We were back in LA few days later.
I didn’t expect to feel nervous.
It was supposed to be a simple eting, one that didn’t require my hands shaking the way they were now.
The penthouse was filled with the faint scent of vanilla candles and coffee when Jace and I sat across from the wedding planner he’d hired. It was a woman nad Cecilia, with perfectly styled hair and a voice that sounded like it had planned a thousand beautiful love stories.
"So," Cecilia began with a bright smile, "you two are renewing your vows. That’s beautiful. Four years together, right?"
I nodded slowly. "Almost four."
Jace reached for my hand under the table and squeezed it gently. "Feels like longer sotis," he said, smirking.
I nudged him with my knee, trying not to smile too wide. Cecilia laughed politely, flipping through her notes.
"We’ll start with location options," she said. "Do you have a preference? Beach, garden, ballroom, villa...?"
"Sowhere quiet," Jace said before I could answer. His voice was firm, but warm. "Sowhere private, where it’s just us, family, and a few friends."
"That can be arranged," Cecilia nodded. "And for the the? Elegant? Classic? Maybe sothing modern?"
Jace turned to then, and I could tell by the way his eyes softened that he wanted to choose. "Whatever she wants," he said. "This day’s for her."
My heart did that fluttery thing it always did when he said things like that.
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and exhaled softly. "Sothing tiless," I said after a mont. "Soft colors. Simple. I don’t want too much fuss."
Cecilia scribbled notes quickly. "Perfect. Tiless always photographs beautifully."
She moved on to other questions — the cake, the flowers, the music — and I answered each one, but sowhere in the middle of it all, I found myself drifting.
Because as she talked, my mind kept pulling back to the first ti.
The first wedding.
The one that didn’t feel like a wedding at all.
Four years ago, I didn’t have ti to think about cakes or flowers or thes. I didn’t even get to choose my dress. It all happened so fast — a week’s notice, one fitting, and before I could fully understand what I was getting into, I was walking down the aisle to marry a man I barely knew but feared more than I wanted to admit.
The first ti, I wasn’t a bride. I was a bargaining chip.
Now, I looked at Jace — sitting beside , watching more than he watched Cecilia’s notes — and I realized how much had changed.
He caught staring and raised a brow. "What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?"
I smiled faintly. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
I hesitated, fingers brushing the ring on my hand. "About how different this feels."
Sothing flickered in his gaze. Guilt, maybe, or just quiet understanding. He didn’t say anything right away, but his thumb rubbed slow circles on the back of my hand.
Cecilia was still talking, describing floral arrangents and color palettes, but the world had gone soft around us. It was just him and for a mont — like the noise had faded to make room for sothing real.
"Four years ago," I said softly, "everything felt rushed. I didn’t even have ti to breathe before it happened. And now..." I trailed off, shaking my head. "Now I get to be present. I get to choose."
His hand tightened around mine. "You deserve that."
"I didn’t think we’d ever co this far."
He smiled faintly. "Neither did I. But I’m glad we did."
Cecilia clapped her hands once, bringing my focus back. "Alright, I’ll send a few venue proposals by tonight. There’s a villa near the coast that might be perfect — private, stunning view, incredible light for photos."
"That sounds perfect," I said softly.
"Then it’s settled," she said with a grin, closing her folder. "You two are officially the calst couple I’ve ever t planning a wedding."
Jace chuckled under his breath. "Trust , we’ve had our fair share of chaos."
Cecilia laughed politely again, clearly oblivious to how much of an understatent that was. When she finally left, I sank back into the couch, letting out a long breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
"That went well," Jace said, leaning back beside .
"Yeah." I smiled at him. "You were surprisingly cooperative."
"I’m not trying to die on this couch, baby," he said with a lazy grin. "You know I’d agree to whatever you say if it makes you happy."
I shook my head, laughing. "You’re ridiculous."
"I’m honest," he corrected.
We sat there for a while, in that quiet comfort that ca from being together too long to need constant words. He had his arm around , and I leaned into him, resting my head against his shoulder.
"Do you ever think about it?" I asked quietly after a while.
"About what?"
"The beginning. Everything we went through."
He humd softly, fingers tracing idle patterns on my arm. "All the ti."
"And?"
"And every ti I do, I realize sothing."
I tilted my head to look at him. "What?"
His gaze was steady. "If we hadn’t gone through all of that, I wouldn’t know how to love you right."
I felt that — deep in my chest, where all the ache and healing lived side by side.
He pressed a kiss to my forehead and whispered, "You’re my peace now, Mira. Always."
I smiled, eyes stinging just a little. "Then promise one thing."
"Anything."
"No more surprises like the first wedding," I teased, but my voice cracked slightly at the end.
He chuckled softly. "Deal. This ti, you’ll know everything,except maybe what I’m planning for our honeymoon."
"Jace—"
"Don’t worry," he said, grinning. "It doesn’t involve guns or kidnappings."
I burst out laughing, the sound mixing with his low chuckle as I leaned into his chest again.
For a mont, I thought about how much had changed in just four years. I went from a forced bride with trembling hands to a woman who now held her husband’s heart in her palms.
And maybe that was the real magic of love. Not the grand gestures, not the perfect flowers or perfect vows, but the quiet transformation that happened sowhere in between the heartbreak and the healing.
Four years ago, I didn’t have a choice.
Now, I had everything.
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