29. Freya

29

Freya

W hen Henry said now, he really meant now.

We were in his sleek, black car, its leather seats cool against my skin. The city blurred past us, the tall buildings and bustling streets giving way to quieter, more refined avenues. It wasn’t long before we pulled up in front of Nancy’s, an upscale boutique known for its exquisite dresses.

Nancy’s had a classic charm, with its large, elegantly decorated windows showcasing gowns that looked like they belonged in fairy tales. The sign above the door was simple yet sophisticated, a tasteful script that exuded class. As we walked in, the soft chime of the bell announced our arrival. The interior was just as luxurious, with polished wooden floors, crystal chandeliers, and racks of stunning dresses that ranged from sleek and modern to intricate and vintage.

Henry glanced around the boutique before looking at me. “Get whatever dress you want. Don’t worry about the price.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re worth it,” he said firmly, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat.

Hearing him say that stirred something inside me. A mix of disbelief and warmth washed over me. No one had ever said something like that to me before, at least not with such conviction. For a moment, I felt like I was in one of those fairy tales, the ones where the prince swept in and made everything right. It was a heady feeling, being valued like that, especially after all the turbulence we had gone through.

I moved through the boutique, my fingers grazing the delicate fabrics. Each dress seemed more beautiful than the last, and for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to feel a spark of excitement. The idea of finding something that made me feel special, that Henry believed I deserved, was intoxicating.

After some deliberation, I picked out three potential wedding dresses. The first was a classic ball gown with a sweetheart neckline. The bodice was adorned with intricate lace and tiny pearls, and the skirt flowed out in layers of soft tulle. It was the kind of dress I had dreamed about as a little girl. As I stepped into it, the weight of the skirt made me feel like I was floating. But when I looked in the mirror, something felt off. The dress was stunning, but it seemed to swallow me whole. I felt like a child playing dress-up rather than a bride about to walk down the aisle.

The second dress was a sleek, modern design. It had a fitted silhouette with a deep V-neck and delicate spaghetti straps. The fabric shimmered subtly under the boutique’s lights, giving it an ethereal quality. As I tried it on, I appreciated how it accentuated my figure, making me feel elegant and sophisticated. But as I moved, I realized it was too revealing. The plunging neckline and the high slit on the side made me uncomfortable. I couldn’t imagine wearing it in front of my family and friends, let alone during such a significant moment, even if it was just the two of us.

The third dress was somewhere in between the first two. It had a fitted bodice with lace appliques and a flowing chiffon skirt. The off-the-shoulder sleeves added a touch of romance, and the dress moved gracefully with me. As I twirled in front of the mirror, I liked how it felt, but there was something missing. It didn’t give me that magical feeling I had hoped for. It was beautiful, yes, but it didn’t feel like the dress.

I sighed, stepping out of the third dress and back into my regular clothes. None of them were right. Each had something special, but none of them felt like they truly belonged to me.

I walked back to the main floor of the boutique, biting my bottom lip. The plush carpet muffled my footsteps as I approached Henry. He stood at the counter, suit already wrapped in a protective sleeve, and looked up when he saw me. His eyebrows shot up in silent question.

I shook my head, feeling the weight of my indecision. None of the dresses had felt right.

He moved over to me, concern etched into his features. "What is it?"

"They're beautiful," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "But they're not..." I let my voice trail off, unable to find the right words. I sighed deeply. "I just... I want to look good for you."

Henry blinked, as if surprised by my admission. "I would marry you in a trash bag," he said, his tone sincere. "Freya, it doesn't matter what you wear. It doesn't have to be a wedding dress. It can be whatever you want. I just want you to have that choice."

I sucked in a breath, looking at his face. His eyes held nothing but honesty and a depth of emotion that left me momentarily speechless. I could see he meant every word.

But for the first time, I believed him.

Giving him a nod, I turned back to the racks of dresses, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. It didn’t have to be a traditional wedding dress. It just had to be something that felt right for me. With that thought in mind, I continued to look, my heart a little lighter than before.

I continued browsing, determined to find something that felt right. Then, tucked away between two extravagant gowns, I spotted a simple white dress. It was unassuming yet elegant, and something about it drew me in.

The dress was made of a soft, flowing fabric that draped beautifully. It had a fitted bodice that hugged my curves without being too tight, and the neckline was modest, scooping just enough to add a touch of femininity. The skirt flowed down to the floor, moving gracefully with each step. There were no flashy embellishments or intricate designs, just a simple, delicate lace trim along the hem and neckline.

I took the dress into the fitting room, my heart beating a little faster with anticipation. As I slipped into it, the fabric felt cool and comforting against my skin. I looked in the mirror and for the first time; I felt like I was seeing myself. Not a bride playing dress-up, but Freya Reynolds, standing on the brink of a new chapter.

The gown was perfect. It was understated but beautiful, elegant without being ostentatious. It felt like it was made for me. I smoothed my hands down the front, feeling a sense of calm and rightness wash over me.

As I turned this way and that, watching the way the fabric moved with me, it struck me. I was going to get married. The realization hit me with a force that made me pause. I had been so caught up in the chaos, the arguments, the decisions, that I hadn’t let myself truly feel it. But now, standing here in this simple white dress, it became real. And surprisingly, instead of fear or doubt, I felt a thrill of excitement.

I stepped out of the fitting room, my eyes meeting Henry’s.

"This is the one," I said, my voice steady and sure. "This is my dress."

Henry’s lips curved into a smile, genuine and warm. “I can't wait to see it,” he said simply.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of peace.

I was ready.

I stared at myself in the small mirror of the dressing room, fingers trembling against the lace of my dress. The church’s stained glass windows cast colorful shadows across the room, but I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of it. My mind raced.

Why did I think I was ready for this?

The questions swirled, each one louder than the last. What if I messed up? What if Henry changed his mind at the last second? I had made so many mistakes already—mistakes that had nearly ruined everything. What if another one bit me in the ass? What if I decided I wasn’t going to do it?

My heart pounded, the pressure building in my chest. The old wooden chair creaked as I shifted, unable to find a comfortable position. Henry had arranged everything so meticulously. The church he used to attend with his grandfather was a nostalgic touch. He must have paid a lot to get married on such short notice, but he had managed it. The marriage license, the pastor, the witness—all were in place.

All they were waiting on was me.

I stood up, the rustle of the dress echoing in the quiet room. The weight of the decision pressed down on my shoulders. Could I really go through with this? I thought back to our countless arguments, the heated exchanges, the moments of doubt. But then there were the moments that made it all worth it—cleaning his knuckles, feeling a flicker of something real.

My gaze fell on the door. Just beyond it, Henry was waiting. His determination had always been both infuriating and admirable. I knew he was furious when I refused to eat dinner that night, the anger seething beneath his calm exterior. He’d beaten up Jensen in a fit of rage, and I had been the one to clean him up. We had shared a moment then, a fleeting glimpse of something deeper.

But was it enough?

I took a deep breath, smoothing the dress once more. My reflection stared back at me, eyes filled with uncertainty. My thoughts raced again. I had come this far, made it through the ups and downs, and yet, here I was, frozen with indecision.

Henry’s voice floated in my head. You're worth it.

I turned to the mirror, my reflection staring back at me. The dress hugged my curves, delicate lace cascading down to the floor. My hair was pinned up, loose tendrils framing my face. I looked different, almost unrecognizable. There was a strength in my eyes I hadn’t noticed before, a resolve that hadn’t been there when this all began.

"You're worth it ," I told myself.

My heart skipped a beat. It felt amazing coming from Henry, but hearing it from myself? That was something else entirely. For a moment, the doubts faded. The uncertainty that had plagued me lifted, replaced by a newfound confidence.

I was ready.

Really, this time.

I took another deep breath, straightening my shoulders. This was my choice, my life. Henry and I had been through hell and back, but we had survived. We were stronger for it. I was stronger for it. The reflection in the mirror confirmed it— I wasn’t the same girl who had walked into the library that day, searching for a way out.

The soft knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts. My heart fluttered, but I felt grounded, ready to face whatever came next.

I took one last deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and opened the door. The hallway outside the dressing room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the old stone walls. A soft murmur of voices echoed down the corridor, guiding me toward the sanctuary.

The silence enveloped me as I stepped into the main chapel. My footsteps echoed off the high, arched ceilings, and the scent of incense hung heavy in the air. The church was beautiful, with its intricate stained glass windows and wooden pews. It felt timeless, like stepping into a different world.

The aisle stretched before me, long and empty. At the end, Henry stood beside the pastor, his broad shoulders filling out a dark suit that fit him perfectly. His hands were clasped in front of him, his posture rigid, but his eyes softened when they met mine. Beside him, the pastor held a solemn expression, and the witness—a middle-aged man I didn't recognize—stood silently, waiting.

I took the first step, feeling the weight of the moment settle over me. Each step felt deliberate, echoing in the quiet church. I could feel the lace of my dress brushing against my legs, the delicate fabric a reminder of the gravity of the occasion.

As I walked down the aisle, I couldn't take my eyes off Henry. He looked every bit the part of the handsome groom, with his chiseled features and intense gaze. His dark hair was neatly styled, and the suit hugged his frame in all the right places. My stomach twisted at the sight of him, a mixture of nerves and excitement bubbling up inside me.

That's my husband , I thought. That's mine.

The realization hit me with full force. This was real. The man who had driven me to the brink and pulled me back again, was about to become my husband. The man who had infuriated me, challenged me, and, in his own way, cared for me.

I reached the end of the aisle, standing before him. His eyes searched mine, and I could see the same blend of emotions reflected back at me—determination, hope, and something deeper, something unspoken.

The pastor cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "We are gathered here today to witness the union of Freya Reynolds and Henry Mathers in holy matrimony," he began, his voice steady and reassuring.

I barely heard him, my focus entirely on Henry. This was it. This was the beginning of our future together.

Henry's eyes never left mine. I could see a flicker of emotion in them, a rare vulnerability that he rarely showed. It made my heart swell with an emotion I couldn’t quite name.

“Marriage is a sacred bond, a union of two souls who promise to support and cherish each other through all of life’s trials and triumphs.”

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of those words. Henry’s hand found mine, his grip firm and reassuring. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down my spine, grounding me in the present moment.

The pastor's words floated around me like a distant melody, barely registering. All I could focus on was Henry's hand holding mine, the warmth and steadiness of his grip. His eyes, locked onto mine, were filled with an intensity that made my heart race.

Henry turned to the pastor, breaking the trance. "Do you have the rings?" he asked, his voice steady.

I blinked, momentarily confused. Rings? I hadn't even thought about rings. The whirlwind of events had left little room for such details. But Henry had clearly thought of everything.

To my astonishment, he reached into his pocket and produced a small velvet box. My breath caught in my throat as he opened it, revealing two rings nestled inside. One was a delicate band adorned with tiny, sparkling diamonds, and the other was a simple, yet elegant, gold band.

Henry took the delicate ring and held it up, his eyes never leaving mine. "Freya," he began, his voice softer now, almost reverent, "with this ring, I promise to stand by you, to support you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live."

He slid the ring onto my finger, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch. The diamonds caught the light, sparkling brilliantly. It was beautiful, more beautiful than anything I could have imagined.

My hands trembled as I took the gold band from the box. My fingers brushed against his, and I felt a surge of emotion I couldn't quite name. "Henry," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "with this ring, I promise to stand by you, to support you, and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live."

I slid the ring onto his finger, the simple gold band fitting perfectly. It was a symbol of our commitment, our promise to each other. The weight of the moment settled over me, and I felt a sense of calm, a sense of rightness.

We stood there, rings now in place, hands still entwined. The pastor's voice resumed, but I barely heard him. All I could think about was the man standing before me, the man who had become my husband.

“Henry, do you take Freya to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, in joy and sorrow, for as long as you both shall live?”

Henry’s gaze softened, and he nodded. “I do.”

The pastor turned to me. “Freya, do you take Henry to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, in joy and sorrow, for as long as you both shall live?”

I looked into Henry’s eyes, seeing a future that was uncertain but ours. “I do.”

The pastor smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Henry didn’t hesitate. He cupped my face in his hands, his touch gentle but firm. His lips met mine in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. It felt like a promise, a seal on everything we had been through and everything we would face together.

When we finally pulled apart, the world seemed a little brighter, a little more hopeful. I looked at Henry, my husband, and knew that whatever came next, we would face it together.

The ceremony was over, but our journey was just beginning.