Page 56 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)
WREN
“Are you ready to do this?” My father leans down and whispers in my ear as I link my arm through his.
I stare up at him, the greying hair around his temple, the dark brown eyes that match my own.
The expression on his face is soft and kind.
Nothing like the man that was ready to kick me out of his house and disown me as a Miller last year.
Something Claire said the day we talked at her house rang true. Nobody has it all figured out, and sometimes the people who claim to are the most insecure of anyone . I lived my entire life putting my parents on a pedestal, assuming they had all the answers, that they knew what was best.
I spent a few months after last summer being so angry—furious they would put their flaws and misbeliefs on me.
But when I finally let go of my anger and moved past it, I understand the heart of what Claire had meant.
It’s my parents’ first time living, too.
When I look up at my father today, I see him as just a human, like me, doing his best with what he was given.
He apologized, of course. But not after some harsh, honest truths were shared, and a healthy dose of grovelling on his end. My theory is my mother had something to do with it. Perhaps the thought of losing me finally gave her the gumption to stand up to him and tell him to figure his shit out.
I nod back at him. I’m ready. I’ve been ready to marry Hudson my whole life.
I look out at our backyard, and then around the house Hudson and I designed and built together.
There are signs of each of us everywhere, in all the details.
The exposed beams over the vaulted ceiling in the living room?
Those were Hudson’s idea. But the pieces of colourful artwork that bring nature inside and onto our walls? That was all me.
I love this place we created. I love what it represents, the two of us, declaring a beautiful truce. And it makes me so, stupidly, incredibly happy this is where we decided to say our vows and start the next chapter of a long life together.
The soft, acoustic melody of the song I’m supposed to walk down the aisle to starts, and a lump rises in my throat. Hudson picked it and kept it a secret from me. The lyrics of Wildflowers drift through the double French doors leading to the backyard.
My dad leads me out the door, arm in arm. The plush, green lawn is cool and soft on my bare feet as we set foot on the grass that forms my wedding aisle. All our most treasured friends and family members are there, flanking the aisle lined with buckets upon buckets of wildflowers.
Poppy, Ally, Spencer, and Emma are all standing at the end of the aisle waiting for me, but the only person I see is Hudson.
Ruby is seated like a perfect angel at his side, flowers in a wreath around her neck.
Hudson’s tux is the same as the one he wore to my gallery, with a fresh lipstick mark I put there last night, visible on the collar.
His face is set in the same expression it was the day I first saw him on the street corner on Main Street, a mix of excitement, and awe, and wonder, at the miracle we’ve been brought back together.
The miracle isn’t lost on me, either, as I look back at the man standing before me.
The man who grew from the beautiful, sensitive, caring boy who stole my heart.
As we draw closer, his eyes trail over my body, taking in the romantic swaths of flowy chiffon I’m wearing. Not white, Rival Rouge. His eyes snag and stop on my matching red lips.
The officiant asks who is giving the bride away and my parents answer, starting off the ceremony that should have happened a long, long time ago. Hudson reaches for my hand as I pass off my bouquet to Poppy.
‘Hi,’ Hudson mouths as we come to stop at the end of the aisle.
‘Hi,’ I mouth back, giving his hands three quick squeezes.
The ceremony might have taken thirty seconds, or it may have been three hours, because time stands still as I stare into Hudson’s blue eyes, reflecting the colour of the milky blue river behind us. I only come back to the present moment when it’s time to say our vows.
“Wren,” Hudson starts, swallowing hard as he fights his emotions.
My hands shake waiting for his next words.
“You’re such a strong, brilliant woman, and I want to give you the world.
I want to give you everything. I want to be perfect for you.
But no one is perfect, so I promise this instead.
I promise to be there for you through everything.
Your wins, your losses, the good days, and the bad ones.
I promise to be consistent, your grounding force.
I promise to love you, all the versions of you that you discover in our long life together.
I’ve loved you almost our whole lives, and I promise to love you for the rest of it, too. ”
Hudson sniffs, and I force back my own tears. Now it’s my turn.
“Some women dream of their wedding day since they’re little,” I start.
“Me? I always dreamt of our wedding. When I pictured myself, grown up, as a bride, it was always next to you. I pushed that dream to the back of my mind once, but I never let it go. I never forgot. Because somehow I knew no matter what happened, I would always find my way back to you.”
We exchange our rings, and the air between us buzzes with tension and anticipation for what comes next.
“I now pronounce you, Mr. and Mrs. Miller-Landry!”
Hudson’s mouth is on mine before the officiant says ‘You may kiss the bride’, his hands framing my face, my hands clutching his lapels. Cheers and shouts rise from all our friends and family, celebrating us, celebrating all we’ve overcome to be here, today .
Hudson pulls back from our kiss and presses the tip of his nose to mine.
“Same team?” he asks, as if it’s even a question anymore.
“Same team,” I answer, and we turn to walk down the aisle, hand in hand.
The party goes on well into the night, under a tent lit up by hundreds of fairy lights.
This is the first time I’ve sat down in hours since the dance floor started, and my feet are starting to ache.
I sit next to Claire at a table in the far corner.
Kevin didn’t come, thank God. I secretly hope it’s because Claire’s decided to leave him, but she’s been quiet next to me since I sat down and hasn’t mentioned anything leading up to the wedding, either.
“Mom and Dad look like they’re having fun,” she says finally, nodding over to where they’re shredding the dance floor. “I’m glad.”
“Me too,” I agree.
“This isn’t the wedding they would have planned for you.”
“I know.” They would have preferred an expensive hotel venue in Banff. Me, in a crisp, A-line, princess dress. Jordan almonds in organza sachets. Instead, I gave her messy, chaotic, playful—us.
“It’s perfect,” Claire says, and I respond with a soft smile. It is perfect. “So, what made you decide to hyphenate?”
I consider my answer for a moment, but only how I want to explain it. Because the decision itself was an easy one. Almost as easy as marrying Hudson in the first place.
“Hudson and I both bring our own strengths to the team. And it turns out, I like being a Miller after all. It used to feel like this pressure, this insane expectation to live up to. Now I see it differently. Being a Miller means being perseverant, tenacious, driven. Had I not been those things, Hudson and I wouldn’t be standing here together.
I decided the Miller name can mean whatever I want it to mean. ”
Claire holds up her glass.
“To changing old patterns,” she toasts. Her words couldn’t be more fitting for tonight.
“Can I steal my wife for a moment?” Warmth ripples through my chest at the way Hudson says it. My wife .
Claire gives him a be my guest gesture, and I get up to follow Hudson out of the tent, across our property.
The music and noise from the crowd go quiet as we sneak into my art studio and shut the door behind us.
Soft yellow light illuminates the space in a warm glow.
There’s not much room to move between all the canvases in here.
Ever since Spencer got my social media page up and running, I’ve had a waitlist for commissions.
But Hudson finds the clearing in front of my easel, and I’m grateful for a private moment with my new husband.
“Mrs. Miller-Landry,” Hudson says, turning back towards me as I cross the small space to meet him.
“Mr. Miller-Landry,” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck and combing my fingers through his hair as he dips his forehead to mine. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“The best.” His lips meet mine for about the hundredth time this evening. Yet, this kiss is different. It’s private, it’s intimate. It’s just for us. His tongue parts my lips as it looks for my own, and for this moment, we become like one. Extensions of each other. A team.
Hudson Landry was my first love, my first kiss, my first … everything. And now I get to live the rest of my life knowing he’ll also be all of my lasts.