. The gesture is small and careful, like I’m made out of glass.
“You good?” he asks quietly.
“I’ve been ready for years,” I say with a small smile. I never understood cold feet and i especially don’t understand it now. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.
“You look beautiful,” he tells me, trying to hide the fact that his voice is cracking.
Outside, the chairs are already filled. We kept it small. Friends. Chosen family. Everyone who’s been around for the good, bad, and ugly. The music shifts faintly outside. Juliette is already standing by the altar. She insisted on walking first.
“I want to see you walk toward me,” she told me. “I want that burned into my brain.”
Kai walks beside her, steady and sharp in a tailored dark suit. Juliette’s mother walks on her other side, already emotional and openly wiping her eyes. Juliette’s dress moves before I can fully process it.
It’s ivory too, but softer than mine. The bodice fits closely, sculpted but not rigid, flowing into a skirt that catches the breeze with every step. The sleeves are sheer lace, delicate without feeling fragile. The neckline dips slightly lower than mine, elegant and intentional. Her hair falls loose down her back in controlled waves. She took months to pick this dress out and then still made little changes to it. It’s perfect.
She looks exactly like herself.
When she reaches the front and Kai steps aside, she turns. Her composure dissolves instantly. Her mouth parts slightly. Her eyes widen in that familiar way she’s never been able to hide. She looks at me like she did the first time I refused to back down from her.
Adam leans toward me. “Try not to cry before you reach her.”
“No promises,” I murmur.
Then we start walking.
The grass is soft beneath my heels. The wind lifts slightly, brushing against my sleeves. I hear nothing clearly. The world narrows to the space between us. Juliette’s eyes don’t leave mine once. By the time I reach her, she’s crying openly.
