Page 69 of Behind the Cover
I open it. Inside is a simple, elegant frame. And in the frame is a copy of the very first check my consulting firm ever received, for a small, thousand-dollar project for a local, woman-owned candle company. It’s a symbol of the first dollar I ever earned in my new life. “So you never forget who the CEO is,” she says, pulling me into a fierce hug.
The ceremony takes place in the late afternoon, under the sprawling branches of the oak tree. The air is warm and smells of cut grass and the sweet perfume of the wildflowers tucked into mason jars along the aisle. Our guests are seated on a collection of mismatched wooden chairs and hay bales covered in colorful quilts, a perfect, chaotic tapestry of our two lives woven together.
I walk down the aisle on my father’s arm, my bare feet sinking into the soft grass. I’m wearing a simple, vintage-inspired lace dress. Wyatt is waiting for me, looking impossibly handsome in a simple linen shirt and trousers, his own feet bare in the grass. Tyler stands beside him as best man, grinning like an idiot. The look on Wyatt’s face when he sees me is a story in itself, a look of such profound love and adoration that it makes my heart ache with joy.
We say our own vows, our hands clasped together, the world fading away until it’s just the two of us under the vast, open sky.
Wyatt goes first, his voice a low, steady rumble that makes my heart flutter. He talks about seeing me for the first time in the bookstore, a woman trying to rebuild her world, and how he knew, in that instant, that his own world was about to change forever. He promises to always be my partner, to always help me face the light, and to always, always see the real, beautiful story of who I am.
When it’s my turn, I look out at the faces of our family, our friends, this beautiful, blended tribe we have built. I talk about being lost and how Wyatt’s quiet, steady love helped me find my way back to myself. I talk about learning to trust again,not just in him, but in my own judgment, in my own strength. “You didn’t save me, Wyatt,” I say, my voice trembling but sure. “You did something so much more important. You created a safe space for me to save myself. And I promise to be the co-author of our story, to build a life with you that is messy and real and gloriously, wonderfully ours.”
When the local justice of the peace, a kind-faced woman who is also the town’s beekeeper, pronounces us husband and wife, our first kiss is met with a chorus of happy, heartfelt cheers from our loved ones.
The reception is a party. A celebration. Long, rustic tables are laden with a feast that is a perfect fusion of our two families.
The band finishes their set, and Wyatt’s about to pull me onto the makeshift dance floor when I hear a familiar voice call out, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special performance!”
I turn around, and there they are — the singing telegram group from the courthouse steps. The woman in the sequined dress and feather boa waves at us, grinning.
“Oh my God,” I breathe, my hand flying to my mouth as I start laughing.
“Surprise!” Nico calls out from across the reception, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
The ukulele player strikes up a jaunty tune, and the singer begins:
“Once there was a model boy who thought he had it all,
Perfect face and perfect life, standing proud and tall!
Then he met a woman who could see right through,
She stole his heart, and now he’s caught—it’s true!
So here’s to Snow and Wyatt on their wedding day,
Two broken roads that led them to this perfect place to stay!
May your love be real, may your joy be true,
Here’s to forever — just the real you!“
The crowd erupts in applause and laughter. The singer takes a theatrical bow, then looks directly at us.
“Congratulations, you two! Much better material than the last time!”
I’m doubled over laughing, tears streaming down my face. Wyatt pulls me close, kissing my temple as our families and friends cheer around us.
“Best wedding entertainment ever,” I manage to say.
“Only the best for you,” he tells me, and spins me onto the dance floor as the band picks up again.
I dance with my father next, his hand rough and warm in mine. “He’s a good man, Snow-flower,” he whispers in my ear as he spins me around. “He knows the value of things that can’t be bought.” The same words he spoke when he first met Wyatt.
Wyatt is pulled into a wild, laughing dance by Nico and her friend, Maya. He looks endearingly awkward and completely, utterly happy, his Texas two-step no match for their Brooklyn rhythm.
I watch, laughing at his enthusiastic but terrible dancing, and my heart is so full it might burst.
As the sun sets, casting a warm, golden glow over the farm, Wyatt and I slip away from the party. As we walk toward the old porch swing, I catch a glimpse of Nico slipping away too, her hand in the hand of a dark-haired man I recognize from the courthouse.
We find ourselves on the old porch swing. I rest my head on his shoulder, his arm a warm, solid weight around me.
“Happy, wife?” he whispers, his voice a playful, teasing rumble against my ear.
I smile, a real, genuine, from-the-bottom-of-my-soul smile. “Happier than I ever knew was possible, husband,” I say.
