We stood.
"We are gathered here today to join Quentin Vanetti and Julia Sofia Russo in matrimony." Her voice shifted slightly—still professional, but warmer. "Marriage is a commitment. A partnership. A choice you make not once, but every day. It requires trust, communication, compromise, and love."
She paused, looking at us over her reading glasses. "I've married a lot of couples in this office. Some make it, some don't. The ones who make it? They remember that marriage isn't about the wedding day. It's about all the days that come after."
Something in her tone made me think she'd seen her share of tragedy. Of marriages that didn't survive the reality beyond the ceremony.
"Do you, Quentin Vanetti, take Julia Sofia Russo to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
I looked at Julia. At the woman who'd lied about her identity and then come clean. Who'd faced assassins with me. Who was about to fly into her brother's territory to defend me. Who'd somehow become the most important person in my world.
"I do," I said, my voice steady.
"And do you, Julia Sofia Russo, take Quentin Vanetti to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
Julia's eyes were wet, but her voice was strong. "I do."
"The rings, please."
I took Serenity’s borrowed band.
"Repeat after me," Judge Martinez said. "With this ring, I thee wed."
"With this ring, I thee wed." I slid the silver band onto her finger. It spun a little, too large, imperfect.
Perfect.
Julia took my hand—we didn't have a ring for me, but she held my hand between both of hers.
"With my heart, I thee wed," she said, going off script.
Judge Martinez smiled—small but genuine. "Close enough."
She picked up her stamp, pressed it firmly against the marriage license. The sound echoed in the small room. Official. Legal. Real.
"By the power vested in me by the state of Utah, I now pronounce you husband and wife." She looked at me. "You may kiss your bride."
I cupped Julia's face, thumbs brushing away tears, and kissed her.
It wasn't our first kiss. Wasn't even our best kiss. But it was different somehow—weighted with meaning, with promises, with the knowledge that this was no longer just about attraction or strategy.
This was forever.
When we broke apart, Julia was crying openly now. "We're married."
"We're married," I confirmed.
"Congratulations," Judge Martinez said, already turning back to her paperwork. "Next couple, please."
And just like that, we were ushered out, legally wed, clutching our marriage certificate like a winning lottery ticket.
In the hallway, Serenity threw her arms around Julia. "You did it! You're married!"
"I'm married." Julia looked dazed. "To Quentin. I'm married to Quentin."
"Buyer's remorse already?" I teased.
"Shut up." But she was smiling through tears. "This is the weirdest day of my life."
