Page 93 of Perfectly Wedded

He holds it up for me, showing me the handwritten message at the bottom:No ticket today, only a warning. Now go kiss your wife.

I laugh, feeling the relief lift off my shoulders. After everything that’s happened, this is the least of my worries. A feat that shows growth on my part.

Old Sloan from one year ago would have despaired over this ticket, cried pathetic little tears, even. But New Sloan, who’s weathered a breakup, a brain injury, and an impromptu Vegas wedding, just smiles. Because honestly, what’s a ticket compared to all that? It’s nothing to cry over. Not when I’ve survived so much and come out stronger.

Vale grins, waving the ticket like a victory flag. “Well,at least the police are rooting for us. Maybe we should invite them to the wedding.”

“Or have them escort the reporter from our property,” I say. “That would be convenient.”

“That’s what the hockey team is for,” Vale tells me as he opens the door for my dad and me to crawl into the back of the limo.

Dad and I find our spots across from each other on the long bench seats, while Vale handles the driving and Brax sees to his brother’s car. There’s an awkwardness in our eye contact, probably because it’s been so long since we last talked. His skin is darker, more weathered than before. But his eyes are the same—tender, open, sad.

He’s the same man who’s been wandering like a nomad the last few years, always waiting for something—or someone—better to show up. Some people bury their grief, others run from it. My dad fled. At first, this infuriated me.How could he just leave us?

But over time, I’ve come to understand that grief isn’t linear or logical. It doesn’t make sense, at least not from the outside. Though I wish my father had made a different choice, at least he’s still here. Unlike Vale, who never got answers because his dad passed before he had the chance. That’s something I’ve never been able to stop thinking about—the questions left behind, the ache of words unsaid. And while I don’t always understand my dad, at least I still have the chance to try.

“How did this even happen?” I ask Vale as he pulls away from the curb. As uncomfortable as this conversation is, Vale is pushing me to face the one thing I would’ve gladly avoided forever—starting over with my father.

“When I said we were doing things the right way this time around, I meant it,” Vale says, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “It took me forever to track him down. When I did, I called and asked for your hand in marriage.”

“You asked for permission?”

Vale shakes his head. “Since we were already married, it wasn’tpermission exactly. More like an honorable gesture, out of respect.”

The fact that Vale recognizes this, even if Dad hasn’t lived up to his responsibility, means something. As complicated as family is, he’s still my father.

Dad folds his hands together. “I’ll admit, the phone call caught me off guard. I haven’t been around the last few years, and you’re on your own now. When he asked my permission to marry you, it reminded me of when I asked for your mother’s hand. Granny was fiercely protective of her daughter, and I had to hide my hands to keep her from seeing them shake. Before she said yes, she asked me one question, ‘Are you going to be there for her through thick and thin? Because that’s what you’re asking to do. It’s not a marriage unless you stay.’”

His eyes grow soft and distant, reliving the memory. The emotion makes his voice catch. “I haven’t always done that for you.” He nods, like he knows how hard this is, how I’ve waited for him to pull the splinter out. “Vale called me on it. Said you deserved a dad who showed up in your life, that I didn’t deserve a daughter as good as you. He was right, even though it hurt to hear it. You and Jaz were always so steady. So willing to give everything. Even willing to love your lousy excuse for a father.” He looks down, unable to meet my eyes.

I reach across the aisle and take my father’s hands in mine, closing the space between us. Until now, I’ve never considered myself the steady one. Maybe this is what Vale has wanted me to understand from the beginning. That the way I’ve measured myself—and come up short—is only through a flawed perspective of my own making. Maybe if I’d been kinder to myself and seen my shortcomings with a little more compassion, I wouldn’t have considered myself unworthy of love. I wouldn’t have been so quick to run away from my fears and seen that when you let love in, it’s a sacrificeanda kindness. None of us deserves it.

“You were not a lousy father,” I tell him. “You were hurting. And I didn’t know what to do with that kind of pain.”

“You probably think I didn’t care, but I did—too much,” he admits. “Part of me thought you could never forgive me for the mistakes I made. I told myself it would be easier to love you from a distance. Then I couldn’t risk feeling the pain of losing you, like I lost your mother.”

The pieces of the past shuffle into place like a deck of cards. Not perfectly, of course, but with more compassion than Old Sloan might have been able to show. It’s not that I can dismiss the hard questions. There’s still so much to uncover, complicated truths I may not want to face. But with time, maybe I can begin to understand that my father didn’t leave because he stopped loving us. He left because love was too risky for him.

Dad scrapes his hand over his beard. “When Vale invited me to your wedding, he begged me to come. Said this was my shot at starting over with you and Jaz.” He looks at Vale in the rearview mirror. “Remember what I said?”

“You told me no,” Vale says with a laugh. “And that’s when I called your dad a coward.”

Dad grins, not offended by Vale’s remark. “I didn’t want to face your sister. She caught me in a mistake I still haven’t forgiven myself for. But Vale told me if I ever wanted to make things right, I should come today.” He pauses for a beat. “That is, if you’ll have me there for the wedding.”

I squeeze his hand and hope my eyes don’t start leaking all over my wedding dress. The words come out, barely more than a whisper. “It would mean the world to have you stay.”

Vale doesn’t say anything when he stops the car so I can lean across the aisle to hug my father. He just looks on in the rearview mirror with a silent smile, knowing this is the best gift he could’ve given me on our wedding day.

I tell my dad to wait outside the house until I find Jaz. The guests are already starting to file in to our backyardwhere we have wooden folding seats on the lawn, facing a beautifully decorated pergola covered with flowers. It’s all I ever wanted, really—to marry in Granny’s backyard, near the rose gardens. ThoughThe Star Report’spayment for exclusive coverage could have easily covered any dream wedding venue, I opted for tradition, for a connection to Granny and home and all the things I love.

When I locate Jaz, she’s inside taking a phone call, her brow knitted. “It’s Scarlett,” she whispers to me. “Her car died. Brendan is running over to pick her up. I offered to help.”

She turns her attention back to the call. “We’ll hold the ceremony until you get here. It’s no problem, seriously! See you soon.”

My sister, wanting to save the day. She’s always been like this—her need to help everyone trumps any of her needs. Right now, she just wants to make sure my wedding is the most amazing one ever and that all the people I love are there.

“Sorry if I just delayed your big day,” she says with an apologetic smile.

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