22. SKYE

Chapter twenty-two

SKYE

My feet are sinking into the soft sand, the breeze playing with the hem of my dress as I stand at the edge of the water. The sun’s setting behind me, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. This could be the most surreal, perfect moment of my life—or the weirdest.

I glance over at Troy, standing beside me, looking just a little bit out of place in a tuxedo that’s way too sharp for this laid-back beach wedding. But there’s something about seeing him here next to me that makes all the quirky chaos of this day worth it.

The wedding is nothing like I imagined. But then again, I never could have imagined a Troy Bellamy kind of wedding. And it’s perfect. The kind of perfect that’s full of small-town charm and very little polish.

I almost expect a seagull to swoop down and steal the rings—but thankfully, we get through the ceremony without any beachside wildlife interruptions.

I turn to him and grin. “You really went all out, didn’t you?”

Troy smirks back, his eyes twinkling. “What can I say? I wanted to make sure no one would ever forget this.”

“You succeeded,” I tease. “Between the surprise food truck festival and that plane-trailing banner that looks like it belongs at a carnival, I think the entire town will be talking about this wedding for decades.”

He laughs, the sound warm and infectious. “As long as you don’t mind the attention.”

I chuckle. “After all we’ve been through, I think I can handle it.”

The ceremony itself is short and sweet—just the way I wanted it. No over-the-top speeches, no overblown traditions. Just Troy and me, the pastor, our families and the ocean. Oh, right, and a few hundred people who matter to us.

Drew stood as Troy’s best man and Zoey as my maid of honor. Unbeknownst to us, Meg had tied the rings to Lizaard’s pink lace collar and led her down the aisle on a leash. This only added to the weirdness of it all and caught Troy off guard making the whole crowd laugh as he jumped.

Meg caught the bouquet (so naturally, she’s now planning a second wedding to Drew, even though she and Drew have been married for years.) Yes, very weird. And my food truck served everything —from sliders to lobster rolls to decadent chocolate tarts.

Everything about today has felt surreal. Especially when we exchanged vows. Troy, serious as ever, spoke about how he’d never expected a small town—or me —to change his life.

And I said something about how he’d made me realize that perfect doesn’t always come in the form of a boardroom or a fancy dinner party. Sometimes, it’s a food truck on a beach in a town everyone else overlooks.

Now, we’re walking back through the reception tent. As we pass the dancing crowd, I look up at him. “So, what do you think? How was the ‘perfect’ wedding?”

He pulls me closer, his lips brushing my ear. “Perfectly imperfect. Just like us.”

I rest my head on his shoulder, watching the stars begin to twinkle above. The world is chaotic. But somehow, with him by my side, everything feels just right.

“Ready to start the next chapter?” he asks, squeezing my hand.

I smile. “With you? Always.”

And as the music swells and the town of Seaside Cove continues to celebrate, I realize I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

This is where I’m meant to be.

With him.

Forever.

Skye

No one could have been more surprised than Troy when I tell him that my choice for a “dream honeymoon” is, of all places, New York City. It’s a place that Troy knows like the back of his hand, pardon the overused simile.

He’s lived in New York all of his life, sans his years in college at Yale. So, my choice was truly a surprise. It’s probably the last place he wants to go, that is, until I explained that I choose New York to get to know and understand him more. I want to see “his” world firsthand. Given that explanation he was touched and more than happy to show me that world.

The streets of New York City pulse with life as Troy leads me through the crowded sidewalks. The city hums with a rhythm all its own—honking taxis, the chatter of street vendors, and the occasional shout of a performer urging people to stop and watch. I can’t help but stare at the towering skyscrapers, their glass facades reflecting the sun like a million mirrors. There’s a street performer juggling flaming torches nearby, and I can’t look away.

“It’s like the whole city is alive,” I say, squeezing his hand tighter, my eyes wide with awe.

Troy grins, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’ve only seen a fraction of it. Wait until you see the view from the penthouse.”

We step into the sleek lobby of his building, the polished marble floor cool beneath my sandals. The lobby is a study in modern luxury—gleaming glass, soft lighting, and lush plants. I catch a glimpse of myself in the elevator doors as they close, and I can’t help but wonder if I belong here.

“Do I look like I belong in a place like this?” I ask, a hint of self-doubt creeping in.

Troy leans down, his lips brushing my ear as he whispers, “You look like you own the place.”

I feel my cheeks flush, my heart skipping a beat as the elevator rises, whisking us toward the penthouse. When the doors open, I gasp. The penthouse is a work of art—floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Manhattan skyline like a living painting. The city sprawls before us, glittering with lights even in the daylight.

“Okay, Mr. Billionaire,” I tease, spinning around to take it all in. “You weren’t kidding about the view.”

Troy shrugs nonchalantly, slipping his hands into his pockets. “It’s nice, but it’s missing something.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that?”

He steps closer, his arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me into his embrace. “You.”

I roll my eyes but can’t suppress the smile tugging at my lips. “Smooth. Very smooth.”

“I try,” he says, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that sends a shiver down my spine. When we finally pull apart, I swat his chest playfully.

“Enough of that. Show me what else this city has to offer,” I say, my voice teasing.

Troy’s eyes gleam with mischief. “Oh, I plan to.”

The day passes in a blur of adventure. We visit a rooftop restaurant overlooking Central Park, where I devour a slice of pizza that’s as perfect as it is unexpected. The view is breathtaking, but I can’t resist teasing him.

“It’s good,” I admit between bites, “but it’s no clam chowder in a bread bowl.”

Troy laughs, sipping his wine. “You’re biased. Besides, you’re comparing apples to oranges.”

“Or pizza to chowder,” I quip, grinning at him.

After dinner, we wander through Times Square, the neon lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors across our faces. I stop to take a selfie with Troy, who’s wearing a foam Statue of Liberty crown I bought from a street vendor.

“This is ridiculous,” he laughs, adjusting the crown on his head.

“It’s adorable,” I counter, snapping another photo. “You’re officially a tourist now.”

“I think you’re rubbing off on me,” he says, pulling me close.

The next morning, Troy keeps his promise of a slower day. We take a leisurely stroll through Central Park, hand in hand, enjoying the crisp air and the vibrant colors of the autumn leaves. We stop to watch a street musician playing a soulful tune on his guitar, and I can’t help but smile at the scene. The city feels a little less intimidating when you take the time to really look at it.

“I insist on rowing a boat on the lake,” I declare suddenly, tugging at his arm.

Troy raises an eyebrow, but he follows me to the boathouse. I watch as he fumbles with the oars, trying to get the boat moving in a straight line. I can’t help but laugh as he struggles.

“You’re supposed to be good at everything,” I tease, my voice light and playful.

“I’m a fast learner,” he says with a grin, finally finding his rhythm. “Besides, you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I am,” I admit, leaning back in the boat and closing my eyes to soak up the sunshine. “This city isn’t so intimidating when you slow down.”

After the park, we make our way to a small art gallery tucked away in the West Village. The gallery is cozy, with soft lighting and walls lined with paintings that range from abstract to breathtakingly beautiful. I stop in front of a painting of a windswept beach, the colors so vivid they almost seem to move. I reach out to touch it, my fingers brushing the canvas.

“It reminds me of home,” I say softly, my voice almost a whisper.

Troy steps up beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder. “Then it’s yours,” he says without hesitation.

I turn to him, startled. “Troy, it’s—”

“A perfect reminder of where we started,” he interrupts, pulling me into his arms. “And of what matters most.”

Our final evening in the city is spent on the penthouse terrace, a bottle of champagne between us as we watch the skyline twinkle in the distance. I rest my head on Troy’s shoulder, feeling both content and nostalgic.

“This has been amazing,” I say, my voice soft. “But I think I’m ready to go home.”

Troy kisses my temple gently. “Then let’s go. Seaside Cove is waiting for us.”

The next morning, we board his jet back to our small coastal town. As the city skyline fades from view, I glance out the window, my heart swelling with both gratitude and anticipation. It’s been an unforgettable adventure, but the thought of returning to Seaside Cove, to the place where our story truly began, fills me with warmth. Troy squeezes my hand, a knowing smile on his face.

“Ready for the next chapter?” he asks.

“Always,” I reply, leaning into him as the plane carries us home.