Chapter 17 - The Proposal in the Kitchen
|
Our second wedding was held six months later.
There was no grand ballroom. No media circus. No six-hundred-person guest list of fake political allies.
We held the ceremony in the backyard of my craftsman house under a wooden canopy covered in wild white roses. Thirty-two guests attended—our closest friends, Maya Chen, Adrian Vale, and even Claudia, who wore a tasteful navy suit and, to everyone’s absolute shock, genuinely complimented my simple flower arrangements.
At the small outdoor reception under string lights, Weston stood up to deliver his toast.
He looked at the small gathered circle, holding a glass of sparkling cider.
“Three years ago,” Weston began, his tone quiet and honest, “I stood in a kitchen and told Elowen that everything she had was because she married me.”
A quiet hum went through the small crowd. Maya Chen smirked into her wine glass.
Weston smiled sadly, looking directly at me. “I was spectacularly, spectacularly wrong.”
Soft chuckles echoed through the garden.
“So tonight, in front of the people who actually matter, I want to correct the record,” Weston said, reaching down to take my hand. “Almost everything worth having in my life began when she believed in me. But almost everything worth keeping began when I finally learned to believe in her—without needing to own her success.”
Applause broke out among our friends.
“And the rest?” I called out playfully from my seat.
Weston grinned, raising his glass. “The rest began when I learned how to properly wash dishes.”
The yard filled with warm laughter.
As the night drew to a close and the last guests departed, Weston and I stood together near the edge of the lawn, looking up at the clear autumn night sky.
“Happy?” Weston asked gently, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.
I leaned my head against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
I thought about the woman who had once knelt on a cold marble floor, gathering shattered crystal while being told she was ordinary. If I could reach back through time, I wouldn't tell her about revenge or power. I would tell her something far simpler:
Your value does not begin when someone finally recognizes it. It was there all along.
“I’m happy,” I whispered.
Weston kissed the top of my head. He glanced back toward the lit kitchen window, where a stack of dessert plates was sitting in the sink.
“Don't even say it,” he muttered playfully.
I smiled, nudging his side. “Imported marble, Weston.”
He groaned, smiling as he unbuttoned his jacket. “I’m on it, Chairwoman.”
He walked back inside toward the kitchen, pulling up his sleeves as he turned on the hot water tap.
May you like
I stayed outside under the stars, feeling the cool night breeze against my skin. For the first time in my life, I felt entirely whole. Nobody was leaving me behind.
Least of all myself.
