Fine Make

"Well," the officiant says with a friendly smile on his face, "we've made it to the

moment that matters most. Knox and Sloane, you've chosen to stand here today,

just the two of you, because what you have is rare, and real, and enough. You've

asked to exchange your own vows, so let's begin. Knox, whenever you're ready."

Knox's fingers tighten around mine the second we're given the floor.

Seeing the look in his eyes, I know that I made the right decision dragging him to

Vegas to get married.

The chapel is small, just as we wanted. There's a faint floral scent in the air - fake

lilies, I think. The windows are frosted, making the whole place glow as light filters

through.

It's the kind of peace I wouldn't have gotten if I'd let Grandma June take over the

wedding preparations.

God.

I've learned the hard way that when you're freshly engaged and still high off that

moment, the absolute worst person you can call is your grandmother. Especially

when you've been avoiding the rest of your family.

You can never be more excited than a grandmother. It's impossible.

I called her the night of the proposal, still breathless, my hand shaking as I stared

at the ring Knox had slid onto my finger just minutes before. She gasped so hard I

thought she'd faint, and before I could get through the sentence, "I'm so happy,"

she was already calling half of Manhattan.

Within three days, I'd received over seventy texts from people I hadn't heard from

in years. Former classmates. Former coworkers. Distant relatives who once held

me as a baby, apparently. Some messages came with congratulations. Some with

unsolicited advice. Some with awkward emoji-heavy reactions that made me want

to throw my phone across the room.

And every day after that, Grandma June would call with new ideas. A garden

theme. A vintage theme. A modern minimalist theme. She wanted cascading

flowers. Rose gold chairs. A choreographed dance. She even brought up hiring a

celebrity impersonator as the MC. I swear I'm not making that up.

She already had a P*******t board made with my full name on it.

One day, she sent me an image of three almost identical pink nail polish swatches

and asked which shade I wanted for the wedding. When I replied, "Aren't they all

the same?" I got a two-minute voice note in return telling me I had no eye for

detail and that if I didn't want to look washed out, I'd better take nail color

seriously.

I threw myself face-first onto the bed and groaned into the pillow while Knox sat

on the couch and laughed like it was the best comedy he'd seen all year.

"You're mad because she loves you," he said, sipping his drink with that smug grin

on his face.

He wasn't laughing when his own family started calling me, though.

His number? Unreachable. On purpose.

Mine? Apparently still open for business. And I kept getting these calls from

numbers I didn't recognize. At first, I ignored them, assuming they were the usual

telemarketers or distant cousins trying to squeeze themselves onto my wedding

list. But then one of those unknown numbers sent a message.

It was from Julian Hartley. Knox's father, or technically, his uncle. The first time I

heard the story, the one about how Julian's sister had given birth to Knox and

disappeared right after, leaving him to be raised by Victoria Hartley, who hated

Knox for it... I'd nearly seen red. But with all the chaos coming from my own

family, I didn't have the luxury of being angry for too long. I had to channel it

elsewhere.

"Hi, Sloane," the text said. "I got your number off Finn and was hoping to speak

with Knox. I feel like we left things in a bad way, and there were a lot of

miscommunications. Let me know if he's open to talking."

I knew what that meant. It was his way of saying sorry, probably after his wife

spent hours talking him into it. Miscommunication? Really? That's one way to put

it. You ruined his life.

When I showed Knox the text, he stared at it for a full thirty seconds, muttered

something under his breath, and then deleted it from my phone. He never brought

it up again.

Just like that. Over and done.

That was the moment I knew we couldn't have the wedding in Manhattan. Getting

married there would mean letting Grandma have her way, and if that happened,

half the planet would be at my wedding.

No, thank you.

So one afternoon, two weeks after Knox's proposal, I walked into his office,

leaned against the doorframe, and said, "Let's get married in Vegas."

He looked up from his computer, eyes narrowed like he wasn't sure if I was

serious. "You want to invite everyone to Vegas?"

"No. I want to elope and marry your ass in Vegas, Knox. Just the two of us."

That made him grin. The slow kind. The one that lights up his whole face.

"Isn't that where everyone goes for a shotgun wedding?" he asked.

"I never said I was original. Besides, Vegas is fun. I want a fun wedding."

"Well, baby," he said, leaning back in his chair, "I'm down for whatever. Fix a

date."

"This weekend."

That surprised him. But not enough to say no.

"I don't know what's gotten into you," he said, "but I love it. I'll make the

arrangements right away. Your grandmother's going to be pissed."

"I know. I'll deal with her when I'm back."

We spent the next day shopping,

with Knox insisting he had better

fashion sense, which is up for

debate. But he was oddly

opinionated about wedding dresses.

He picked this short white one with

tiny off-shoulder sleeves and silky

fabric that hugs just enough to feel

scandalous. And God, don't get me

started on the six-inch heels that are

currently setting my calves on fire.

We flew into Vegas last night on a private jet. Got our marriage license at the

Clark County Bureau this morning. And came straight here to the chapel.

And now, even though I've been standing in these six-inch heels for far too long,

this is still the best day of my life.

Knox is in front of me in a suit-an

actual suit, which almost never

happens. Whad to insist he get one.

No tie, of course. That was his one

rule. The top two buttons of his

white shirt are undone, just enough

to reveal the edges of the tattoos on

his chest. His hair's a méss. His

smile is devastating.

I can't stop smiling. I'm swaying side to side like I've had too much sugar, barely

able to stay still. Giddy doesn't even begin to cover it. Across from me, Knox is

doing his best to look calm, but I know him too well. He clears his throat,

beginning his vows.

"The truth is," he says, "I didn't write

anything down. I couldn't. But if I

had, I'd still be standing here looking

at you... forgetting every single word.

You're so beautiful, Bunny. I've never

wanted anything more than want

you. You crawled under my skin the

day we met, and nothing's been the

same since."

I blink hard, trying to stay present, trying to hold on to every syllable.

I've seen the worst parts of myself through your eyes... and somehow, younoveldrama

stayed. Even when I didn't say the right thing. Even when my mischievous ways

should've pushed you away. You're the first person who ever made me want to

stay alive long enough to grow old."

My eyes blur with tears.

"So this is me promising you everything I have," he says. "The parts that are

loudly and obsessively and stupidly in love with you. The parts that are soft and

scared and trying. I want to be yours in every way that matters. Today. Tomorrow.

And for the rest of our lives."

He gives a tiny shake of his head.

"I love you so much, Sloane Mercer. I really can't wait to call you Mrs. Sloane

Hartley."

A single tear slips down my cheek, and I don't even try to brush it away. I'm

smiling too wide. Feeling too much.

"Jesus, Knox," I say, blinking up at him. "Remind me not to go into a vow contest

with you."