“He wanted to see you before,” Shadow said.
Kennedi turned and held out her arms. Shadow transferred him over carefully, mindful of the dress, and RJ grabbed her face and gave her a kiss with extra slobber.
“Son.” She laughed, wiping her face a little. “I love you too.”
He looked up at her with Rolani’s eyes and her mouth, and she felt the same thing she felt every time she looked at him — that particular fullness that lived permanently somewhere in her heart now.
“You ready for me to marry your daddy?” she whispered.
RJ blew a bubble.
“Same,” she said.
Shadow took him back, still laughing, and Kennedi turned to the mirror one last time. She smoothed the front of her dress, adjusted one earring, took a breath that went all the way down.
Running had never been about Rolani. It had been about whether she believed she deserved to be loved this way.
She believed it now.
He left no room for confusion.
A knock at the door. Her father’s voice, lowly filtered through the cracked door. “Kenny. It’s time.”
She checked the Rolex Rolani had gifted her, picked up her bouquet, exhaled once, and went to meet him.
When she opened the door, her father saw her and stopped walking. His hand went to his heart, and a bright smile graced his face. He’d been that way her whole life — not a man of many words but a man whose face said everything.
“Daddy.” She touched his arm. “Don’t you start. Mommy was already crying.”
“I’m not starting anything.” His voice was rough. He offered his arm, and she took it. “I’m looking at my beautiful daughter.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“Kennedi, I’m proud of you. I’m happy for you.” He placed a kiss on her forehead before pulling her veil down. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
They walked together toward the ranch, the violin carrying My First Love by Avant across the open air. Her heart melted as she smiled at his song choice. He had been adamant about picking the song she’d walk down to him in. She was glad she trusted him.
At the top of the aisle, she paused.
At the end of it, Rolani was waiting.
She started walking.
He had been composed all morning.
Through getting dressed, through Giovanni straightening his tie three times because he couldn’t stop moving, through Robin telling him to breathe like he was the one who needed the reminder. He had been composed, focused, present, and fine.
And then the music shifted.
And the doors opened.
And Kennedi stepped into the light at the end of that aisle with her father’s arm in hers and a bouquet of white flowers and a dress he was going to enjoy peeling off, and every bit of composure he’d been holding onto all morning left his body at once.
He didn’t try to get it back.
She was walking toward him. That was the only thing that existed.
