POV:) Juliet Anderson

One year later

The silk of my gown brushes softly against my skin, white as snow, cascading in elegant folds to the ground. It’s classic, with a deep sweetheart neckline and delicate lace sleeves that rest just off my shoulders—romantic, timeless, a dream I never dared to dream. But somehow, it all came true.

I gaze into the mirror, my heart racing. My hair is styled in soft curls, a few pinned back with pearl clips, the rest tumbling down my back. Around my neck is the necklace Alex gave me on the night he proposed—midnight, barefoot in our kitchen, flour in my hair from baking cookies, our daughter Ana sleeping in the bassinet nearby.

He’d said, “I was going to wait for something perfect, babygirl. But nothing in my life has been perfect until you.”

And then he knelt down, holding out a ring—not flashy, but beautiful. The way his voice cracked when he said, “Will you marry me?” and how I’d burst into tears, whispering yes over and over again until he kissed me and we both forgot the cookies in the oven. I think I loved him even more in that messy moment than I ever had before.

Now, here I am. One year later. Our daughter is nine months old, cooing in her little ivory dress, a flower crown too big for her head. She’s going to walk—or more accurately, wobble—down the aisle with her soon-to-be aunt Sienna, who can’t stop adjusting her dress.

“Jules,” Sienna calls, grinning. “Come on, bride. Time to make your man cry.”

I laugh through a swell of nerves. “He better.”

I hear the music shift, and I swear I forget how to breathe. Everyone rises. And then I see her.

Juliet.

God, she looks like a vision. Her dress, her smile, the way she walks like she’s floating—my babygirl, the woman who carried me through the darkest days, is walking toward me to become my wife.

And there she is—Ana in Sienna’s arms, waving her tiny hands in the air, flower crown sliding down her head. Our daughter, our light, our everything. She gurgles something and I laugh, even through the tears in my eyes. I grip the edge of the podium just to keep from crumbling.

Juliet meets my eyes.

And I know—I will never stop falling for her.

When she reaches me, I whisper, “You’re more than I ever deserved.”

She smiles, placing her hand in mine. “And you’re more than I ever dreamed of.”

Juliet speaks first, her voice steady but emotional.

“You showed me what love looks like when it’s hard. You held my hand when the world tried to pull us apart. You protected me, cherished me, and gave me a home in your arms. I promise to stand by you. I promise to love you, fiercely, faithfully, and endlessly.”

I swallow thickly, then speak.

“Juliet, my babygirl—my fire, my softness, my storm—you walked into my life and gave me peace I never thought I’d have. I vow to protect you, to make you laugh, to remind you every single day that you are loved. You, Ana, and this family we’re building—that’s my life’s greatest honour.”

“You may kiss the bride.”

And I do. God, I do.

My hand slides around her waist, pulling her against me as I dip her slightly, lips pressing to hers with everything I feel—love, desire, devotion, forever. Our guests cheer, but all I hear is her breath catching, her soft sigh against my mouth. The warmth of her hand on my cheek.

I hold Ana in my arms while Juliet leans against me, her head on my shoulder, our arms linked. The photographer snaps a picture and I smile down at my girls.

“Our parents didn’t want to attend our wedding,” I say quietly.

Juliet nods, not needing me to explain.

“But our daughter did.” I kiss Ana’s cheek. She squeals, giggling. “And honestly? That’s all that matters.”

We pose, the three of us—one broken boy who found healing, one brave girl who built a home out of love, and their baby who taught them what forever means.

Click.

A new chapter begins.

one day later........

Juliet's Perspective

Sunlight streamed through gauzy white curtains, painting gold ribbons across the honeymoon suite's wide bed. I stirred, my hand reaching across the soft sheets, searching. But all I felt was the leftover warmth of Alex’s body.

"Babygirl," his voice came from the balcony, deep and still a little rough from sleep. I turned my head and saw him standing there shirtless, the morning breeze teasing his dark hair. "You awake?"

I pushed off the covers and padded toward him, wearing only his oversized white shirt from last night. The silky hem skimmed the tops of my thighs.

"You left me alone on our first morning as husband and wife," I teased, wrapping my arms around him from behind.

He chuckled, pulling me in front of him, his hand going straight to my waist. "I was giving you a view of paradise, Mrs. Wolfe."

"The view is better when you're in bed with me."

His lips curled into a lazy smile. "We can fix that."

He lifted me effortlessly, carried me back to the bed, and laid me down with reverence. His hands explored the soft fabric I wore, fingers teasing up under the shirt. I gasped, arching slightly into his touch.

"I can’t believe you're mine," he murmured, brushing kisses along my collarbone, then lower, over the curve of my breast. "My wife."

"Say it again," I whispered, my hands tangling in his hair.

"My wife," he said again, voice thick, eyes blazing.

He worshipped every inch of me like I was a treasure he finally got to unwrap slowly. And I was just as eager, peeling his shorts off, savoring the way his breath hitched under my touch.

That morning, we didn’t rush. We took our time.

There were gasps, giggles, lazy teasing kisses, and breathless confessions whispered against sun-warmed skin. And after, he held me close, his fingers playing with my ring like he still couldn’t believe I said yes.

Alex's Perspective

She was glowing. Not from makeup or sunlight—from happiness. Juliet, curled beside me with her head on my chest and her fingers tracing the tattoo over my heart. I could feel her wedding ring press into my skin every time her hand moved.

"Do you remember when I proposed to you in the kitchen?" I asked.

She looked up at me with that sleepy smile. "You were nervous. It was adorable."

"I wasn't nervous," I lied.

She laughed and kissed my chin. "You dropped the ring."

"On purpose."

She snorted. "Sure."

I turned us over, pinning her beneath me. Her legs wrapped around me instinctively, heat building again.

"You made me a husband, Juliet. A father. A better man. I don't ever want to forget how lucky I am."

She pulled me down, her lips brushing mine. "Then don’t waste a single second."

And I didn’t.

We spent our honeymoon not in five-star tours or luxury dinners. We had breakfast in bed, long walks on the beach with Ana giggling in her stroller, nights tangled in bedsheets and hands and promises. It wasn’t just a getaway. It was a celebration.

Of everything we fought for.

Everything we became.

Everything we were still building.

Together.

--THE END--