Georgia's POV
"Nick…" I whispered, hastily brushing away my tears before they could fall again.
He crossed the room in a few long strides, his eyes soft but steady, the kind that made the whole world fade. "Hey," he murmured, his voice low and tender. "Why are you crying? Come here…"
The warmth of his hand found mine, and before I could even blink, I was pulled against him—safe, weightless, home.
"I heard what you said," he continued, brushing a tear from my cheek with his thumb. "But let's be honest—everyone here knows it's me who doesn't deserve you."
A faint smile tugged at my lips, but he wasn't done.
"This…" he gestured around—the flowers, the dresses, the cakes, the people who were pretending not to stare, "and everything I've been doing… it's still not enough. Because no amount of effort could ever measure up to how grateful I am that you chose me. Out of everyone—you chose me. That's the kind of miracle a man doesn't take for granted."
