Page 27

Alex Sebring

I’ve played championship games in packed stadiums. Stared down cameras, crowds, a sea of doubters. But nothing has ever made my hands shake like putting on these cuff links.

Gold. Polished. Custom-engraved with our initials and wedding date. I slide one through the buttonhole with stiff fingers and catch my reflection in the mirror.

Black tux. Crisp collar. Hair combed back with almost military precision. I am a man ready to say “I do.”

There’s a soft knock at the door. First, it cracks and then Tinā steps in, elegant in a black satin dress, her hair swept up, a soft shimmer at her throat.

She pauses when she sees me, eyes warm and soft. “I’ve never thought you looked much like your father,” she says as she crosses the room. “But right now, you remind me of him on our wedding day.”

She stops in front of me, eyes shining, and reaches up to adjust my tie.

“All buttoned-up and pretending you’re not about to fall apart inside.” A soft laugh leaves her. “He was the same way. Stoic on the outside. Wrecked on the inside. It’s how I knew he meant it.”

She steps back enough to take me in, her gaze tracing over my face. “I used to wonder if you’d ever let someone in—not just into your life but into your soul.”

Her hands land on my shoulders. Steady. Sure.

“And Magnolia came along.” She smiles, eyes glassy but full of pride. “I saw it on your face the night you brought her to the house. You looked at her like your entire world was sitting right next to you.”

A pause. A breath.

“I told Alexander that night—after you two left. ‘That’s the one he’ll marry.’”

“Magnolia is my everything,” I manage, voice rough.

“I know,” she whispers. “And she feels the same about you.”

She gives my arm a gentle squeeze and smooths the fabric of my jacket.

“Your bride is going to be breathtaking,” she says with a soft smile. “But it won’t be the dress or the flowers or the setting that undoes you. It’ll be her.”

She leans up and kisses my cheek. “You’re ready, Aleki.”

I manage a crooked smile and she slips out. The door closes, and I exhale, only for it to open again. This time it’s my father, his expression carved in quiet steel.

Dad walks in with the same silent weight he always carries—shoulders squared, tie perfect, presence unmistakable. He says nothing for a long moment, studying me.

“You ready?” he asks.

“As I’ll ever be.”

He nods. Steps closer.

“Love isn’t something you fall into once,” he says. “It’s something you choose every day. When you’re tired. When she’s mad. When life feels too damn heavy and you don’t like each other much that day.”

He meets my eyes—steady, sure.

“She’ll see the best and worst in you, Alex. She’ll love you anyway. So give her a man she can be proud of. Not perfect. Not always right. But honest. And when you can’t fix what’s wrong, simply listen.”

I clear my throat. “Is that what you did with Tinā?”

His eyes soften, a rare crack in the armor. “Every damn day.”

He offers me his hand, and I take it. We’re not men who say much about how we feel, so he pulls me in and hugs me tight. And I don’t fight it.

This is a moment worth remembering, and I’ll never forget it.

A knock, louder this time.

“Yeah?”

The door creaks open and Jack Henry steps in first, already smirking. “You decent in here?”

“Barely,” I say.

Elias, Kye, and Nate follow close behind, tuxes crisp, swagger on full display.

“Special delivery for the groom from his bride,” Jack says.

Elias grins, holding up a white box with a black satin ribbon. “This has your name on it.”

I take the gift from him and loosen the ribbon, lifting the lid. Inside, is a velvet slipcase. Sleek.

I open it and pull out a slim black flashlight. My thumb traces the faint engraving along the side.

LO’U ALOFA

Samoan for my love.

A note rests beneath it—folded, deliberate. Magnolia’s handwriting.

You’ve always been the one to see me clearly. Now you’ll always know where to look. Use the light. Find the truth in white ink on my body.

–Your wife.

Silence follows.

Kye whistles, low. “Damn.”

“She tattooed herself for you?” Nate asks, eyes wide. “That’s next-level.”

“Does this mean she inked a treasure hunt on her body?” Jack asks. “This woman is elite.”

I think she did.

But I say nothing, simply hold the flashlight as if it’s the most precious thing I’ve ever been given.

Because it is.

She could’ve given me something traditional––a monogrammed tie clip. Custom cuff links. A bottle of cologne with a love note tucked beneath the lid. A framed quote about forever. A watch engraved with “Always.”

But no, she gives me this––a flashlight and a secret message written on her body only visible to me.

Magnolia has never done ordinary.

At this moment, she should be opening the gift I sent to her suite.

A memory in brushstrokes. A painting, commissioned by William Bloom, his version of the photo we took the night we told the truth.

The night I realized she wasn’t a fling, a game, or a phase.

She was the one I’d been waiting for all my life.

My note I sent with her gift is short. Just the truth.

This is the moment I knew. Not only that I loved you—but that I always would.

–Your husband

Nate claps me on the back. “You good, mate?”

“Yeah,” I say, voice rough. “I’m good.”

But what I don’t say—what I can’t say with them watching—is that I’ve never been more undone in my life. But in the best way.

Someone knocks. This time, it’s the wedding coordinator. “It’s time.”

The guys fall quiet. Jackets are straightened. Ties adjusted one last time. I check my watch and realize I haven’t looked at the time all day. Not once.

We take the back corridor through the hotel, a quiet hallway that spills out into the courtyard through a set of arched French doors. I step outside and the evening air wraps around me—cool, sweet, kissed by the scent of flowers.

Golden light bathes the courtyard, candles flickering along the aisle. Every inch of this place looks like her—designed with intention, layered in thoughtfulness, more poetry than decor.

And as we take our places at the front, the first notes rise on the air. The music begins softly—strings lifting the air with “Can’t Help Falling In Love,” the same song I had played in Charleston when I proposed to her.

Now I stand at the front of the aisle in this garden—the garden where we shared our first kiss—and I feel the weight of every step it took to get here. Every scar. Every second chance.

The groomsmen move into place—Jack Henry smooths his lapel one last time. Nate grins wide. Kye nods once, steady. And Elias claps me on the shoulder before stepping into line beside me.

The string quartet swells, and the bridesmaids begin their walk.

Laurelyn appears first, graceful and glowing, her dress catching the last of the sun.

Then Leilani, fierce and stunning, chin high.

Sefina follows, soft elegance with a smile.

And Violet—Magnolia’s maid of honor—doesn’t look at me at all. Her eyes find Elias instead. A long, quiet glance. No smile. No wink. Only heat and history and something that hasn’t happened yet.

Then the music shifts and softens, and the crowd stills.

My heart does the opposite.

She steps into view. My sweet Magnolia. Hair down the way I love it. Chestnut waves falling over her shoulders beneath a sheer veil floating like air around her.

She doesn’t wear a dress that demands attention. It’s elegant, simple, and perfect. And I swear she’s glowing. Each step she takes undoes something in me. Unravels every scar, every detour, every version of my life before her.

My lungs stall. My hands curl. My pulse loses the rhythm it’s always known. And when our eyes meet, I know. This is what forever looks like.

The moment locks into place, sacred.

Not loud. Not bright. Reverent.

The world stills as Magnolia’s hand finds mine—warm and steady. The string quartet’s last note hovers in the air and fades, swallowed by breathless silence.

She stands before me, veil fluttering in the breeze. Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, everything around us disappears. I don’t see the crowd. I don’t hear the soft sniffles or feel the weight of a hundred gazes.

It’s only the two of us.

I wonder if she understands what I see when I look at her. Not just the beauty that everyone else sees—though, God, that’s staggering. I mean the weight of what she’s carried.

The way she’s loved me even when I wasn’t sure how to be loved.

The way she pulled me back when I was disappearing into myself.

The way she made me a man who wanted more than just survival.

Her mouth curves—not into a smile, not exactly—but something more intimate. Something that says we’ve made it.

She leans in, voice low. “I love the painting so much, Alex. It’s amazing.”

“ You’re amazing.”

The officiant begins speaking, and I barely register the words. My mind writes its own vows in silence, too sacred for anyone else to hear.

I promise to wake up every day and choose you––when it’s easy and when it’s not.

I promise to protect you. And never stop reaching for you.

Never stop wanting you. Never stop becoming the man you saw in me before I could see him for myself.

You are my resurrection, Magnolia Elizabeth Steel… Sebring.

The official vows come next. Simple. Spoken aloud.

“Do you, Alexander Bjorn Sebring III, take Magnolia Elizabeth Steel to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.” My voice is rough, but it doesn’t shake.

“Do you, Magnolia Elizabeth Steel, take Alexander Bjorn Sebring III to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Her eyes don’t leave mine. “I do.”

“We now come to the exchange of rings—a tradition that seals your vows in a circle of unbroken promise.”

Elias steps forward with the box, and I take it from his hands. The lid lifts with a soft click, and there it is—her ring, waiting for this moment. My fingers are steady as I lift it free and slide it onto hers.

“With this ring, I give you every part of me—my past, my future, my name, my loyalty. You’ve had my heart since the first night. This just makes it official.”

She holds my gaze as she lifts my ring—her fingers trembling. She slides the band over my knuckle and speaks, voice soft but certain.

“With this ring, I choose you again and again—on your good days, on your hard ones, when you’re strong, and when you’re struggling.”

The officiant announces, “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

There’s something sacred about being given permission to kiss your wife.

The moment our mouths meet, the world exhales. And I don’t just kiss her. I claim her.

I’m kissing an angel I still don’t fully believe I deserve. Her hands rise to my chest. My arm slips around her waist, careful of the dress but not of the urgency.

There’s a rustle of applause behind us, but I barely hear it.

I lean in, mouth brushing her ear. “Mine.”

She exhales. “Always.”

We’re forehead to forehead, and I don’t open my eyes right away. I want to live in this breath for as long as I can.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Bjorn Sebring III.”

The truest vow I’ve ever made hasn’t been spoken aloud. It’s been lived––broken and rebuilt––etched into my skin through every scar that led me here. And now it lives in the way I carry her name with mine. Not just as my wife. But as the woman who brought me back to life.

She laughs—soft, then brighter—and it pulls me back to earth.

Still holding her hand, I turn with her to face the crowd. Her fingers stay laced with mine, firm and sure.

We’re stepping forward together—as husband and wife but more than that. As two people who’ve burned and risen and chosen each other in the ash.

And I let it hit me because for the first time in years, I’m not afraid to be seen. Not when she’s the one standing beside me.

We take the first step together down the aisle—slow, deliberate, her bouquet brushing against my jacket sleeve.

And as the string quartet swells behind us—“Can’t Help Falling in Love” filling the air—I lean in close.

“Tonight,” I whisper, lips grazing the shell of her ear, “I’m going to find that tattoo.”

She smiles—a whisper of victory in the curve of her lips. Not because she doubts me. But because she doesn’t.

“Happy hunting,” she whispers back.

And I walk into the rest of my life, hand in hand, with the only woman who’s ever made me fearless.