CHAPTER
SIXTY
JULIE
I'm standingin front of the mirror in our bedroom, wearing my wedding dress. I recognize myself this time.
The dress is a 1950s vintage find—ivory silk with delicate beading along the bodice and a full skirt that hits just below my knee. It's elegant without being ostentatious. Classic without being boring. It's exactly me in a way my first wedding dress never was.
My mom stands behind me, adjusting the flowers in my hair—white roses and baby's breath woven through in a loose, romantic style. She's already crying, which makes me cry, which means we have to do a careful touch-up of my makeup.
"You look beautiful," she says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "So beautiful, sweetheart."
"I'm nervous," I admit.
"Good nervous or bad nervous?"
"Good nervous," I say immediately. "The best nervous. I just... I want everything to be perfect."
"It will be," she says. "Because you're marrying the right person this time."
There's a knock on the door, and Jamie pokes her head in. "Oh my God," she says, taking in the full picture of me. "Julie. You look incredible."
"Thanks." I smooth down the skirt of my dress, suddenly aware of every detail. "How does everything look outside?"
"Incredible. The flowers are everywhere. Ryan's dad is fussing with the grill, getting ready for ribs. His mom is taking approximately eight thousand photos. And Ryan is pacing like a nervous wreck, which is flipping adorable."
I laugh despite my nerves. "He's nervous?"
"Terrified," Jamie confirms. "He keeps asking if you're ready, if you've changed your mind, if you're sure about all of this."
"That man. I'm so sure," I say firmly. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life."
My mom squeezes my shoulders. "Then let's go get you married."
The backyard looks like something out of a dream. Strings of Edison bulbs crisscross overhead, ready to glow once the sun sets. White flowers are arranged in clusters around the chairs—roses and peonies and wildflowers. And at the back of the yard here's a small arch decorated with greenery and more flowers.
The officiant is already in place, a kind-looking woman in her sixties who came highly recommended. My mom walks me down the aisle this time. It's what I've always wanted.
Ryan is wearing a charcoal suit with a white shirt and a soft blue tie that matches his eyes. His hair is perfectly styled, and he looks so handsome it almost hurts to look at him. But the moment he sees me, none of that matters. His face transforms—wonder and love and absolute certainty written all over hisfeatures. When I reach him, he takes my hands, and his are shaking slightly.
"Hi," he says softly.
"Hi," I say back.
"You're fucking beautiful, Buttercup."
"You're not so bad yourself, Shawshank."
The officiant smiles and begins the ceremony. We exchange vows that we wrote ourselves. When Ryan reads his, his voice cracks with emotion, and I'm crying so hard I can barely see him.
"I promise to love you exactly as you are," he says. "I promise to show up for you, to fight for you, to never make you doubt that you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I promise to build a life with you that's authentic and genuine and ours. I promise to be your home, Julie. Always. Because you are absolutely mine."
I can barely get my own vows out through my tears, but I manage to tell him that he saved me. That he showed me what real love looks like. That I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure he knows how much he means to me. And then the officiant is pronouncing us husband and wife, and Ryan is kissing me while our small family cheers.
When we pull apart, I kick off my heeled sandals because they were just for the ceremony. Ryan immediately shrugs off his tie and jacket, tossing them onto one of the chairs. Now it's perfect. We're just ourselves now. No pretense. No performance.
Just us.
