"Well," the officiant says with a friendly smile on his face, "we''ve made it to the
moment that matters most. Knox and Sloane, you''ve chosen to stand here today,
just the two of you, because what you have is rare, and real, and enough. You''ve
asked to exchange your own vows, so let''s begin. Knox, whenever you''re ready."
Knox''s fingers tighten around mine the second we''re given the floor.
Seeing the look in his eyes, I know that I made the right decision dragging him to
Vegas to get married.
The chapel is small, just as we wanted. There''s a faint floral scent in the air - fake
lilies, I think. The windows are frosted, making the whole ce glow as light filters
through.
It''s the kind of peace I wouldn''t have gotten if I''d let Grandma June take over the
wedding preparations.
God.
I''ve learned the hard way that when you''re freshly engaged and still high off that
moment, the absolute worst person you can call is your grandmother. Especially
when you''ve been avoiding the rest of your family.
You can never be more excited than a grandmother. It''s impossible.
I called her the night of the proposal, still breathless, my hand shaking as I stared
at the ring Knox had slid onto my finger just minutes before. She gasped so hard I
thought she''d faint, and before I could get through the sentence, "I''m so happy,"
she was already calling half of Manhattan.
Within three days, I''d received over seventy texts from people I hadn''t heard from
in years. Former ssmates. Former coworkers. Distant rtives who once held
me as a baby, apparently. Some messages came with congrattions. Some with
unsolicited advice. Some with awkward emoji-heavy reactions that made me want
to throw my phone across the room.
And every day after that, Grandma June would call with new ideas. A garden
theme. A vintage theme. A modern minimalist theme. She wanted cascading
flowers. Rose gold chairs. A choreographed dance. She even brought up hiring a
celebrity impersonator as the MC. I swear I''m not making that up.
She already had a P*******t board made with my full name on it.
One day, she sent me an image of three almost identical pink nail polish swatches
and asked which shade I wanted for the wedding. When I replied, "Aren''t they all
the same?" I got a two-minute voice note in return telling me I had no eye for
detail and that if I didn''t want to look washed out, I''d better take nail color
seriously.
I threw myself face-first onto the bed and groaned into the pillow while Knox sat
on the couch andughed like it was the bestedy he''d seen all year.
"You''re mad because she loves you," he said, sipping his drink with that smug grin
on his face.
He wasn''tughing when his own family started calling me, though.
His number? Unreachable. On purpose.
Mine? Apparently still open for business. And I kept getting these calls from
numbers I didn''t recognize. At first, I ignored them, assuming they were the usual
telemarketers or distant cousins trying to squeeze themselves onto my wedding
list. But then one of those unknown numbers sent a message.
It was from Julian Hartley. Knox''s father, or technically, his uncle. The first time I
heard the story, the one about how Julian''s sister had given birth to Knox and
disappeared right after, leaving him to be raised by Victoria Hartley, who hated
Knox for it... I''d nearly seen red. But with all the chaosing from my own
family, I didn''t have the luxury of being angry for too long. I had to channel it
elsewhere.
"Hi, Sloane," the text said. "I got your number off Finn and was hoping to speak
with Knox. I feel like we left things in a bad way, and there were a lot of
mimunications. Let me know if he''s open to talking."
I knew what that meant. It was his way of saying sorry, probably after his wife
spent hours talking him into it. Mimunication? Really? That''s one way to put
it. You ruined his life.
When I showed Knox the text, he stared at it for a full thirty seconds, muttered
something under his breath, and then deleted it from my phone. He never brought
it up again.
Just like that. Over and done.
That was the moment I knew we couldn''t have the wedding in Manhattan. Getting
married there would mean letting Grandma have her way, and if that happened,
half the would be at my wedding.
No, thank you.
So one afternoon, two weeks after Knox''s proposal, I walked into his office,
leaned against the doorframe, and said, "Let''s get married in Vegas."
He looked up from hisputer, eyes narrowed like he wasn''t sure if I was
serious. "You want to invite everyone to Vegas?"
"No. I want to elope and marry your ass in Vegas, Knox. Just the two of us."
That made him grin. The slow kind. The one that lights up his whole face.
"Isn''t that where everyone goes for a shotgun wedding?" he asked.
"I never said I was original. Besides, Vegas is fun. I want a fun wedding."
"Well, baby," he said, leaning back in his chair, "I''m down for whatever. Fix a
date."
"This weekend."
That surprised him. But not enough to say no.
"I don''t know what''s gotten into you," he said, "but I love it. I''ll make the
arrangements right away. Your grandmother''s going to be pissed."
"I know. I''ll deal with her when I''m back."
We spent the next day shopping,
with Knox insisting he had better
fashion sense, which is up for
debate. But he was oddly
opinionated about wedding dresses.
He picked this short white one with
tiny off-shoulder sleeves and silky
fabric that hugs just enough to feel
scandalous. And God, don''t get me
started on the six-inch heels that are
currently setting my calves on fire.
We flew into Vegasst night on a private jet. Got our marriage license at the
rk County Bureau this morning. And came straight here to the chapel.
And now, even though I''ve been standing in these six-inch heels for far too long,
this is still the best day of my life.
Knox is in front of me in a suit-an
actual suit, which almost never
happens. Whad to insist he get one.
No tie, of course. That was his one
rule. The top two buttons of his
white shirt are undone, just enough
to reveal the edges of the tattoos on
his chest. His hair''s a méss. His
smile is devastating.
I can''t stop smiling. I''m swaying side to side like I''ve had too much sugar, barely
able to stay still. Giddy doesn''t even begin to cover it. Across from me, Knox is
doing his best to look calm, but I know him too well. He clears his throat,
beginning his vows.
"The truth is," he says, "I didn''t write
anything down. I couldn''t. But if I
had, I''d still be standing here looking
at you... forgetting every single word.
You''re so beautiful, Bunny. I''ve never
wanted anything more than want
you. You crawled under my skin the
day we met, and nothing''s been the
same since."
I blink hard, trying to stay present, trying to hold on to every syble.
I''ve seen the worst parts of myself through your eyes... and somehow, you
stayed. Even when I didn''t say the right thing. Even when my mischievous ways
should''ve pushed you away. You''re the first person who ever made me want to
stay alive long enough to grow old."
My eyes blur with tears.
"So this is me promising you everything I have," he says. "The parts that are
loudly and obsessively and stupidly in love with you. The parts that are soft and
scared and trying. I want to be yours in every way that matters. Today. Tomorrow.
And for the rest of our lives."
He gives a tiny shake of his head.
"I love you so much, Sloane Mercer. I really can''t wait to call you Mrs. Sloane
Hartley."
A single tear slips down my cheek, and I don''t even try to brush it away. I''m
smiling too wide. Feeling too much.
"Jesus, Knox," I say, blinking up at him. "Remind me not to go into a vow contest
with you."