Page 93 of Accidental Mile High Daddy
Matt
The villa overlooked the Amalfi Coast, all crumbling cliffs and soft sunlight, the sea stretching out so far it blurred into the sky. The ceremony was private—lavish, but intimate—mostly the way Sienna had insisted when she’d caught me attempting to book a cathedral that could accommodate four hundred guests. “We’re not throwing the fucking Met Gala, Matt,” she’d said.
I’d let her win that one.
It didn’t matter where it was. Didn’t matter who was there, outside of us, Zach, Bea, and Bella. What mattered was her becoming mine, really and trulymine.
We’d planned it fast. It had barely been more than six months after the twins were born that she’d looked at me and said, “Amalfi Coast?” as if we’d been spit balling ideas for it — we hadn’t. It took me zero convincing, and within a week, we’d had almost everything booked, and within a month, we’d flown across the Atlantic.
Sex on the plane had beenmucheasier this time with Margot minding the kids and a private room on my—our—jet.
I’d invited Ryan. Purely out of spite. I’d imagined him standing somewhere near the back, Lauren on his arm, facetight with fake support while I married the woman he’d broken and tried to scare away from me. But he didn’t show. I wasn’t surprised — just a little disappointed I couldn’t gloat in person.
Anyone who mattered was there.
Jules looked like she’d stepped out of a Vogue editorial on my dime in her pale, light green dress, smug as hell because apparently she’dknownwe’d end up here before we had. Margot wore more of a deep, muted green, a two-piece set of flowing pants and a dress shirt, ever prepared in case one of the kids needed wrangling. And when the ceremony music started and Zach walked out in his little suit, six and taller andproudas he pushed the twins' stroller down the aisle like it was a royal parade, I didn’t stand a chance against the burning behind my eyes.
My chest cracked open watching them.
My boy. My girls. All of them, a part of this.
But then the music shifted, swelling, and nothing in the goddamn world could’ve prepared me for her.
She didn’t wear white. That was the first thing I noticed. Instead, she’d gone with the one color she knew would get a fucking rise out of me — soft fucking yellow.
It was delicate, sweet, off the shoulders on her arms, but clinging all the way down to her thighs. It wasbarelya wedding dress, but it didn’t matter. It undid me all the same. It fit her like a glove, hugging every inch of her that made meweep, and her hair was twisted back and out of her face with gold pins, brunette waves cascading down her back with ease. But it was the look in her eyes, steady and sharp and locked on mine, that hit harder than anything I’d felt in my life.
The way she’d looked in Tulum was nothing compared to this.
This was psychological warfare. This was against the Geneva Convention.
She smirked when she saw my face, like sheknew, and of course she did. She knew exactly what she was doing when she picked that.
The ceremony wasn’t long. We kept the formalities brief, just enough to satisfy the officiant, just enough to keep the illusion of tradition. But then it was our turn to speak.
She went first.
“Matt,” she said, holding both of my hands in hers, her eyes locked on mine. “When I met you, I thought you were an emotionally stunted, rich asshole who couldn’t commit to dinner plans, let alone a relationship. And I was right.”
I snorted.
“But,” she carried on, “you learned to show up. You made space. You let me eat all of the pickles out of your fridge without complaining. You built a life with me, one layer at a time.”
Her throat worked, her eyes starting to go glassy.
“Even when you were scared,” she added, her voice cracking. “You—You’ve given me the world and then had the nerve to act like I was the one doingyoua favor.” She squeezed my hands. “So, this is me saying yes to every part of it, not just marrying you. Yes to you. Yes to Zach. Yes to Bea and Bella. Yes to the long nights and the hard days and all the weird shit we’ll probably fight about later. I’m in, all the way, for as long as you’ll have me.”
My throatachedas it tightened. I lifted a hand to her cheek, swiping at the tears that had slipped free, and started mine. “Sienna,” I said, trying not to sound like I was choking. “I used to think that love had to be complicated. I used to think it was dangerous, something you ran from or outgrew. And then you showed up and tore every goddamn rule apart. You ruined my peace?—”
She laughed, wet and loud.
“—hijacked myhouse, insulted my charcuterie orders, teased me mercilessly, and made me fall so stupidly in love with you I forgot how to be afraid.”
I rolled my lips between my teeth, letting myself breathe for just a second as I dropped my forehead to hers.
“So, I promise,” I went on, a little quieter, mostly just for her, “to never run. To never disappear. To let the kids tell everyone that their mom is cooler than me, even when they’rewrong. I promise to fight for you, to show up for you, to let you insult me for as long as you want to, to let you threaten me with stupid Post-It notes and never tell the police.”
“Big of you,” she murmured.
