Chapter 3 - Walking Down the Aisle
Ten minutes later, the bridal suite was empty except for June, Caleb, and me.
The air smelled faintly of hairspray and old lace. Downstairs, through the heavy oak doors, the faint, elegant strains of a string quartet drifted up from the hotel's grand glass-walled conservatory.
June stepped in front of me, holding a lint roller and carefully brushing a speck of dust off my champagne satin shoulder.
“You know,” June said, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed emotion, “most brides would have locked themselves in the bathroom and thrown up after something like that.”
I looked at my reflection in the vanity mirror.
The dress wasn't ivory lace with a cathedral train. It wasn't the gown I had sacrificed nine months of overtime and skipped lunches to buy. It was simple, sleek, and hit just below my knees. But my hair was still pinned perfectly, my makeup hadn't run, and my eyes—though tired—were clear.
“I almost did, June,” I smiled softly. “Then I realized I didn't care about the lace anymore. I just wanted to marry Caleb.”
June grabbed my hands, careful not to crush the roses. “You are the strongest person I know. Now come on. Your groom is waiting, and we have a wedding to crash.”
When the heavy glass doors of the conservatory swung open, the murmurs of two hundred seated guests instantly died away.
The Riverstone Hotel’s conservatory was breathtaking, featuring soaring iron-and-glass ceilings, cascading ivy, and white floral arches bathed in golden afternoon sunlight. On either side of the aisle, our friends, coworkers, and extended family members turned to look.
When they saw me—not in a traditional white lace gown dripping with ivory embroidery, but in a sleek, glowing champagne satin dress holding white roses—a collective intake of breath swept through the room.
Some people frowned, whispering behind cupped hands, wondering where the $4,600 dress had gone.
I didn't care.
Standing beneath the floral arch at the end of the aisle was Caleb. He wore a crisp black tuxedo, his shoulders relaxed, his dark eyes fixed entirely on me with a look of such fierce, unconditional devotion that my breath caught in my throat.
My mother and stepfather sat in the front row on the left side, both looking thoroughly shell-shocked, avoiding eye contact with everyone around them. Mallory was already halfway to the police precinct in the back of a squad car.
As I walked down the aisle on my own terms—no bodyguard, no toxic family drama weighing me down, just June smiling warmly from the front row—the sunlight fell across my shoulders.
Caleb stepped forward to meet me at the edge of the altar, extending his hand.
“You look incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled me close.
May you like
“Even without the lace?” I whispered back.
“Especially without the lace,” he smiled.
