Chapter 139 – Damon's POV
The applause still rang in my ears as I led Arya down the aisle, her hand in mine, her smile glowing brighter than the sun dipping behind the trees.
My wife.
Again.
But this time, not out of desperation or paperwork. This time, because she chose me. Because I chose her. Because we both knew — this was where we were meant to be.
The garden had transformed while we were away taking pictures. The reception area sparkled with hundreds of tiny lights strung above like fallen stars. The tables were draped in soft blush and cream linens, floral centerpieces glowing with candles. Our guests laughed, drank, and clinked glasses, celebrating something I wasn't sure I ever deserved, but was endlessly grateful for.
Arya was beside me, radiant in her lace dress. Her veil was gone now, tucked somewhere safe, and her hair fell in soft waves again, a few strands framing her glowing face. She looked free. Like she wasn't carrying the weight she used to.
God, she was beautiful.
"Careful how you look at me like that," she whispered, leaning close. "You'll make me blush in front of our guests."
I smirked. "Let them see. I married the most beautiful woman on Earth — I deserve to brag."
She laughed, soft and sweet, then leaned up to kiss my cheek.
I didn't want this night to end.
Music began to play, the kind that made your chest ache with nostalgia. Arya squeezed my hand, eyes sparkling. "First dance time?"
I nodded, heart pounding like it was the first time we kissed. "Let's give them something to remember."
As we walked toward the center of the garden, guests stepped aside. The fairy lights flickered like they were holding their breath for us. The world went quiet for a second — just long enough for me to look at her again and think:
I still can't believe she's mine.
The music flowed, slow and dreamy. Arya stepped into my arms, resting her hand on my chest. I wrapped mine around her waist, pulling her in close.
"You know," she whispered, "I used to wonder if we'd ever get this."
My throat tightened. "I wondered too. Every single day."
She didn't speak for a while, just pressed her cheek to my chest and swayed with me. Her eyes were closed, and I could feel her breathing — calm and content. The way she used to only be in her sleep.
The crowd around us faded. In that moment, it was just her and me. Dancing like we were the only two people in the world.
"I love you, Arya," I said softly.
She looked up at me, her blue and pale eye glinting under the lights. "I know. I love you too."
The song ended with gentle applause. But when we pulled apart, I didn't let go of her hand.
We spent the next hour laughing with friends, chasing Liam around the dessert table, holding baby Hope while guests gushed over how perfect she looked in white lace. She yawned dramatically in Arya's arms, then promptly fell asleep against her chest.
Arya kissed her head gently. "She's got your sleepy expressions."
I chuckled. "And your nose."
"She's perfect," Arya whispered, then leaned her head on my shoulder. "They both are."
I looked around, watching Liam giggle as Amara gave him cake. Arya's art gallery friends chatted with my old business partners. It was strange, surreal, and beautiful — the blend of two worlds that once felt so far apart.
And they were all here. For us.
"Arya," I said suddenly, turning toward her, "I don't think I've told you this today."
She blinked, curious. "Told me what?"
"That this…" I gestured to everything — the music, the lights, the joy. "This is the happiest I've ever been."
Her smile softened. "Me too."
A small voice tugged at my pants. Liam.
"Dad," he whispered, trying not to wake his sister, "do we get to dance too?"
I knelt, smiling. "Of course. Want me to spin you like last time?"
His eyes lit up, and I lifted him into my arms. Arya laughed, stepping back to watch as I twirled him gently under the lights. His laughter echoed through the garden, light and high and unfiltered.
Then Arya joined us, still cradling Hope.
Our first dance as a family.
I caught Amara watching us from the side, tears in her eyes. Even Ethan — the ever-broody best man — was smiling softly, his hand around a champagne flute.
I don't know what I did to deserve this life. But I'd spend every day making sure Arya never doubted a single part of it.
When it was time to cut the cake, Arya leaned in and whispered, "Don't you dare smash that in my face."
I laughed. "Wouldn't dream of it."
We fed each other small pieces, careful, tender, like everything sacred should be handled — then kissed again to the sound of clapping.
Later that night, as guests slowly trickled out and the lights dimmed to a romantic glow, Arya and I stood at the edge of the garden. Hope was asleep in her stroller. Liam was dozing on a chair with frosting on his cheek.
I wrapped my arm around Arya's waist. "We did it."
She leaned against me, warm and soft. "No, Damon. You did it. You made this perfect."
I turned to her, my voice quiet. "I'd do it all again just to see you smile like this."
She looked up at me, eyes shimmering. "Then promise me something."
"Anything."
"Promise me we'll never stop choosing each other."
I smiled, brushing her cheek with my thumb. "I swear it."
Then, with the stars as our witnesses, I kissed my wife again — for the hundredth time, the thousandth — and still, it felt like the first.
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