The Wedding They'll Never Forget - Chapter 11: Chapter 11
You are reading The Wedding They'll Never Forget, Chapter 11: Chapter 11. Read more chapters of The Wedding They'll Never Forget.
Catching my breath through happy tears, I stepped forward and threw my arms around him. "Of course it's yes, you goof," I whispered against his shoulder, laughter still bubbling up. "I can't imagine my life without you."
His eyes searched mine, wide with disbelief, as if needing proof this wasn't some dream. Grinning, I thrust out my left hand. "Well? Aren't you going to make it official?"
The tension melted from his shoulders as he slid the white diamond onto my finger, his smile so bright it could've powered the city. Our friends' cheers exploded around us like fireworks. Andrew swept me off my feet—literally—spinning me until we were both dizzy with joy.
When my feet finally touched grass again, I tugged his collar close. "Next time," I teased, "maybe triple-check your spelling?"
"Cut me some slack," he laughed, rubbing his neck. "The sign guys swore they heard 'marry me' right. Though at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if they were dyslexic."
We collapsed onto the picnic blanket, giddy as teenagers, the half-eaten sandwiches forgotten between bursts of laughter.
That night, I snapped a photo of my ring glowing in the lamplight and posted it: Here's to forever laughing with you. My phone immediately blew up with notifications—heart emojis from Mom, ALL CAPS texts from college friends, and one frantic call from my ride-or-die:
"Ruby! You're trending! That boat proposal just hit two million views!"
The viral video's comments section was a rollercoaster:
"Wait—isn't this the Casouth entrepreneur from that viral wedding disaster last year?"
"After what she went through? This healing arc gives me LIFE."
"Tagging my boyfriend like 'Take notes, sir.'"
"That 'marry me' typo is the most relatable thing ever."
I ignored the handful of trolls calling it a publicity stunt. Let them talk. Curled in bed, I twisted the ring under moonlight, marveling at how different this happiness felt—lighter, truer, like coming home.
We planned dual weddings—Casouth for my roots, Evercrest for his—which meant double the cake tastings. Andrew "seriously critiqued" every frosting sample while sneaking extra red velvet bites when he thought I wasn't looking.
"Expert opinion," he'd deadpan, smearing chocolate ganache on my nose. "This one needs... more you."
Six months later, under a canopy of oak trees strung with fairy lights, I walked toward him in Evercrest knowing every imperfect step had led us here.
His eyes searched mine, wide with disbelief, as if needing proof this wasn't some dream. Grinning, I thrust out my left hand. "Well? Aren't you going to make it official?"
The tension melted from his shoulders as he slid the white diamond onto my finger, his smile so bright it could've powered the city. Our friends' cheers exploded around us like fireworks. Andrew swept me off my feet—literally—spinning me until we were both dizzy with joy.
When my feet finally touched grass again, I tugged his collar close. "Next time," I teased, "maybe triple-check your spelling?"
"Cut me some slack," he laughed, rubbing his neck. "The sign guys swore they heard 'marry me' right. Though at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if they were dyslexic."
We collapsed onto the picnic blanket, giddy as teenagers, the half-eaten sandwiches forgotten between bursts of laughter.
That night, I snapped a photo of my ring glowing in the lamplight and posted it: Here's to forever laughing with you. My phone immediately blew up with notifications—heart emojis from Mom, ALL CAPS texts from college friends, and one frantic call from my ride-or-die:
"Ruby! You're trending! That boat proposal just hit two million views!"
The viral video's comments section was a rollercoaster:
"Wait—isn't this the Casouth entrepreneur from that viral wedding disaster last year?"
"After what she went through? This healing arc gives me LIFE."
"Tagging my boyfriend like 'Take notes, sir.'"
"That 'marry me' typo is the most relatable thing ever."
I ignored the handful of trolls calling it a publicity stunt. Let them talk. Curled in bed, I twisted the ring under moonlight, marveling at how different this happiness felt—lighter, truer, like coming home.
We planned dual weddings—Casouth for my roots, Evercrest for his—which meant double the cake tastings. Andrew "seriously critiqued" every frosting sample while sneaking extra red velvet bites when he thought I wasn't looking.
"Expert opinion," he'd deadpan, smearing chocolate ganache on my nose. "This one needs... more you."
Six months later, under a canopy of oak trees strung with fairy lights, I walked toward him in Evercrest knowing every imperfect step had led us here.
End of The Wedding They'll Never Forget Chapter 11. Continue reading Chapter 12 or return to The Wedding They'll Never Forget book page.