Tears ran down my face at my daughter’s wisdom, at her maturity.
“Don’t,” she snapped. “You’ll ruin your makeup.”
A sound that was half laugh, half sob escaped me.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” My voice was barely a whisper as I wiped a single tear from my daughter’s eye. “This is a lot for you to have to deal with.”
Violet frowned. “My mother truly happy for the first time in her life is not a lot to deal with, I promise.”
I tried to measure her response, tried to look for holes, the shadows that had been flickering behind her eyes since she’d arrived.
I saw none.
“Now,” she held out her arm, “are you going to let me walk you down the aisle or what?”
I stared at her for a second longer before saying anything. “Yes,” I whispered. “There’s no one else in the world I want by my side.”
Then I took her arm, letting her walk us out to the garden.
The garden that was filled with lilies, lavender and bikers.
My biker stood at the end of a short, makeshift aisle. Hades and Jagger stood beside him. Freya, Caroline and Macy were on my side, grinning from ear to ear. Hansen was officiating.
It was, quite simply, the most perfect wedding I’d ever seen. If I’d tried to plan it, I wouldn’t have been able to create such an uncomplicated, beautiful wedding.
Violet walked us toward Swiss, stopping to give him a large hug when we made it.
“Take care of my mom,” she told him when she released him.
Swiss’s eyes were shimmering. “I will,” he promised.
She smiled, leaning in to kiss my cheek before taking her spot beside Macy.
“You ready for this, Countess?” Swiss murmured, yanking me in close, forgoing the traditional stance.
I smiled up at him. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
And just like that, in the home that Swiss had bought for us—the home that was fairy-tale perfect—we got married.
It would be the home we grew old in.
I knew that in my every fiber.
And, five weeks after our wedding, it was the home that we created our son in.
Life was good.
I was not gone, girl. I was home. Forever.