“More than ready.”
Lucy smoothed the lace at her wrists and gave her a look that was one blink away from misty. “He’s going to lose it when he sees you.”
Devney laughed, nerves shifting low in her stomach. “No promises.”
The doors opened, and Andrew Beauchamp stepped forward, extending his arm with the calm certainty of one used to leading.
She slipped her hand through the crook, then hesitated. “Thank you.” Her voice was soft. “For stepping into this role. For being—” her voice caught, “—what I didn’t have.”
A gentle, fatherly look replaced his previous more reserved expression. “Happy to fill in as the father of the bride,” he said. “Even happier it’s you.”
And then the music began. Bach’s “Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major.”
It floated through the garden, delicate and rich, the notes curling around her like a memory. She had chosen it herself. Not because it was traditional, but because it mattered. Becausemonths ago, right here on this estate, she’d talked Ronan into playing it before a cocktail party. He’d resisted. She’d pushed. And when he finally gave in, the sound of that cello had undone her. It was the first time she saw past the armor. The first time she knew there was more to him than strategy and steel. Now, walking toward him to that same piece, the significance of the moment settled over her—full, radiant, and real.
The path curved through the garden, sunlight heating the stone beneath her steps. The rows of white chairs blurred at the edges. The murmur of the guests faded.
At the far end stood the arbor. Simple. Beautiful. Framed in white drapery and green vines, it looked like a scene from a dream. Her breath caught when she saw them—sunflowers, tucked into the arrangement.
Just a few. Just enough. Her throat tightened. And then she saw him.
Ronan was beneath the arbor, impeccably dressed, his posture resolute, though his features betrayed the powerful, barely contained emotions within him. He looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was real.
Each step pulled her closer. When they reached the front, Andrew gently placed her hand into Ronan’s. “She’s yours now,” he said. “Take care of her.”
“I will.” Ronan’s gaze locked on hers. She handed off her bouquet, adjusted her grip on his hands, and felt everything inside her settle.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card. “I had this all planned out,” he said, his voice low but sure. “A perfectly crafted speech with exactly the right words to express what you mean to me.”
He glanced down at the card, then back to her, regret in his expression. “But I realize now that’s not what matters.”
To everyone’s astonishment, including hers, he tucked the card back into his pocket. “I don’t need a script with you, Devney. You’ve taught me that the best moments in life are the unplanned ones. The ones where we allow ourselves to feel.”
Someone seated nearby let out a sigh. Ronan Wilder, embracing spontaneity? The world had tilted on its axis.
“I love you,” he continued. “Not because it makes sense on paper, but because you make me laugh when I least expect it. Because you see the man I am, not the man everyone thinks I am. Because when I’m with you, I’m better than I ever thought I could be.”
He took a deep breath. “I promise to love you honestly and completely. To value your happiness as my own. To build a life with you that’s rich in laughter and adventure. And I promise to always let you have the last word in at least twenty percent of our arguments—which is far more generous than my initial offer.”
That earned a genuine laugh from her and their guests. She blinked back tears, overwhelmed by his raw honesty. When it was her turn, she drew a deep breath, composing herself before she spoke.
“Ronan,” she began, her voice wobbling. “If anyone had told me a year ago that I’d be standing here today, I would have laughed in their face. Not because I couldn’t imagine loving you—that part happened without me noticing—but because I couldn’t imagine you loving me back.
“We started with a fake engagement and ended up with a real one. Talk about a plot twist.”
That earned another laugh from their guests, and his lips curved in that quiet expression she’d grown to cherish—just shy of a smile.
“I promise to keep challenging you,” she continued. “To never let you retreat behind that stoic CEO mask when what youneed is to be seen. I promise to be your partner in every sense—supporting your dreams while pursuing my own.”
She squeezed his hands. “And I promise to love you through every version of yourself—the serious CEO, the one who plays cello when he thinks no one is listening, and all the new versions we haven’t met yet. I even promise to pretend I don’t notice when you organize the refrigerator by expiration date, even though we both know I’ll mess it up within twenty-four hours.”
By the time they exchanged rings, she couldn’t have stopped her expression of joy if she tried. When the officiant pronounced them husband and wife, his kiss was both tender and possessive, a public declaration of private feelings that made her heart race.
The reception flowed seamlessly onto the terrace overlooking the ocean, the setting sun casting light across tables draped in white linen. She floated from group to group, accepting congratulations, laughing at Knox’s increasingly outrageous toasts, and always, always finding her husband’s eyes across the room.
“If anyone had told me six months ago that I’d see Ronan Wilder glowing this much, I would have checked them for a fever,” Knox said, appearing at her side with two champagne flutes.
She accepted the offered glass. “Get used to it. I plan to make him laugh more than he thinks he’s capable of.”
