Mama and I nodded and followed June outside. The day was warm but with a breeze rustling the leaves in the trees to keep it from being too hot. I couldn’t see around the corner to the flower-laden awning in the clearing amid the redwoods that served as our altar, but I could hear the soft sounds of Miller’s guitar as he accompanied the procession down the aisle—Cami and Lily, then August, then our bridesmaids and groomsmen.
The music changed to Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus,” and I heard the rustling of fifty guests as they rose from the white folding chairs that faced our little awning. I laced my hand around Mama’s arm, and she gave it a squeeze. Then we walked.
I’d already seen the wedding preparations, of course, at the rehearsal yesterday. But seeing the finished product, with everyone Ronan and I loved in the world gathered together, stole my breath.
And Ronan…
My heart ached to see him standing there, devastating in the same soft-gray suit, no tie, his hands clasped in front of him stiffly. His eyes widened to see me come down the aisle, and his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
I had to bite the inside of mine to keep the tears in check. We arrived at the end of the aisle, and the officiant—Eleanor Hutchins, a friend of Bibi’s from one of her church groups—smiled down at me from her small podium.
My mother gave me away, placing my hand in Ronan’s, and when I looked up into his eyes, nothing could stop the tears from blurring my vision.
“Shiloh…” he whispered gruffly.
I knew how he felt, the overwhelming perfection of the moment washing over me too. I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, anchoring us to the present, sharing our strength. I felt the power of our partnership that had seen us through so much together and that had carried us through when we were apart.
Eleanor began the ceremony, giving a little speech about the power of enduring love, and then had us repeat the traditional vows. It would have been too much to ask Ronan to write his own to be recited in front of fifty people—it wasn’t his way. Ronan made vows to me every day: in the work he did to help create our perfect life, in the way he loved our son, and in the grasping embraces in our bed at night. The intensity of his gaze when he looked at me held all his promises, and I knew deep in my soul that this love was going to last forever.
“And now the rings,” Eleanor said, and the entire congregationawwwedas August, in a miniature version of the men’s suits, climbed off Mama’s lap and toddled up.
“Hi, Mama! Hi, Daddy!” he exclaimed loudly, setting the crowd off again and making my eyes shine.
“Hi, baby,” I said, taking two boxes from his hands and passing them to Eleanor. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
“Okay, bye!” he said, job done, and rushed back to my mother’s lap.
I exchanged a grin with Ronan, but nerves twisted my stomach. We’d both wanted to keep our rings a secret until this moment.
“Ronan,” Eleanor said, handing him one of the boxes. “If you will take your bride’s ring.”
My heart pounded as he opened it, and inside lay the silver-gold ring with our birthstones, glinting up at me in the brilliant sun.
I stared. “You? You made that order?”
He nodded, taking the band from the box. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “This one helped.”
Grinning proudly, Holden twiddled his fingers at me, and then I knew why the Parisian order had felt familiar.
I shook my head, marveling, as Ronan leaned in. “Is it tacky that you made your own ring?” he whispered. “I just couldn’t imagine giving the job to anyone else. But…I designed it. If that counts for anything.”
“You designed it,” I whispered back. “That counts for everything.”
We locked eyes, and I nearly kissed him before it was time. Eleanor cleared her throat; we were holding up our own wedding.
We straightened, and Ronan took my hand and repeated the words, “With this ring, I thee wed,” then slipped the ring over my finger. It fit so perfectly; I couldn’t imagine how I’d lived twenty-two years without it.
Then it was my turn to reveal the ring I’d made for Ronan—a wide band of hammered black gold with a vein of twenty-four-carat gold gleaming down the middle. To me, it represented the heart of gold that beat inside the chest of the man standing across from me, whose love and goodness shone brightly, even through the darkest of nights.
I opened the box, and Ronan’s jaw tightened again. He shook his head at me. “It’s perfect,” he whispered. “It’s…”
His thought trailed, and I was glad when Eleanor had me recite the words to Ronan so that he could recover.
“By the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Eleanor turned to Ronan. “You may kiss your bride.”
Ronan took my face in both hands, his eyes meeting mine for a split second—speaking volumes—before he leaned in to kiss me, the crowd erupting in sniffles and cheers.
“I love you,” he whispered against my lips. “God, Shiloh…”