Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(129)

Laire would always love her father and her sisters, and every summer, when she returned to the Banks with her husband and children, she would visit them. But she had chosen a very different path for her life, and part of respecting her unique upbringing was not forcing her family to embrace the changes she’d decided to make in her own journey.

“You’re my family,” said Laire. “You and Pat. Jude. Erik and Ava Grace. And Hillary and Pete, if they’d just get here already!”

On cue, the door to the little room burst open, and Hillary rushed in, looking frazzled. “Sorry we’re late! I brought my dress!”

Laire jumped up to hug Erik’s sister and introduced Hillary and Samantha before the latter hurried off to find another glass of Champagne to calm Hillary’s nerves, and grab Ava Grace for the processional.

“Goddamned cabdriver!” yelled Hillary, throwing her blouse on the floor and unzipping her skirt. “Took every possible goddamned detour!”

In the month and a half since Laire and Erik had reunited, Hillary had become one of her dearest friends. They spoke on the phone or over e-mail every day, and when Pete had finally proposed to Hillary, two weeks ago, Erik and Laire were the first people she’d called. She understood why Erik loved his straight-shooting sister so much, and Laire was relieved to have an ally in the Rexford camp.

At Erik’s insistence, they had not invited his parents to the wedding, but Laire still hoped that, over time, he would thaw. They would never be close to the senior Rexfords, but for the sake of their children, Laire would always work toward achieving peace.

“I’m glad you’re here, Hills.”

“Me too!” she said, pulling up her bridesmaid dress and turning around so that Laire could zip it.

“Now show me the bling!” insisted Laire, taking Hillary’s hand to look at the mammoth engagement ring Pete had given her: a two-and-a-quarter-karat princess-cut diamond solitaire. She sighed in appreciation. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Just as gorgeous as yours,” said Hillary with a grin, hugging Laire close. “You make him so happy.”

“He makes me happy,” said Laire, blinking back tears as she held on to Hillary.

The door opened again, and Samantha stepped inside, handing Hillary a glass of Champagne as Ava Grace ran over to her mother.

“Are you ready, Mama?”

Dressed in a pale pink flower girl dress with little pink satin rosebuds and a matching crown with ribbons that trailed down her back, Ava Grace was utterly beautiful.

“Yes, baby.”

“Daddy’s real nervous,” she said. “So I let him borrow Mr. Mopples.”

She snorted softly. “You did?”

Ava Grace nodded. “She’s sitting on the church steps, next to Daddy’s feet.”

“That’s perfect, honey.”

“You look beautiful, Mama.”

“You too, Ava Grace. Say hi to Aunt Hillary.”

“Hi, Aunt Hillary! Did you bring me a present?”

“Yes, I did, rock star, but let’s get your mama and daddy married first, huh?”

Samantha took Ava Grace’s hand in hers and smiled down at her former ballet student. “Are we ready, little miss?”

“Uh-huh.”

Laire reached down for her bouquet—a mix of white roses and freesia—and nodded. “We’re ready.”

Samantha, Ava Grace, and Hillary preceded her into the church’s vestibule.

The wedding planner, who had worked at Mach speed since their move to New York the second week in January, opened the doors to the small sanctuary just as the organist started playing Pachelbel’s Canon in D.

Ava Grace and Samantha started down the aisle first, then Hillary, which left Laire alone, lifting her eyes to the altar, where her handsome prince waited, his dark eyes focused, with profound depths of love, on hers.

As she took her first step toward him, she felt it in her bones and in her blood, in every nook and cranny of her heart, as though God was showing her a preview of her life, a promise for her future: there would be more babies to love and more days on the beach to share, a life in New York and summers on the Banks. There would be good days and bad, of course—moments of joy and moments of despair. Life is a cornucopia and nothing less.

But throughout it all, the ups and downs, the highs and lows, until the end of their days, Laire and Erik would never again be apart. There was a rare gift in having experienced the wild loneliness of separation: for as long as they lived, they would never, ever take their togetherness for granted.

“Hi,” she whispered as she reached the altar.

He offered her his hand and she took it.

“Hi,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers as she stepped up beside him.

There was so much more to say, of course, but there was a lifetime ahead to say it. Bound by their hands, they faced forward as the minister addressed them, starting the ceremony that would officially marry them . . . though they were, already, a family.

We are each born into a family, it’s true, but Laire, who was born of the sea, and Erik, who was born of the land, had taken their destinies into their own hands, and, with their own rules, they had secured each other’s forever.

And that’s how they lived . . .

Happily ever after.

THE END