CHAPTER 37: A WEDDING IN SECRET, A LOVE ON DISPLAY

The morning sun stretched lazily across the private garden of a countryside inn. Wildflowers danced in the breeze, and the scent of lavender lingered in the air. Underneath a willow tree, a white arch stood tall—no gold, no frills, just truth and quiet beauty.

No cameras. No press. No headlines. Just love. Just the people who mattered.

Isabel stood in front of a mirror inside one of the inn's cozy rooms. Her cream-colored dress clung softly to her curves, delicate but strong—like her. Her curls were pinned loosely, a few strands falling around her face like they refused to be tamed.

Behind her, Vanessa zipped up the dress with gentle hands, humming off-key to a tune they both knew but never got the words right to.

"You look unreal," Vanessa said, stepping back.

"I feel... like me," Isabel said with a breath. "Not performing. Just me."

A soft knock on the door.

Jude peeked in, a crooked smile on his face. "They're ready. He's pacing."

"Of course he is," Isabel laughed, grabbing her bouquet. "Let's go marry the anxious love of my life."

---

Adrian stood under the willow, suit pressed and tailored but not stiff. The navy matched the tie Isabel once teased him about—a subtle reminder that he remembered her every word.

When she walked out, everything else faded. The wind held its breath. Even the birds quieted.

She smiled at him. Not a showy smile. The kind that says, we made it. The kind that makes your knees weak.

Their ceremony was small, held by heartbeats and sunlight. Jude stood as their officiant, hands shaking just enough to make his sincerity obvious.

"You two," he began, eyes glassy, "have redefined love for the rest of us. Not the kind in movies, but the kind worth fighting for. The kind that makes you better."

Isabel's vows were messy and unpolished, just like real love.

"I vow to never ask you to shrink... not for me, not for anyone."

Adrian took her hands. "And I vow to always meet you at your full height."

They kissed under that tree. A real kiss. One that said everything words never could.

---

Dinner was set on the inn's small patio. String lights twinkled above. The playlist was glitchy—Jude's doing—but perfect in its imperfections. People danced barefoot, clinked glasses, and cried at random moments.

Vanessa stood to make a toast. She held her champagne like it was the mic at a protest.

"My brother always thought he had to earn love by being good—by being smart, composed, predictable. Isabel didn't just love him. She set him free. That's the kind of woman she is."

Zara added from across the table, "To two artists of love—may you paint something no storm can wash away."

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Later that night, under a sky full of stars, Isabel and Adrian lay side by side on a blanket, fingers laced. The air was cool, but their silence was warm.

"I thought I'd feel different," she said.

"How do you feel?" Adrian asked.

"Like I came home. But not to a place. To a person."

He leaned over and kissed her temple.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Cole."