The music starts softly beneath the movement of the leaves.
Rosalie appears first with a flower basket looped over one arm and a gold crown balanced over her wreath. She walks with complete confidence, scattering petals in careful handfuls before turning to check the boys behind her.
Samuel follows with his shoulders drawn back and the reinforced cushion balanced carefully in both hands. He has practiced his walk every evening for two weeks, and he takes each step as though the entire ceremony depends on his pace. James walks beside him, watching the narrow straps he designed, tested, and tightened around the commitment band.
Halfway down the aisle, Rosalie notices Samuel moving too quickly. She turns, lowers one hand toward the ground, and whispers, “Slow down.”
Samuel obeys without breaking his serious expression. James keeps one hand beneath the edge of the cushion while his eyes move from the ring to the path and back again.
When they reach the center, Rosalie moves beside Luther. He bends to kiss her crown before she straightens his tie with both hands. Samuel takes his place near Grayson while James moves beside Maceo, keeping the cushion level between both hands with the commitment band still secured beneath its narrow straps.
The music changes.
At the far end of the garden, Luca steps onto the path in an ivory suit shaped around the full weight of his pregnancy.
The jacket falls open beneath his stomach instead of trying to contain it, revealing a soft gold shirt that warms his skin and leaves his throat open. Both rings already shine on his left hand: the engagement ring I gave him at the launch party and the wedding band I placed on him in the hospital.
One hand supports the underside of his stomach as he walks. The other presses briefly into his lower back before falling to his side again.
His hair has been brushed away from his face, though one soft strand already rests near his temple. Tears slide over his cheeks before he reaches the first row of chairs, and the sight of them nearly pulls me off the path we agreed to follow.
He looks radiant and exhausted, swollen at the ankles and flushed beneath the late-afternoon light. His pregnancy has widened his stance and slowed each step. He supports the underside of his stomach, lifts his gaze to mine, and continues down the aisle.
I start toward him without thinking.
Grayson’s fingers close gently around my forearm. “He’s coming to you.”
I stop because Luca sees the movement and smiles through his tears. He shifts the baby’s weight beneath both hands, then continues toward me.
Maceo takes one quiet step forward when Luca pauses near the final row. Luca meets his gaze and shakes his head. His scent carries no pain, and his stomach remains relaxed beneath his hands. After shifting our son’s weight, he walks the final stretch toward me.
When he reaches the center, I take his face between my hands and kiss him before the officiant can begin.
His mouth trembles against mine as he catches my wrist, and I kiss him again before pressing my lips beneath each wet eye. The guests disappear behind the scent of him, sweet and warm beneath the peonies and summer air.
“You’re here,” I whisper.
Luca’s fingers curl around the silver head of my cane beside mine. “I was always coming.”
I stroke the escaped strand of hair away from his temple and let myself look at him. The ivory suit fits him perfectly across the shoulders and falls open around the curve of his stomach. His rings flash when he lifts his hand to my cheek.
“You’re so beautiful,” I tell him.
His eyes close as another tear escapes. “So are you.”
I kiss the tear away before resting my forehead against his. His stomach presses lightly against my hip, and the baby shifts between us.
Grayson moves the waiting chair closer and takes Luca’s free hand. “Any contractions?”
“None. I’ll sit when I need to.” Luca squeezes his fingers, and Grayson kisses his knuckles before stepping back.
Luca offers Maceo his hand. Maceo kisses the center of his palm, then reaches toward the cushion James still holds beside him. He frees the commitment band from the narrow straps and places it in Luca’s hand. Luca slips it into the inner pocket of his jacket before lacing his fingers with Maceo’s as he shifts closer.
Luther comes up behind Luca and presses a slow kiss to his temple. His palm settles against the lower curve of Luca’s back, supporting without pulling him away from the space between us.
The officiant begins the legal recommitment while the five of us remain gathered in the center.
When the officiant gives me the cue, the prepared vows remain folded inside my jacket. Luca’s two rings shine on the hand held between mine, and instead of reaching for the pages, I remember the forms we filled out when neither of us possessed the kind of authority the world respected.
