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She looked like magic walking down that aisle.

I’d imagined it a hundred times over the years. Wondered how it would feel to have her walk toward me. What kind of dress she’d wear. Whether she’d smile, or cry, or trip on her veil and blame me somehow.

But I’d never imagined this.

Not the way her eyes locked on mine, filled with love and trust. Not the way the sunlight caught on her veil like it had been dipped in stardust. Not the way I actually forgot to breathe until dad placed her hand in mine and my lungs remembered how to work.

She was radiant. Untouchable. Mine.

Thorne rumbled low and satisfied in my chest. We did good. Mate looks like something out of a forest myth. We are not worthy.

Speak for yourself, I muttered silently, even though I agreed with him. We were not worthy of this vision of a bride. But I would do my damndest trying.

Oh, I am. But you? You’re just lucky she didn’t wise up and marry a lion shifter.

I choked on a laugh I had to swallow, because the officiant had just asked us to repeat our vows. Somewhere between in sickness and in health and ' til death do us part , I remembered every reason I ever loved her.

Now we were seated at the long, candlelit harvest table on the reception lawn.

Ella was beside me, still glowing, her dress somehow more beautiful in the golden haze of early evening.

Everything smelled like peonies and roasted garlic and cedarwood.

I reached for her hand again. I still had a hard time accepting that I could do this.

Anytime. She was the only person in the world who could revoke that right, and I would do everything to never give her a reason to.

“Mrs. McCloud,” I said, for the fifth time in ten minutes.

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. “You going to say that all night?”

“I’m thinking of having it tattooed.”

She snorted into her wine.

“My wife,” I added, with the same kind of reverence people usually reserve for miracle healings and chocolate lava cake.

“I was there , Patrick.” She reminded me with a slight jab and a smile that rocked my heart.

“You looked like something I wasn’t sure I’d earned.”

Her hand squeezed mine.

“You did,” she said softly. “You do.”

The caterers brought out our plates — Ella’s custom menu, of course, down to the handmade sourdough rolls and thyme butter carved into tiny pinecones.

We’d barely started eating when a fork clinked against a glass.

Dad stood up, brushing nonexistent crumbs off his vest. He adjusted his glasses—which he didn’t need but insisted on wearing because they made him look more emotionally available .

He cleared his throat and held up his glass. “Most of you know me,” he began. “I’m Henry McCloud. Father of the groom. Grand slayer of bad jokes. Provider of donuts and unsolicited life advice.”

Laughter rippled through the tables. Henry looked at me, then at Ella, and the grin softened into something almost too tender to look at head-on.

“I’ve known Patrick a long time, you’d hope so—I was there when he was born.

But even before that, I knew the kind of man he could be.

Smart. Loyal. Stubborn as a grizzly. And when he fell in love with Ella Meade in high school, I thought, well, that’s it. He’s found her. ”

I saw Ella blink fast. I squeezed her hand again.

“But life,” Henry went on, “isn’t a straight line. Sometimes it’s a forest path. Sometimes it’s a cliff. And sometimes it’s a damn maze made of regrets and learning the hard way.”

He looked directly at me. “I watched my son fight through that maze. I watched him come back stronger. Kinder. More of a man than I could’ve ever hoped for.”

Then he turned to Ella. “And I watched this incredible woman—this force of nature—take him back. Not because she had to. But because she loved him enough to try again. And that, right there, is the kind of love most people spend their lives looking for.”

He lifted his glass. “To Ella and Patrick. May your life together be full of laughter, full of forgiveness, and just a little bit of chaos. Because that’s where the good stuff happens.”

The room erupted in applause, glasses clinking, silverware tapping on glassware as Ella wiped her eyes and leaned into me, whispering, “Your dad just made me cry into my thyme butter.”

“Yeah, he's got a knack for that,” I whispered back.

I wasn’t nervous until I saw Gabe stand up. Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother—even when he’s a brooding, emotionally constipated linebacker with a god complex. But handing him a microphone in a sentimental setting was risky.

Still, he rose from his seat with the same game-day presence he brought to the football field. Measured and stoic, more like a warrior from a thousand years ago than a football player. He cleared his throat, glanced at Ella, then looked at me, and my stomach clenched. Here we go.

“Right,” he started, lifting his glass halfway. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Gabe. Patrick’s older brother.”

A few polite chuckles rolled through the guests.

Everybody knew who Gabe McCloud was. The darling of the NFL, the hero of our town…

blablabla. He shifted his gaze around before his eyes landed back on Ella.

And for a moment, I saw it. Real emotion.

The kind that snuck up on you. The kind my brother usually dodged with sarcasm and protein shakes.

“I didn’t know he was in love with Ella,” Gabe said.

I blinked in surprise. How could he not have? Ella and I had dated for four years in High School. Heavily dated. Then again, that's when his career took off, so he might have been just a bit too preoccupied with himself.

“That first time, I mean. In high school. I just thought he was weirdly into baking bread and sighing at cloud formations.”

Laughter. Ella let out a snort beside me and covered it with her napkin.

“I get it now,” Gabe went on. “The sighing. The pacing. The mood swings that made me think he was maybe turning into a bear early.”

Even Thorne gave a low snort inside me. He’s not wrong.

My face burned, but I couldn’t stop smiling. Gabe’s tone was dry, his delivery awkward—but he meant it. Every word.

“I didn’t get it then,” he said, his eyes back on Ella. “But I do now. It’s her. It’s always been her.”

Ella looked like someone had punched her heart. I watched her eyes shimmer. Her grip on my hand tightened under the table.

“I’ve seen a lot of teams,” Gabe continued. “But this? This is the real deal. The long game. The one where you fall and you get back up—not because you have to, but because you want to win together. ”

My chest went tight. That was the thing about Gabe. He didn’t say much. But when he did, it hit like a linebacker to the ribs. He lifted his glass again. “I wish you both all the love in the world. And the strength to keep choosing each other. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

A quiet murmur of agreement swept through the guests. It was warm. Honest.

And then… disaster.

Ben leaned in toward Carol—who was seated directly across from Gabe, because apparently, somehow, the nametags got moved—and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Gabe froze.

He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe.

He simply stared at the exact spot Ben’s lips had landed, like he was calculating the tactical risk of launching himself across the centerpiece.

Oh no, I thought. Here we go.

I looked at Ella. She looked at me. We both looked at Gabe.

He sat down very slowly, very stiffly, reminding me of a robot entering low-power mode. Carol didn’t glance at him. Not even once. But she smiled. The small, infuriating kind. The kind that probably kept Gabe up at night.

Gabe cleared his throat, voice tight. “And Ella…”

She turned to him, kind as ever.

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” he said. “I’m glad it’s you.”

Ella's sweet smile lit up her face. “Thank you.”

I let out a long breath. That was it. I felt like I just dodged a bullet. He sat back, picked up his drink like nothing had happened, and stared directly into his whiskey glass like he was trying to astral project out of his body.

Thorne groaned. This is going to explode eventually. Not tonight , I hoped. Because tonight wasn’t about whatever mess was still simmering between Gabe and Carol. Tonight was about Ella.

I leaned over to Ella and murmured, “Okay, that was a really good speech.”

She nodded. “He meant it.”

I looked across the table at my brother—my stone-faced, emotionally armored, potentially imploding brother—and smiled. “Yeah, he really did.”

The dinner was perfect and the speeches heartfelt.

The wine flowed, and we took a small break before cutting the cake, which, surprisingly, hadn’t collapsed yet; also, surprisingly, Gabe hadn’t tackled anyone— yet .

I was just starting to believe we might actually pull off the perfect wedding day when I noticed Carol slipping away with a mission in her heels.

“Where’s she going?” I murmured to Ella, who was laughing with her head on my shoulder, mid-sway.

“I don’t know,” she said, without much concern. “She said something earlier about changing shoes.”

That explanation was normal enough. Until three minutes later, when Carol came barreling out of the barn doors looking like she’d seen a ghost.

“Uh-oh,” Ella said instantly.

“Uh-oh is right,” Carol announced. “So… funny story.”

That alone was enough to make half the guests turn.

“I was going to change shoes, but I accidentally opened the wrong closet and—"She stopped, biting her lip, her expression somewhere between horror and laughter. “Okay, so you know how you guys asked everyone not to bring gifts?”

“Yeah?” I said slowly.

“Well, someone didn’t listen. ”

Carol jerked her thumb toward the barn, and that’s when we heard it. A buzzing. Low at first. Then louder. And then…

“Oh God,” Ella whispered. “No.”

“Yep,” Carol said, barely holding back a snort. “There’s a gift basket. Unlabeled. Wrapped in white satin. Containing what can only be described as… marital aids.”

The guests were catching on now. Heads turned. A collective ripple of curious murmurs moved through the ranks.

“Someone left us a sex basket? ” I asked too loudly.

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten to the best part,” Carol said brightly. “It’s… animatronic.”

“What?!”

“I think it’s voice-activated? Or motion-activated? Either way, something triggered it.”

The buzzing grew louder. And then, from inside the barn, a moaning sound echoed out across the reception. Everyone froze.

And then: OH YEAH, BABY. SHOW ME THAT HONEYMOON ENERGY.

Laughter mixed with shocked gasps. An elderly relative dropped a fork. Ella buried her face in her hands. “I swear to God, if this is from Henry…”

“I didn’t say it was from Henry,” Carol said quickly.

“You didn’t say it wasn’t . ”

“I think it’s from the bakery girls,” Carol whispered, “but I didn’t open the card.”

At that moment, the moaning automaton in the barn let out a mechanical giggle and shouted: “SWEETEN THAT DESSERT, CHEF.”

Ella groaned and slid down into a chair. “I’m going to die. Right here. I’m going to pass away in my wedding dress, and they’re going to write death by vibrator basket on my grave.”

“I’ll carve it in,” I promised.

Thorne was cackling inside my chest. Best wedding ever.

I pulled Ella up and kissed her cheek. “Come on, Mrs. McCloud. Let’s go shut up the robot sex elf in our barn.”

She gave me a look that said she was reconsidering everything, then slipped her hand into mine. Together we walked toward the barn, faces burning, guests still laughing behind us.

“On the plus side,” I muttered, “at least no one’s going to forget our wedding.”

“Oh no,” Ella agreed dryly in prophetic words. “This is going down in history.”