I tilt my head up, incredulous. “You lie.”
Just then, the music cranks up—loud, joyful, unmistakablydanceable. Charlie’s arms tighten around me as the room explodes into motion. Someone whoops. Someone else claps. Two of the younger women immediately start claiming end tables. Faintly, I ask, “Did I hear that correctly?”
“Yes.”
“You weren’t lying.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
A woman with shiny black hair hops onto the table. Another kicks off her shoes. A gorgeous man who has Corinna’s eyes grabs a bottle and raises it like a trophy.
I stare, astounded before bursting out laughing.
Charlie presses a kiss to my temple. “Welcome to the family, Professor.”
I look around—at the chaos, the laughter, the warmth—and something settles deep in my chest.
Happiness that all these years, Charlie had this. That he invited me to share it with him tonight.
As the music swells and the room fills with movement and joy I expected at a Twelfth Night celebration, I don’t hesitate to join in.
After all, they’re Charlie’s family.
EPILOGUE
SIX MONTHS LATER
The scent of lavender,peonies, and sunflowers drift through the air, carried on a breeze warm enough to kiss my bare shoulders. Rows of chairs are filled with familiar faces—some laughing, some wiping their eyes already, some doing both at once. Sunlight filters through the oak trees that ring the lawn behind the building where I first had dinner on Twelfth Night.
Holly was right.
Garden wedding.
Emily designed my dress—an original tea-length dress that has a whole new plaid that combines both the tartans of mine and Charlie’s clans bound together with arrows and amaryllises. My hair is half up, caught at the side with white pearl clips borrowed from Cassidy.
I catch a glimpse of myself reflected in the window as I step into position, and for a moment I barely recognize the woman looking back.
Standing here, barefoot in the grass, dress brushing my calves, I realize peace has been something Charlie and I have chosen every single day with each other, for each other, since he unburdened himself.
That’s why I chose to walk down the aisle on my own. Even though almost everyone offered, it was important to me. It is my walk, my choice, my gift to present myself to the man I love. We are choosing to move forward together, step by deliberate step, heart steady, head high.
Together.
At the end of the aisle, waiting for me, is Charlie. I take the first step toward him. Then another. And I keep going until my heart is ready to burst.
Sure, we’re older. We both have a few more lines at the corner of our eyes than the average bride and groom, which we both attribute to more smiles and laughter. He claims he has a touch more silver in his beard than when we first started dating. But he’s still the same grounded presence that sat next to me on a tour bus and listened to me rant over the inaccuracies being spoken by our tour bus driver.
When his eyes meet mine, the world narrows in that familiar way it always does with him. The rest of the world fades into background noise.
Keene stands behind him waiting to perform our ceremony, which still boggles my mind. Who knew Keene was such a sentimentalist beneath all the pompousness? Well, I guess his sister, wife, daughters, and Charlie. Still, I’m in awe when the man who can’t help but take potshots at his brother-in-law clears his throat and looks out at the gathered crowd.
“Normally,” Keene begins, “It’s Charlie who stands here. He’s the one to offer words of wisdom. Words that come from the heart.”
A few people laugh softly. Charlie rolls his eyes in a way that makes my chest warm.
“Today,” Keene continues, “I want to say this. Had it not been for his wisdom in the days leading up to those weddings, I’m uncertain if any of us would be here today.”
The air shifts. This isn’t a performance. Keene’s about to knock down bodies with his words.
