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"I look like a bride," I whisper.

"You look like you," Cora corrects. "Just the most beautiful version."

The inn is transformed when we arrive. Soft white lights are strung along every surface, and arrangements of tulips, peonies, and cherry blossoms frame the windows. Candles flicker on every table, and a small string quartet plays softly in the corner. There are maybe forty people here—family, close friends, a few colleagues from school—and the intimacy of it makes my chest tight with emotion.

I wait in a small side room with Cora and Brock's sister, Emily, listening to the music and trying to steady my breathing.

"Ready?" Emily asks, squeezing my hand.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

The doors open, and Kayla steps out first, her white dress swishing around her knees, a basket of rose petals in her hands. She walks slowly, carefully, scattering petals with the utmost concentration, and when she reaches the front, Brock's smile is so full of pride and love that my eyes sting with tears.

Then it's my turn.

The first thing I see is Brock.

He stands at the front of the room in a dark suit, his hands clasped in front of him, and his expression softens with unmistakable joy. His eyes shine as he watches me cross the room.

I walk toward him slowly, my hand tucked into the crook of my father's arm, but I barely register anyone else in the room. There's only Brock, watching me with an intensity that makes my heart race.

When I reach him, my father kisses my cheek and steps back. Brock takes my hands, his grip warm and steady, and leans in close enough that only I can hear.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he whispers.

I smile, blinking back tears. "You're not so bad yourself."

The officiant begins, and I listen with a smile I can't seem to contain. Brock's thumbs brush the backs of my hands.

Then it's time for our vows.

Brock goes first, his voice steady and clear. "Megan, I promise to be honest with you, to protect you, and to make sure you never doubt that you are loved and cherished. You are my partner, my home, and my future. I love you. Forever."

My vision blurs with tears, and I have to take a shaky breath before I can speak.

"Brock," I begin, my voice trembling. "I promise to choose you every day, to be honest even when it's hard, and to build a life filled with love, laughter, and the family we both want. I love you. Completely. Forever."

The officiant pronounces us husband and wife, and Brock pulls me into his arms, his mouth coming down on mine in a kiss that's both tender and possessive. The room erupts in applause, but I barely hear it. There's only Brock, holding me like he'll never let go.

The reception is a blur of laughter and music and joy. We dance—Brock's hand firm on my waist, his eyes never leaving mine—and we eat cake and accept congratulations from everyone we love. Cora gives a toast that makes me cry, and Brock's father gives one that makes everyone laugh.

At some point, Brock pulls me aside, leading me to a quiet corner near the windows. Outside, the evening light is soft and golden, the trees just beginning to show their spring green.

"I love seeing you here, Megan. My wife," he says, his hands framing my face.

I rise on my toes and kiss him, pouring everything I feel into it—love, gratitude, joy, and the absolute certainty that this is exactly where I'm supposed to be.

When we finally leave the reception, Brock drives us to the Grand Sovereign Hotel through the mild spring evening. The same hotel where everything began, now transformed into the beginning of our honeymoon. He parks and turns to me, his eyes warm.

"Ready, Mrs. Rhodes?"

Hearing my new name makes my heart skip. "Ready."

He gets out, comes around to my side, and opens the door. Before I can step out, he scoops me into his arms, carrying me toward the entrance.

"Brock!" I laugh, clutching his shoulders. "People are staring."

"Let them," he says firmly, and carries me through the lobby to the elevator.