Chapter 8
The wedding was small.
Perfect.
We got married in the little white church at the end of Main Street.
Mrs. Pike was my matron of honor.
Luca’s brother was his best man.
The twins were the flower girl and ring bearer.
Lena scattered daisies down the aisle, singing at the top of her lungs.
Ash carried the rings on a velvet pillow, his face serious with the importance of his job.
Constance cried through the whole ceremony.
So did I.
So did Luca, though he’d deny it if you asked.
The reception was in the bakery downstairs.
Mrs. Pike closed for the day and turned the whole place into a party.
Cinnamon rolls and wedding cake.
Coffee and champagne.
The whole town showed up.
The sheriff. The librarian. The kids from the twins’ preschool.
Everyone loved Luca now.
The man who’d taken a bullet for his family.
The man who’d spent three years searching for his lost wife.
The man who’d humbled himself to sit on a rain-soaked porch for twelve hours just for a chance to explain.
That night, we checked into the little bed and breakfast on the edge of town.
The twins stayed with Constance, who’d flown in just for the wedding and had already declared she was never leaving.
“Finally,” Luca said, closing the door to our room. “Alone at last.”
He was still wearing his suit, though he’d taken off the jacket and loosened his tie.
His shoulder was mostly healed now, though he still had a faint scar.
A reminder.
A badge of honor.
I walked toward him, my wedding dress swishing around my ankles.
“Mrs. Moretti,” he said, smiling as he pulled me close.
“Mrs. Moretti,” I repeated, liking the sound of it.
It sounded like home.
We spent the next week on a honeymoon in the mountains.
Just the two of us.
Cabin in the woods. Fireplace. No phones. No distractions.
We talked.
Really talked.
About everything that had happened.
About the night Vanessa drugged him.
About the three years apart.
About the fears we still carried.
We cried together.
Laughed together.
Healed together.
And when we came back, we moved into the new house.
Four bedrooms. Big yard. White picket fence.
Everything I’d ever wanted as a little girl.
Everything I’d thought I’d lost forever.
Luca sold the Lake Forest estate.
“Too many bad memories,” he said. “I don’t want anything from that life touching this one.”
He kept his business, of course.
But he worked from home three days a week.
And the other two, he only went in for half days.
“Family first,” he told his partners. “Always.”
The twins thrived.
Lena started kindergarten, already declaring she was going to be an artist and a veterinarian and a ballerina.
Ash started too, though he was quieter about it. He made one best friend — a boy named Jax who loved dinosaurs as much as he did.
And Luca was there for everything.
The first day of school.
The science fair.
The ballet recital where Lena forgot all her steps and just spun in circles.
The baseball games where Ash struck out every time but still ran the bases like he’d hit a home run.
He was at every meal. Every bedtime. Every good morning and good night.
He was the father he’d always wanted to be.
The husband I’d always known he could be.
But healing isn’t linear.
Some nights, I’d wake up screaming from nightmares.
Nightmares of Vanessa breaking in.
Nightmares of Luca dying in my arms.
Nightmares of waking up alone again, back in that tiny apartment, wondering if any of this was real.
Luca would hold me through them.
Rock me.
Whisper that I was safe. That we were all safe. That it was just a dream.
And he had his own nightmares too.
Nightmares of the night he was drugged.
Nightmares of losing us again.
Nightmares of the bullet hitting something vital.
We held each other through the dark nights.
And slowly, the nightmares came less often.
Until one day, I realized I hadn’t had one in months.
I was happy.
Truly, deeply, unshakably happy.
And then came the day that made it all real.
The day the adoption papers were finalized.
Wait — no.
Not adoption.
Luca was their real father.
But the state had never recognized him.
We’d had to go through DNA testing. Court dates. Paperwork.
And finally, the day came.
We stood in front of the judge, the twins between us.
“Lena Marie Moretti,” the judge said, smiling. “Ash Daniel Moretti. By order of this court, Luca James Moretti is legally recognized as your father. Congratulations, family.”
It was just a formality.
We all knew he was their father.
But hearing it said out loud, official and permanent, made it real.
On the way home, we stopped for ice cream.
Lena got rainbow sprinkles all over her face.
Ash got chocolate on his shirt.
Luca got both on his suit.
And I sat there, watching them, my ring glinting in the sun, and I knew.
This was what happiness felt like.
This was what I’d fought for.
What Luca had fought for.
What we’d both almost lost.
May you like
And now it was ours.
Forever.
