Page 100 of The Best Man's Secret

“Thanks, Mom.” My throat tightened as I took her arm.

“Remember, love is like an anchor,” she said as we began to walk out of the room, her voice steady and sure. “It holds fast against any storm. And I’ve never seen two people more anchored in each other than you and River.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. I allowed myself to be led and comforted by her presence as we made our way down the hall toward the room where the ceremony would be held.

“Almost there,” she whispered.

As we rounded the corner, the foyer opened into an expanse of expectant faces, all turned toward us. But it wasn’t the sea of guests that caught my breath, it was Lex, standing off to the side, his role as best man worn like a badge of honor. His eyes met mine, and as it always was with us, there was no need for words. We’d been able to read each other’s thoughts since before we could walk. There was no one else I would rather have standing by my side today.

The music started, so I held my mom’s hand in mine, and we walked down the aisle, ready and excited to see my future husband again and make the promises we’d already made all those years ago when we were still kids.

We would always be each other’s best friends no matter what.

Enjoying getting naked with him was a bonus.

When we reached the altar, Mom kissed my cheek before doing the same to Lex. She sat beside Dad and Grandma, pulling a small handkerchief from her purse and dabbing her eyes with it.

The music picked up again, and through the double doors, River made his entrance.

River’s mom, a beacon of maternal elegance, took his arm, and together, they stepped into the sun-drenched aisle.

Time, traitorously, didn’t stand still but seemed to pulse with the rhythm of my heartbeat.

My eyes followed their slow progression, each step a measured beat. This man who had patiently loved me from afar for so long and, when given the opportunity, loved me even more up close.

His hand rested delicately in his mother’s, a silent testament to the nurturing love that had shaped him into the man he was today—the man I was about to call my husband.

He moved with a grace of a deep-seated certainty that whatever happened next, it was right—it was meant. And as he approached, my heart raced faster, but only because it always did when we were this close.

“River,” I breathed his name like a prayer. A promise of forever love.

“Adam.” His voice was a gentle wave washing over me.

“Hey. Told you I’d be here.”

His smile was my undoing, and as a tear ran down my cheek, I looked into the depths of his eyes and found our future.

“Ready?” he asked, reaching for my cheek and pushing the stray tear away.

“Let’s get married.”

“Let’s begin,” the celebrant announced.

And as I took River’s hand in mine, feeling the familiar yet exhilarating pulse of his heartbeat against my skin, I knew that every challenge we faced, every doubt we conquered, had led us here—to each other, this moment, this love that I had no doubt would endure beyond the final pages of any story we might write.