I’D ALWAYS IMAGINED my wedding would be a big society affair. My father would walk me down the aisle; my mother would dab her tears with a handkerchief. I would be resplendent in a custom designer gown, and my husband would stand tall at the altar, a man my parents would look at and approve.

The only thing that ended up being accurate was the gown.

My fingers skimmed over the silk crepe of my skirt, the fabric diaphanous and so light it felt like spun moonlight. It was gathered at the bust, giving the dress a subtle waistline while still being airy and effortless. I felt beautiful in it, and as the hairdresser spritzed me with one more bit of hairspray to make sure my soft waves held for ceremony and the pictures, I rolled my shoulders back and turned to smile at Deena.

Tears shone in her eyes as she smiled at me. “And to think this all started with a spilled vanilla latte.”

I laughed, dabbing my fingers under my eyes and inhaling to keep myself from crying, then accepted a hug from my best friend. “I wouldn’t be here without you,” I said, my voice more blubbery than intended.

“Stop it,” she said, squeezing me in another tight hug. “You look beautiful, Alba.”

“I can’t believe I’m getting married.”

Her smile was bright. “About time.”

Laughing, I straightened, flapping my hands near my face to try to dry the tears that tried to leak out of my eyes. Then I turned for the hotel room door, smiled at my best friend, and took the first step toward the rest of my life.

The hotel was gorgeous and smelled faintly of lemongrass. Outside, the sounds of the sea crashing against the shore were the steady backdrop to the faint music that floated up from the beachfront. We were in Thailand, at a private resort that Vaughn had booked in its entirety. Palm trees shimmered in the wind, the sky was impossibly blue, and the path beneath my feet was dark, solid wood leading me to the future I never thought I deserved.

A hotel worker in his pale blue patterned uniform gave me a little half-bow as I passed, a broad smile on his face. He waved me along the path, which snaked along ferns and palms and gorgeous white flowers and finally opened up to the private beach reserved just for us.

My eyes snapped to Vaughn, framed by the arch of flowers at the end of a white aisle. He held Adam, who was a wriggling ball of fifteen-month-old energy dressed in a tiny, adorable tuxedo. When they spotted me, Vaughn’s face went slack, and Adam’s went ecstatic.

He wriggled out of his father’s arms and came sprinting down the aisle toward me—or what served for a sprint for a little man who’d only taken his first step two months earlier.
Laughing, I caught him in my arms, and this time there was no holding back the tears that fell from my eyes. My son’s arms came flying around my neck, crushing all those perfect, carefully styled waves. He smacked a big, slobbery kiss on the cheek that my makeup artist had spent so much time dabbing and brushing and blending.

“Mama!”

“Hi, baby,” I whispered, nuzzling my nose against his.

My son patted my cheek in that awkward, toddler way, then slobbered another kiss on my cheek. Then the light caught the delicate gold necklace dangling between my collarbones, and Adam made it his mission to grab and yank.

“Okay, buddy,” Deena said, swooping in to save me. “Let’s let your daddy see how good your mama looks before you tear her to pieces.”

Laughing, I glanced up and caught Vaughn staring at me.

The look on his face made my heart explode. It was soft and tender, and it held all the happiness that I had thought would forever be lost to me.
Love you, he mouthed, then turned his head to try to hide the fact that he was dabbing at his eye with his thumb.

“Here,” Deena said, thrusting a tissue at me. “You’re leaking.”

“I can’t stop,” I said, doing that hand-waving-at-my-face thing again.

“Get down here so I can make you my wife,” Vaughn called, a broad smile on his face.

A little hand slipped into mine, and our son looked up at me with his father’s eyes. “Mama,” he said, then tucked his head against me.

My heart couldn’t take much more of this. With nothing else to do, I smiled at Deena, who started our little procession, and then walked hand-in-hand with my son toward the man of my dreams.

“Come to Auntie Deena,” my best friend said, scooping Adam into her arms without a care about sticky toddler hands on her gorgeous bridesmaid’s dress. The two of them sat down in the front row beside Charlotte, Tiffany, and Dale. Vaughn’s mother was there, waving a fan toward her face to ward off the sticky heat.

That was it. I considered inviting my new-old friends Nikki and Rome, Bonnie and Arlo, Leif and Layla, Dani and Emil, and Penny and Marcus, but if I invited them, I’d have to invite another swath of people on the edge of friendship, and then their partners, and maybe family members. Would I have to invite my parents? What about aunts and uncles? People that had dropped me when I was broke and had suddenly reappeared when I was with Vaughn?

I didn’t want that. After stressing about it for ages, Vaughn had kissed me on the lips and leaned his forehead against mine. “Invite who you want,” he’d told me. “If that’s one person, make it one person. If it’s a hundred. Make it a hundred. If it’s no one, and you, me, and Adam go down to the courthouse tomorrow, then we do that. But Alba, sweetheart, don’t do this to yourself. Don’t give up your power and your happiness to people who don’t care about you.”

It was one of a thousand reminders he gave me about forgetting social expectations and doing what I wanted. I was still growing into the person I wanted to be. Someone strong and confident and independent—someone loving and soft and compassionate.

In the end, it was just our tiny group, in this gorgeous, sun-drenched paradise, celebrating the fact that Vaughn and I had found each other.

His palm was warm when I slipped mine against it, and he tugged me a few inches closer.

“I’m the luckiest man alive,” he murmured. “I can’t believe I get to have you as a wife.”

“I’m the luckiest woman alive,” I replied. “I can’t believe I get to have an amazing rooftop vegetable garden in the middle of Manhattan.”

He laughed, loud and apologetic, then banded an arm around my back and crushed his lips to mine. I squawked and batted at him—and then I gave in. He kissed me like he never wanted to let me go, like everything he’d ever wanted was right there in his arms.

I could relate.

Flushed and bubbling with happiness, I pulled away and turned to the officiant. She was a long-haired woman in a linen pantsuit who had moved to Thailand decades ago and now made her business officiating destination weddings. Arching a brow at the two of us, she lifted the little notecards in her hand. “You skipped a few of the necessary items before we get to that part,” she noted, eyes glimmering.

“Let’s get them out of the way, then,” Vaughn said, not moving his arm from my waist.

That’s how we were married. I was wrapped up in Vaughn’s arms, promising to love, honor, and protect, feeling the most loved, honored, and protected I’d ever felt in my life.

The next time we kissed, we were husband and wife. And that night, when champagne bubbles burst all over my tongue and my cheeks hurt from laughing, I knew that the true joy in my life had only just begun.