This is incredible.
The chapel sits up on a stone ledge—not a cliff, smaller than that, but higher than the sand below. The ocean stretches out in front of us, beach for miles in both directions, and the sun’s almost at that sweet spot where the colors all start to blend together.
I’m standing near the entrance of the chapel with the priest and ceremonial table just behind me, Jordan’s bouquet in my hands. Jensen’s standing beside me. He’s our Koumbaro and my best man. He’s not Orthodox, but he was baptized Catholic like me. Father Dimitri hesitated at first, but said it was fine. Jensen being the Koumbaro was the only thing I asked for. The rest was all Jordan.
A string quartet sits off to the side, filling the air with soft music, the sound of waves crashing in the distance.
I see Alley first as she climbs the last few steps, her arm linked with Cole’s.
What a stud. He’s in a gray suit, his short wavy hair neatly styled. Cece gave him a pair of his dad’s old cufflinks, and he was proud as hell to wear them. He keeps his eyes forward, avoiding everyone’s gaze. He hates attention.
Alley smiles at me and Jensen, and I’m already grinning, nerves rising, flickering through my chest.
The rest of the bridal party follows: Kevin and Megan, Sabrina and Jeff. They walk the stone aisle and take their seats in the front row.
The song ends, and a new one begins, one Jordan spent hours choosing. My pulse picks up, anticipation buzzing as Jordan ascends the stone steps with her pappoús. The second she comes into view my vision blurs, and I swallow hard.
She looks so fucking beautiful.
A lump forms in my throat, and my grin spreads wide as she walks toward me with a smile worth every goddamn day it took to get here.
Everything else fades. All I see is her. Jordan. My best friend. My wife. My fucking soulmate.
Christ.I’m so in love with this woman it scares the hell out of me.
She finally reaches me. Her pappoús hands her off, and it takes everything in me to not pull her in and kiss her.
Instead, I take her hand in mine and whisper, “You look so beautiful, babe.”
She laughs softly, her eyes turning misty. “Thank you,” she whispers back.
We turn toward Father Dimitri and the ceremonial table, still holding hands, incense spiraling off into the ocean air.
The prayers begin, candles burning between us, Father Dimitri chanting in a rhythmic, sing-song tone. Jensen steps forward when he’s supposed to, serious as hell as he switches the rings between our hands.
Then he holds out the Stefana, the flower crowns I’ve been told repeatedly aren’t flowers. The priest lifts them carefully and sets them on our heads, the ribbon connecting us. I glance at Jordan and a rush of emotion hits me, stinging the back of my throat. She’s smiling, eyes shining, and one look tells me everything: she’s overwhelmed, she’s happy, and this is everything she ever wanted.
And she loves me.
We drink sweet wine from the same cup, three times. Then we walk—around the altar, around each other, around something bigger than both of us.
It’s long. Traditional. Probably confusing as hell for half the guests. I’m not Greek. I’m not religious, and I never really pictured a wedding for myself. If I had, it would have been a short ceremony on the beach. Barefoot in the sand. Simple vows with the woman I love. But this, doing something so rooted in who Jordan is—damn, it hits in a way I never expected.
It’s over before I can even process it. The chanting begins to fade. The crowns are lifted. Father Dimitri smiles.
We’re married. Again.
And I’d do it a hundred times over.
We laughed. She cried. I tried not to.
I didn’t screw anything up.
We head back down the stone aisle toward the sun setting over the ocean. Guests toss rice as we pass, laughter and applause rising around us.
When we’re only a few steps from the end, I pull Jordan into my arms and crash my mouth to hers.
Her lips melt against mine, her arms sliding around my neck as cheers erupt around us. I dip her low and dramatic. She laughs, and the sound drowns out all the other noise.
