And on the day itself, it was.
The ceremony was everything I’d dreamed of without daring to say it out loud. The music softened the air. The sunlight hit the aisle like it had been placed there carefully. My veil floated behind me as I walked toward him, heart pounding so hard I thought everyone could hear it.
When we said our vows, he cried. Real tears. His voice shook when he said he loved me. He held my hands like they were the most precious thing he’d ever touched.
People smiled. People sniffled. Someone whispered, “They’re perfect together.”
I felt safe.
For the first time in a long time, I felt completely safe.
Afterward, we moved into the reception space for photos. The venue had a pool tucked behind the garden—bright blue water surrounded by stone and flowers. Guests drifted around the edges, chatting, sipping drinks, waiting for their turn to congratulate us.
The photographer asked for a few romantic shots near the pool. I didn’t think anything of it. The pool was part of the scenery, like the trees and the lights and the flowers. Something beautiful behind us, not something dangerous.
He took my waist. The photographer called out, “Okay, let’s do a dip! Like the movies.”
My fiancé laughed softly and pulled me closer. His hands were warm and steady.
Then he leaned in, close enough that only I could hear him over the small crowd and the clicking camera.
“You trust me, right?”
I smiled automatically.
Because why wouldn’t I?
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