Belle's POV
If someone had told me years ago that I'd stand in a white dress, in front of family and friends, ready to marry Jasper , I would have laughed. Not because I didn't want it, but because back then I couldn't picture myself worthy of something this good.
But here I was.
The garden was bathed in soft light, the music still echoing faintly in the air. My father had just placed my hand in Jasper's, and the warmth of his palm steadied me. He looked at me with eyes that made my chest tighten so sure, so steady, like I was the only one who mattered.
The officiant spoke, but the words felt distant. All I could hear was my own breath and the beating of my heart.
It was my turn to speak. My vows.
I had written them a dozen times, torn them up, rewritten them again, because how do you put into words what Jasper means to you? How do you explain what it feels like when someone holds your broken pieces and doesn't let go?
I took a breath, looking at him, and the words came.
