Page 43 of Marrying the Accidental Groom
But this time, they weren’t just from shame.
They were from exhaustion. From grief. From the ache of trying so hard for so long to be the version of herself her motherdemanded. A version that was polished and predictable. That didn’t mess up, didn’t embarrass anyone, didn’t want anything that wasn’t pre-approved.
But at this dusty mountain ranch with crooked cabinet doors and a man who kissed her like she was something sacred, she’d begun to realize just how hollow that version of herself really was.
Gideon didn’t want her to perform. He didn’t need her to be anything but present. When she snapped, he didn’t shrink back or retaliate. He leaned in. When she unraveled, he didn’t act like she was broken. He just handed her cider and danced with her under the string lights like she belonged there.
And maybe she did.
Maybe for the first time in her life, she belonged somewhere, not because she’d earned it or engineered it, but because grace had made a space.
She thought about the late-night prayers she’d whispered since the wedding—first out of desperation, then slowly, out of hope. She hadn’t trusted the plan. But somewhere along the way, she’d started trusting the Planner.
Because as much as she’d hated the chaos of the broken engagement, the accidental marriage, even the gas station curry disaster and the haphazard way Gideon approached each day—there had been something strangely beautiful about it too.
Gideon wasn’t part of the equation she’d carefully crafted for her future. He was spontaneous and infuriatingly easygoing. But he was steady in the ways that mattered. He saw her. Listened to her. Held space for her. And when her perfectly drawn lines blurred, he didn’t flinch. He smiled and told her it was better that way.
She used to think control was the only way to feel safe. Now, she was beginning to understand that surrender might be the only way to feel free. The life she was living wasn’t the one shewould’ve chosen. But maybe that was the point. Maybe it was better.
How could her mother possibly understand that?
How could someone who traded love for luxury understand what it felt like to be cherished just as you were?
Juliana sat up straighter, shoulders squaring. Her tears didn’t stop, but they cleared a new path now—not from fear or shame, but from conviction.
Her voice was shaky but fierce. “How dare you make this about you?”
Silence.
“This is my life. And I’ve run myself into the ground trying to be perfect for you. Trying to earn your approval, like if I made no mistakes and embarrassed you in no way, I might finally get your affection. But it’s never been enough. It will never be enough.”
Her chest heaved.
“Yes, I made a mistake. I accidentally married a perfect stranger. But you know what? I wouldn’t go back and change it. Because Gideon is a good man. And I think I love him.”
Her voice broke, but she pressed on.
“You can say what you want about money and status and lifestyle, and how you sacrificed romance on the altar of all those things. But I don’t care how many zeros are in Gideon’s bank account. I care about him.”
She took a breath that felt more like a lifeline before continuing. “I don’t know if I’m going to stay. I don’t know if I’ll take the job with Harrison Hotels. But I do know this—I'm not coming home. And I’m done letting you pressure me into a life I don’t want.”
Juliana ended the call with trembling fingers, ignoring her mother’s sputtering. She set her phone down on the nightstandlike it might bite her. The silence that followed felt sacred. Heavy and still, like the air after a thunderstorm.
Her shoulders ached from the tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, but beneath the exhaustion was something else. A strange kind of peace. Not the polished, poised kind she used to chase through color-coded planners and five-year career goals, but a gritty, hard-won kind. The kind that came from saying what needed to be said, even if her voice had shaken.
She stared at the cabin ceiling for a long moment, the soft twinkle of the string lights Gideon had hung outside casting shadows against the wood-paneled walls. She should’ve felt untethered after a call like that. Lost, maybe even guilty. But she didn’t.
Instead, she felt free.
Free from the voice in her head that always second-guessed, always strategized, always made sure she was two steps ahead of disaster. Free from the polished future someone else had designed for her. And more than anything, free from the belief that love had to be earned by being useful or impressive or unbreakable.
She had told her mother she thought she might love Gideon.
And maybe that was supposed to be terrifying. Maybe it should’ve made her want to bury herself under the covers and pretend she’d never said it out loud. But it didn’t. Because saying it had pulled something into focus she’d been too scared to look at directly.
Shedidlove him.
It wasn’t the sweep-you-off-your-feet kind of love her mother had always warned against, or the curated kind that looked good on a holiday card. It was Gideon. Steady, ridiculous, always-tracking-mud-inside Gideon. The man who gave her space when she bristled, and then leaned in anyway. The man who laughed at her spreadsheets and then stayed up late helping her color-code the menu plan without complaint. The man who had no idea how to iron a shirt but looked at her like she’d just invented the airplane.
