Page 82 of The Vegas Rerun
Because this is where it all started. Where I met him. Where I accidentally fell into the best mistake of my life. And where, in just a few short hours, I’ll marry the man who changed everything.
Behind me, the suite is alive with noise. Laughter. Excited voices. The kind of pre-wedding buzz that makes your heart flutter and your stomach flip.
“Mommy,” Autumn’s voice rings out, sweet and urgent. “Can I wear my sparkly shoes now?”
I turn, smiling, and she’s there - my four-year-old whirlwind - in a cloud of soft pink tulle, her curls bouncing, her cheeksflushed with excitement. She’s already in her flower girl dress, which she insists on calling her “princess gown.” And I’m not about to correct her.
“Almost, baby,” I say, crouching down to her level. “Let’s wait until we’re dressed and ready to go, okay?”
“But I want to wear them now,” she pouts, sticking out her bottom lip dramatically. “They make the clicky sound when I walk.”
I grin.
“How about this—you can wear them if you promise not to jump on the bed again.”
She considers this with all the seriousness of a diplomat negotiating peace. Then she nods solemnly.
“Deal.”
I ruffle her curls.
“Go ask Nana to help you put them on.”
Autumn dashes off toward my mom, who’s perched on the sofa, half laughing, and wrestling with a tiny bow that apparently must go in Autumn’s hair. The whole scene is warm and chaotic and perfect.
I move toward the full-length mirror, and for the first time all day, I let myself take a breath. Today is the day. After everything we’ve been through together. The attack. The fear. The courtroom. The healing. The slow, beautiful way Joshua pieced us back together.
This is our fresh start.
My dress hangs from the closet door beside me. It’s a simple, elegant gown with a satin bodice and a flowing chiffon skirt that moves like air. I hadn’t wanted anything too fussy. No ballgowns or tight corsets or veils the size of parachutes. Just something soft. Something light. Something that feels like me.
I run my hand over the fabric, my stomach fluttering again, but this time, it’s not nerves. It’s joy. Real, deep joy like I’ve never known before.
Behind me footsteps approach and I hear the gentle squeal of a baby. It’s Oscar. Joshua’s sister, Hannah, appears in the mirror’s reflection, bouncing her son on her hip while trying to get him to sip water from a bottle.
“He’s teething,” she sighs. “We’ve been up since four o’clock.”
I wince sympathetically.
“Ouch. You didn’t have to fly in with him so young, Han.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Besides, he slept on the plane better than my husband did,” she says, and she grins and gestures toward her husband, Mitchell, who’s passed out in an armchair with his mouth wide open.
I laugh.
“Classic Mitchell.”
Emily walks over and gently sets Oscar down on the carpet, where he immediately starts trying to eat a hotel pen which she quickly wrestles away from him.
“He loves your dress, by the way,” she says, eyeing the gown. “And so do I.”
“Thanks. I feel like a bride already.”
“You are a bride.”
I smile. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
The chapel is small, intimate, and bathed in soft yellow candlelight. Fairy lights twinkle overhead, casting golden halos over everything. A string quartet plays quietly in the corner, their music folding around the space like a lullaby.
