The next morning, sunlight slipped lazily through the same French windows, brushing over the remnants of yesterday's wedding madness — confetti in the curtains, flower petals on the stairs, and one very tired Ava collapsed in her childhood bed, still half tangled in her veil.
She groaned into the pillow. "If I find glitter in my hair one more time, I'm shaving my head."
From the hallway came Sam's voice — too loud, too cheerful, and far too awake for someone who'd nearly face-planted into the cake last night."Rise and shine, Mrs. Married-Lady!"
Ava threw a cushion at the door. "You're not allowed to be this happy before coffee."
Sam barged in anyway, holding a mug in one hand and a slice of leftover wedding cake in the other. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie still around his neck like a battle scar, and somehow, he looked smug about it.
"Breakfast of champions," he declared, taking a huge bite. "Sugar, caffeine, and regret."
Ava sat up, squinting at him. "Regret because you danced with Mom's best friend for twenty minutes thinking she was one of the bridesmaids?"
He froze mid-bite. "That's classified information."
She smirked. "Not anymore."
Downstairs, the house buzzed again — their parents chatting over tea, relatives laughing, kids chasing the family dog through a minefield of gift bags. It was peak post-wedding chaos, and somehow, it felt… right.
When Ava walked into the kitchen, Peryn was already there, tie loosened, reading the newspaper like he hadn't witnessed a tornado of humans the night before. "Morning, sweetheart," he said with a knowing smile. "Did you survive your brother's emotional damage?"
"Barely," Ava replied, pouring herself coffee. "He's been hovering like I'm going to spontaneously combust."
"I'm just making sure my baby sister isn't having post-wedding blues," Sam said, plopping into a chair. "You know… that moment when reality sets in and you realize your honeymoon starts with a six-hour flight and zero sleep."
Ava rolled her eyes. "You're lucky I love you, or I'd make you take that flight instead."
Their mom, ever graceful and somehow immune to the household noise, smiled from behind her teacup. "It's sweet, really. You two started the wedding with an argument and ended it with him almost tripping down the aisle to fix your train."
"Key word: almost," Sam said defensively. "I caught myself like a ninja."
Peryn laughed. "You caught yourself on the flower stand. We're still missing half the roses."
The room dissolved into laughter, the kind that fills a house and makes it feel alive again.
Later that day, when most of the guests had gone and only a few family members lingered, Ava found Sam in the backyard. He was sitting on the old wooden swing, pushing himself lazily with one foot, staring at the garden that had hosted more family memories than either of them could count.
"You okay?" she asked softly, stepping beside him.
He nodded, smiling faintly. "Yeah. Just… weird, you know? You're married. It feels like the end of a chapter."
Ava sat beside him, bumping his shoulder. "Not the end, idiot. Just a new one. You're still stuck with me. I'll still call you at 2 a.m. when I burn pasta."
He chuckled. "You mean again?"
"Shut up," she said, laughing. Then, after a pause, "You were great yesterday, by the way. Even when everything was falling apart. I mean, you found the boutonnière, wrangled the kids, didn't faint under pressure… I'm proud of you."
Sam blinked, caught off guard. "Whoa. Emotional moment alert. Should I cry or make a joke?"
"Do both," Ava teased.
He smiled wider, eyes glinting. "Fine. I'll cry later when I realize I'm not getting paid for best brother duties."
Ava laughed, resting her head briefly on his shoulder. "You're impossible."
"Genetically proven," he said proudly.
They stayed there in the quiet backyard, sunlight filtering through the trees, laughter from inside fading into the breeze. For a rare moment, there was no chaos — just the calm between storms.
"Promise me something," Ava said after a while. "Don't let the family go completely insane while I'm gone."
Sam smirked. "No promises. But I'll try not to burn the house down."
"Good enough," she said, smiling.
As she headed back inside, Sam watched her go — proud, nostalgic, and a little misty-eyed, though he'd never admit it. She wasn't just his little sister anymore; she was someone else's whole world now. But in his heart, she'd always be the same girl who'd once made him wear a flower crown and called him "Princess Samuel" during playtime.
And that, he figured, was love too — the kind that didn't fade with distance or marriage. Just evolved.