It's shocking how easy it is to wake up on the biggest day of your life.

How your eyes snap open as if they had only been resting, and adjust to the luminous light pouring in through the windows within seconds. How easy it is for your lips to curve—no—soar upward, and brighten the more you reflect on this one moment. The moment between the life you had, and the life you only aspired, dreamed of, and the life you're finally granted. Everything is easier. Thinking is easier. Breathing, too.

The seconds my eyes remain on the window are spent in a particular kind of disbelief, bliss, almost too much to bear, and the moment is only disrupted when the movement beside me, slight and gentle, brings Giovanni into my view. A glorious man, who light attracts to like a backdrop, radiating and coming off of him like rays. Sunlight dances on his skin, shining like diamonds as he moves over me, placing his hand beside my head on the pillow.

I look up at him, speechless. Utterly speechless.

And I know why.

It's the look of contentment on his face, complete immersive contentment. The look that says, "I'm here, and I have no intention of leaving." It's not the first time he's done it, nor do I believe he's even attempting to achieve anything by it. Hell, I doubt he knows he's given it to me.

His weight is partially pressed to mine, and if I could move at all, I'd force all of it upon me. But my hands are curved under my chin, both of them, and my eyes are round. His fingers, still warm from sleep, graze my cheek, just under the bone and his smile goes lopsided.

"Let's hope the superstitions are wrong about seeing the bride day of, huh?"

I feel my head nod, slowly, very slowly. I wish I could do more, but my body has failed me. My heart is racing, and he can feel it. His hand rests against the skin concealing it, very softly.

"Scarlett?"

No one likes vulnerability. It's crippling. It's stupid. God—to put it all on display, out on the line, a person's got to be crazy to risk that. He does it nearly every day. Every damn day, and it's easy as breathing for him, or at least it looks it. I prefer to give it away less, because I know how dangerous that can be.

It's so much safer to hold it in. To hold everything in until it bubbles and pours through. I've always been very good at the imprisonment of my emotions. Or at least, I was. Before I met Giovanni, before my life flipped on its side.

Everything is so raw. My skin's almost peeled back, revealing all of the cloudy dark stuff beneath. It's been patched up mostly, with tender love and care, but it's impossible to get it all. Not after the life I've seen.

Giovanni's eyes, so dark and expressive, move from my pale skin to my face, and I watch his brows curve in slow motion, as his radiance dulls with worry. I sweep over his features, and I hear my breath catch. And my chest swells enough to suffocate me—hard enough to force me to speak the words I am fighting, praying I can keep in, so that I won't betray myself.

The plea sounds weak, polite, and unlike me.

"Don't ever leave me...please."

It's heartbreaking, to even hear myself utter those words, knowing every single ounce of me is burrowed in them. His profile, which had hardened with concern, smooths out in one move as he exhales slightly. He can always see deep into my soul, and he doesn't divert from that now.

He sees the foggy darkness, and banishes it, wrapping his hand under my neck, bringing my mouth the space it takes to meet his halfway. He kisses me, so hard, and neither of us breathes the whole time. Just suspended in that kiss, letting it take all of our air.

"Never," he vows against my cheek. "Never."

...

Seated by the window, now wrapped in a towel, my skin fragrant with the scent of roses, my fingers pop open the velvet ring box, containing Giovanni's wedding band. It's gold, and slim. I got it only an hour ago. One hour and I retrieved a bouquet of garden roses, a pair of heels, this ring. I rushed through my shower, and grooming, and went through the motions, even though Giovanni is in the room across the hall, getting ready, which has only made me more nervous.

It's now my third hour seated in this exact spot, a full bloomed white gardenia tucked into my carefully designed up-do, my body in a towel that dried a long time ago. My phone rings on the table, Rebecca's name on the screen. I fully intend to let it go to voicemail, but like a woman possessed, my arm darts out and answers before I can think it through.

"Oh, good. You picked up. I wanted to let you know your doctor's appointment is for—"

"I'm getting married," I breathe, cutting her off.

"What? What do you mean, getting married?"

I set the ring box down on the table where the phone was, slowly. "I mean, I'm getting married...today. In like a few hours. I-I'm getting married."

"I knew it! Ha! I so knew you were! How dare you do this without me, without even telling me! I have done too much for you to be betrayed like this!"

I can't even laugh. "Bec, I-I'm freaking out here. A bit."

"Okay, okay," she whispers cautiously. "Okay. Second thoughts? What? What is it?"

"No. No second thoughts," I chuckle breathlessly, beside myself, dragging my hand through my hair. "No."

"Then what?"

My mouth hangs, trembling with lack of words. "Marriage...God, marriage, Rebecca."

She's quiet, for a long time. A very long time. I cover my eyes with my neurotic fingers.

"This is...about Dixon, isn't it?"

It is. I know it is. Like an illness that befell me, he entered my thoughts on the drive back to the hotel and hasn't left. I'm filled with the same choking torture I experienced while I waited for him to sign his name begrudgingly across the line on the day of our divorce, physically unable to keep still. I was so desperate to get out of there. I remember running to my car—full-fledged running.

"I promised myself I wouldn't do this. I woke up this morning so clear, so ready for all of this."

"You have every right in the world to be afraid of this."

"I-I hate that I'm letting Dixon ruin this. That I'm even allowing him to be here with me right now. I keep scaring myself. Because Giovanni and I, we're so good. We're so good—"

"Scarlett."

"I mean, he's perfect. I know I shouldn't say that. I'm not supposed to, but Becca, he's actually perfect—"

"Scarlett!"

My hand drops from my eyes, landing on my chest to rub the aching, panicked area.

"What?"

"Listen to me and listen good, all right? You survived a marriage of manipulation, emptiness—abuse. Your marriage ending was a blessing, because he limited you, in every way. Though you barely let me know anything of what you went through, I have eyes. I watched you enter and leave that marriage, and watched you draw yourself back, back so nobody could reach you. Not me, not Carlos...not Norman."

My eyes close, and my grip tightens on the phone, waiting anxiously for the next words.

"Giovanni is not Dixon. He doesn't act, talk, or think like him. And your marriage will thrive because of that."

I hear myself sigh, as the things she's saying manage to get to me, the rational part of me. And the weight on my shoulders, and heart, begins to diminish. "Yes."

"I've seen him look at you, Scarlett. Marry that man, as quickly as you can...Marry him, and everyone who's ever hurt you loses."

...

Thirty minutes. That's all that's left.

Bright, nervous eyes stare back at me in the mirror, as I wait for the inevitable knock that I know is coming. And when it comes, my whole body reacts, flinching.

I tell him to enter, and it sounds like a bark, simply because I'm too undone to control anything about me right now. I hear the beep outside the door of the key swiping along the lock, and then it's open. And I spin around to greet him.

Dressed to the nines, he's in a black tuxedo. The jacket is unbuttoned, revealing a perfect bow-tie and cummerbund around his waist. There's a delicate rose pinned to it, the same color as my roses—red. Classic, timeless. His curls are combed back, giving his face prime spotlight. He's all class, and composure, while I stand opposite him, completely awe-struck.

I'm marrying this man.

Nervous as I should be, I shuffle in place, letting him look over me, not brave enough to say the first words. His endless eyes falter, and flicker to meet my own, in shock.

"I haven't seen that dress in a very long time," he whispers about his creation. I smile, hearing my loud gulp in our silence. My hands clasp in front of my body, in front of the cream color silk gown Giovanni made for me just weeks after meeting one another.

"I-I love this dress," I say with a reluctant chuckle.

"I love you," he replies, before I've even finished.

I'm caught off-guard, and instantly feel my face flush with a furious heat. As he approaches me, setting down papers that were in his hand, cups my face between his hands, and forces my wavering gaze to him, I manage to smile.

"Giovanni."

"I'm the luckiest man alive."

My heart leaps. "Stop."

"I won't," he argues, his smile widening to a grin. My hand wraps around one of his wrists, as I begin to pray I won't feel this nauseous when we're in front of the woman marrying us.

"We need to go. We don't want to be late—"

I begin to pull away for his ring box and my bouquet, but he tells me to wait.

"There's something I want you to do first."

He picks up the papers I'd forgotten he'd brought in, and it's instant. I know what he's holding.

He looks at me, pleadingly and extends them to me. "I had your lawyer draw it up this morning. I already signed...and I'd really like you to, as well. I don't want a fight on it. I've compromised quite a bit, and this is important. Your inheritance is substantial, and I want no part in it."

I look from the prenup, without reading a single word, blinking in shock. "A prenup is drawn up in case a marriage should fail, Giovanni. It's a security, a plan B. This implies that what we have may not be forever—"

"Scarlett," he sighs, "you already know I'm not going anywhere. This just clears my conscience."

"There's no point for this if you're not planning on leaving me."

"Don't make this more than it is, baby. You have a company, an inheritance in your name while I have next to nothing now...it would be ridiculous not to sign a prenup. Everyone with money does it. All this says is that any money garnered before the marriage is solely yours. Read it. Please."

I'm angry. Much angrier than I expected to be just thirty minutes from the alter.

"We tried contracts before, Giovanni...They don't suit us," I whisper between clenched teeth.

He smiles, softly. "Scar, this is different, and you know it."

I glance at the papers, attempting to scan the words, but my own eyes refuse to acknowledge them. These papers fill me with doubt and fear. They represent the possibility of an end where Giovanni and I go separate ways. Even if he doesn't intend this for that purpose, that's what this represents. And I can't stand the sight. Unable to stop myself, my fingers twist the papers until they slice right down the middle, and then I do it again.

I do it until the papers are small shreds, and I drop them onto the floor.

And I blow out a breath, which is shaky, calmed when the prenup is obliterated. And then I look up at him. He's not staring at the mess beside the silk of my wedding dress. He's staring into my eyes, his face completely wiped of any emotion. His expert poker face.

Thankfully, I do know him well enough to catch what's going on below the mask. After a couple beats, his mouth twitches.

"Do you always have to be so damn stubborn?"

There's no venom behind the words, which makes my mouth curve slightly. He tried to do the right thing, what most people are too selfish, or scared to do. He drew up the prenup to reassure me he's marrying me for me, and me alone. I know that, but I refuse to acknowledge it. I cross the room to him, and clasp the nape of his neck, feeling the soft tendrils of his curls against my fingers.

"Yes. Yes, I do." I shake my head when he rests his head against my temple. "No more contracts. No more barriers. Just you and me...all in."

...

The wind threatens to unravel me. Small spirals of blonde have escaped by the time we reach the officiate waiting for us on the sidewalk, in a discreet location in the park upon request. I hold onto Giovanni's arm for dear life as we approach the woman in a navy blue suit, silver hair pulled into a bun. She smiles upon seeing us, in no way intimidated by the two security details trailing close behind us.

The sun is nearly set. The sky is a pale blue color, leading down into a soft yellow just at the edge of the world. The air is clean, and laced with floral elements. Giovanni reaches out first, taking the woman's hand with a firm shake. She speaks to me, but I'm too flustered, too anxious to really acknowledge her with more than a smile.

"The light is escaping us," she says, wanting to proceed. Just like that. I look from her with wide eyes, completely taken aback. Isn't there some delay, some time to prepare? My wedding to Dixon was full of mistakes, and delays...moments to panic. Not this. I hear myself chuckle, meeting Giovanni's equally amused gaze as we both turn to one another. At first I'm aware of Sam and Raymond standing a few feet away, listening in as the officiate begins the ceremony.

It's odd, how lonely this place feels. How quickly excitement turns to fear. It doesn't creep up. It's like a bullet, startling me in one swift move. And even though the man who possesses my heart and soul is right in front of me, that overwhelming sense of solitude settles over me, draping me in uncertainty.

Not of him—not even of this marriage.

But of what I can offer him. If what I have to offer him is enough.

I never thought this way with Dixon. No, I just sat there, and said my vows with a smile, stupidly. I was naïve then. I'm not anymore. I know who I am, and what loving me means. And I know how difficult the task is. He's willing to take me on, and it's my insecurities alone that appear like flashing stoplights in my eyes right now, blinding me.

I want to be enough for him. I have to be enough for him.

I'm marrying this man right now. I'm declaring him mine, for good. There's no going back. There's no separation lurking around the corner. Whatever we face, we face it together.

I'm marrying Giovanni Martinelli.

He's standing right here, calm and ready to make me his wife, to be the mother of his child.

The reminders take my breath away.

Knowing I'm drifting somewhere far away, his hand slips into mine, pulling me back to the here and now. My eyes dart to him, unblinking. He's regarding me with a small smile while his thumb traces the delicate skin along my knuckles, back and forth. Back and forth.

He nods once while she speaks, focusing solely on me, on keeping me here—with him. Keeping me from my thoughts, from my past, from everything else. His eyes say, "Look at me and don't stop," without his mouth making a single effort to open.

I inch closer to him in reaction, ignoring the woman's curious glance between us.

I need to be closer.

He looks down at me, and his eyes tell our story.

They remind me of the beginning. Of the fights. Of the secrets. Of the stakes.

They remind me what it felt like the moment I came to realize I loved him, knee deep in snow. They remind me of the heartbreak I endured when he was gone. I see his face the moment I told him I was carrying his child, and can literally feel the strength of his embrace when he rushed to hold me afterward.

He makes sure I'm immersed in it all, so much so that I don't even hear the woman ask him whether he'll take me as his bride.

"I do," he whispers, urging me closer with a tug to my hand, as if he can't wait any longer.

He does. God, he said it. There wasn't a stutter, or a pause. He said it, like it was nothing.

Is this actually happening?

I smile, hearing small wheezing gasps coming from somewhere deep in my chest. I'm nearly pressed up against him now.

"And do you, Scarlett Bardot, take Giovanni James Martinelli to be your husband, in sickness and in health, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," I say, surprising myself as the words leave my lips with no reluctance, no pause, and no stutter. I say them in a gasp, struck by the smile he flashes, displaying an unhealthy amount of relief. We exchange rings, sliding them onto each other with shaking hands.

We're nearly there, and I can feel it. I can feel it everywhere.

Suddenly, as I'd always hoped would happen, every single doubt leaves me. I'm cleansed of it, if just for now as it's replaced by blinding happiness. Utter disbelief. Daunting realization.

In a few seconds, our entire story comes to peak.

We've talked of devotion...this is the highest form.

And the dreams and hopes I'd dared not imagine suddenly feel like they are right at the edge of my fingertips. The growing old, the days and nights beside him, the laughs and moments still to come—they are with me, and create such a blow that I feel my whole face crumble.

I want to stop it, stop the relief that's pouring out of me in the form of tears. I don't want him to see it. I never thought I'd have this, that this was possible. This love...him. I remember the horrors I've seen, the horrors I've felt. All the times I thought I'd never escape them. All the times I believed I deserved them. I remember what it feels like to be hit, screamed at, driven into a corner.

Realizing that I'll never have to worry about that ever again fills me with amazement, and gratitude, and wonder. I'm marrying a man I know would never touch me to harm me.

Oh, god. How do I stop it? How do I breathe?

I look down at the concrete, biting down on my lip, doing everything in my power to control the sudden wave of emotion. But biting down on the skin does nothing. I'm losing it, completely.

When Giovanni's finger nudges my chin, guiding me up to him, I'm afraid I can't stop them from coming. My thick tears roll down my cheeks, showing him what I never believed was possible.

The woman may have called us man and wife. I think she did. I'm really not sure.

He's just holding my gaze, his finger under my chin. Intimacy has reached its highest level, as we realize together that we're married. That we've just gotten married.

That he is my husband. And I am his wife.

On our own terms, immersed in each other, we've sealed forever.

And now there's only one thing left to do.

Giovanni takes my face between his hands with a shocking amount of finality, and breathes in. The impact of his mouth to mine makes my legs falter, nerves shot to hell. His kiss is initially quick, as if he wanted to do it as fast as he could so that the mind-numbing part was out of the way and be done with it. But, in his passion, and as my hands finally work and grab onto his tuxedo jacket, his lips continue to nudge mine in soft delicate kisses, tender and overflowing.

We're married.

I smile, tearfully against his mouth as he continues to kiss me, ignoring everyone around us.

I can feel his wedding ring against my skin. He wipes my tears, but he can't stop them.

He's breathless, just as I am.

The kisses morph into an embrace, as he flattens his hands against my back, urging me closer. My face digs into his neck, as I fall thoroughly to pieces; hearing soft, whimpered, restraining sobs leave my mouth.

I don't even try to stop them.

It would be pointless.

"I'm going to make you so happy," he vows against my hair, his words laced with love, and the utmost care. I begin to adore his throat, his jaw with my lips, clasping his face weakly between my hands. "I'll make you so happy you won't remember a time when you weren't."

His arms tighten their hold when he sucks in a breath, just as my lips reach his.

And a new phase begins.