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Tess's eyes find mine across the distance, and the smile that spreads across her face is everything—every late night with colicky babies, every argument about whose turn it is to change a diaper, every perfect morning waking up beside her. Everything that brought us here, everything that waits ahead.

She begins walking toward me, the silk of her dress catching the breeze, floating around her legs like she's moving through water.

Her father guides her down the aisle with pride. He's flown in from Arizona for this, putting aside old tensions with Tess's mother for the sake of their daughter. Another small miracle in a long chain of them.

As they near, I can see the slight tremble in Tess's hand, the only sign that she's as overwhelmed as I am. She's never been one for public displays, for being the center of attention.

They reach the end of the aisle. Her father kisses her cheek, then places her hand in mine. His eyes, so like Tess's, meet mine with a clear message: Take care of her. I nod slightly, accepting both his blessing and the responsibility it carries.

I take her hands in mine as we stand before our assembled guests.

"You look stunning," I whisper, winking at her.

Tess's eyes widen slightly, her fingers tightening around mine. "And you look incredibly handsome."

The officiant clears his throat gently, reminding us that there's a ceremony to perform, vows to exchange.

Cole chooses this moment to let out a happy squeal from Angela's lap, breaking the tension, making everyone laugh. Tess squeezes my hands, her smile widening as she glances at our son, then back to me.

"Shall we begin?" Anson asks.

I think of all the ways we came to this moment—the fake relationship that became real, the unexpected pregnancy, the house we're making into a home, the twins who've turned our world upside down in the best possible way. None of it planned, all of it perfect.

"We’re ready," I answer looking at Tess for confirmation, and I've never meant anything more in my life.

Anson begins to speak, his voice carrying across the yard. "Friends and family, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Charles William Astor and Tess Marie Whitlock..."

But I'm barely listening. I'm looking at Tess—at the way the evening light catches in her hair, at the tiny scar above her right eyebrow from a riding fall, at the subtle strength in her shoulders that's carried her through childbirth and sleepless nights and building a career while being a mother.

This woman who I’ve known for so many years. This woman who has seen me at my worst and somehow loves me anyway. This woman who is about to become my wife.

The crowd around us fades away, leaving just this—her hands in mine, her eyes on my face, the promise of all our tomorrows stretching before us.