Chapter 3: The Wedding Gamble

With both sets of parents and Mason’s full support, the wedding was scheduled fast.

There were group texts, cake tastings, dress fittings. It all happened in a blur.

Other than picking my dress and jewelry, Mason handled everything. My parents kept saying, "Keep it simple," but Mason was too busy making it "grand." I thought my parents worried too much.

He wanted fireworks, a live band, the whole nine yards. I just wanted him.

In the meantime, I found a new job and got back to a regular 9-to-5. The only oddity was Mason showing up unannounced "to build our relationship," which usually meant ending up in bed...

He’d bring takeout, flowers, or just himself. I pretended to be annoyed, but I loved every minute.

Sometimes, I felt uneasy. Mostly because I hadn’t figured out how we suddenly got here.

It was like I’d blinked and everything had changed.

And, did he marry me for love?

The question gnawed at me, but I was too scared to ask.

If I was just a convenient choice, was I okay with that?

I told myself I was, but deep down, I wasn’t sure.

The answer was yes.

I’d take him any way I could get him.

Mason’s always been different. As long as I could stay by his side, I’d take any role—friend, lover, wife.

I’d be his anything, as long as he didn’t leave.

I smiled wryly. With Mason, I’m so humble, but I love it. I can pretend not to care, not to mind, not to love.

I could fake it with everyone else, but not with him.

That’s my secret, no matter how drunk I get, I never spill it.

I kept it locked up, afraid it would ruin everything.

But now, about to be his bride, I suddenly felt sad.

The sadness crept in, unexpected and sharp.

Sad that I’d never been honest with him, or myself.

I hugged my knees to my chest, wishing I could go back and do it all differently.

"Why are you crying?"

His voice was gentle, closer than I realized. I looked up, startled.

I hadn’t noticed him arrive, or my own tears.

He knelt beside me, worry etched on his face. I tried to smile, but my lip trembled.

When I tried to wipe them, he caught my hand. "You’ll mess up your makeup. Let me."

He pulled a tissue from his pocket, dabbing at my cheeks with surprising tenderness.

"Why are you crying? Excited for the wedding?"

He tried to lighten the mood, but his eyes were soft.

I didn’t know what to say. Happiness felt like a soap bubble—beautiful but fragile, and I was scared it wasn’t really mine.

I wanted to believe it would last, but I’d been wrong before.

"I’m scared..."

My voice was barely a whisper.

"Of what?" He gently wiped my nose, coaxing.

He waited, patient as ever.

"I’m scared I’ll get greedy... scared I’ll get hurt because you don’t love me." I thought I could handle it, be just a friend in a marriage costume, but I’d been lying to myself.

The words spilled out before I could stop them. I felt naked, but also relieved.

He smiled, then sighed, "Isn’t it a little late to worry about that?"

He squeezed my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my skin.

Mason sat across from me, holding my hand, wanting to ask me something.

He looked at me, really looked, and I felt seen.

"Think about it—every time you talked about your exes, except when you broke up, did I ever comment?"

I wracked my brain, trying to remember. He’d always listened, but never judged.

I thought hard. Ages ago, I couldn’t remember, but the last time was when he took me on that trip. He just helped me sober up and poured more wine, so my "I dumped him" was never said.

He’d always been there, quietly supportive.

"Remember when you first told me you were dating someone?"

I... didn’t remember.

I shook my head, embarrassed.

He answered for me, "It was a week after someone joked and asked if you liked Mason Grant."

He smiled, a little sad. I felt my heart squeeze.

Then he asked, "Why’d you have so many boyfriends but end up falling for me? Don’t say you were drunk that night—I don’t buy it. Even if you ignore that, what about later? Don’t tell me you just gave up."

He was too direct! I was embarrassed, but still argued, "What kind of dumb question is that! I plead the fifth!"

I tried to joke, but my voice shook.

He smiled, "Okay, I’ll confess instead."

He leaned in, eyes locked on mine.

"First, you told me your mom comes every Monday to clean, so that day I purposely wanted to do fondue at your place, hoping she’d back me up."

I punched him, "You did it on purpose! I knew it!"

He laughed, rubbing his arm. "Second, I’m not pressured to marry, but someone made me want to."

His eyes softened, and I felt my heart skip.

Info overload. My brain lagged. "So you mean you always liked me?"

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline.

He sighed, "You should think about what it means to be with someone you don’t love."

He held my gaze, daring me to look away.

"I figured, even if you’re slow, if I gave you enough time, you’d realize. But I worried—what if you fell for someone else? Luckily, we both chased each other in the end." He smiled slyly.

He squeezed my hand, and I felt my doubts melt away.

I blushed, "I said I was drunk that night!"

I tried to sound annoyed, but I was grinning.

"You think I believe that?"

He raised an eyebrow, daring me to argue.

Hmph, believe what you want...

I stuck out my tongue, feeling lighter than I had in months.

"Have you ever thought, if you never told me how you felt, what if I ended up with someone else? Would you regret it, Autumn?"

His question hit me like a ton of bricks. I’d never let myself go there, but now...

I hadn’t thought about that.

I shook my head, honest for once.

I admit, the booze loosened me up that night. I wanted something to happen, but was scared, so I pretended to be drunk—giving myself an escape.

It was easier to blame the wine than admit the truth.

Now I see, all my truths and lies, intentions and accidents, were seen by him. He waited for me to be honest, just like he was.

He’d been patient, even when I didn’t deserve it.

I remembered him rushing over because of my "suicide" Instagram story, usually so chill but that day kicking in my door, paying the Uber but losing his wallet—his red eyes were out of worry.

I remembered the confusion and guilt in his eyes over the red spot on the hotel sheets, and his serious "I’ll take responsibility" promise.

At fondue, when he said, "Okay, I’ll marry," in front of me and my mom, I saw the warmth in his eyes.

He’d always been there, even when I didn’t notice.

I wasn’t blind, or hopeless, just anxious and scared.

I realized I’d been running from happiness, afraid it would disappear if I reached for it.

Now he’d broken through, admitted he cared, and started to tease me.

He made it safe to hope again.

I admit I’m weak—I care, and I’m happy.

I wiped my eyes, laughing through the tears.

Maybe seeing my face change, Mason looked uneasy, making a silly face, "Mad at me? I promise, I’ll never do it again."

He stuck out his lower lip, pretending to pout.

When I stayed silent, he squeezed my fingers, "Punish me however you want, just don’t be mad, okay?" Puppy-dog eyes and all.

He looked so ridiculous, I couldn’t help but laugh. I pulled him close, resting my forehead against his.

I stared at him, feeling like my heart was a giant marshmallow—soft, sweet, and warm—so I pulled him down and kissed him, just like he’d done to me.

His arms wrapped around me, and for the first time, I felt truly safe.

The wedding was like a mystery box—way grander and dreamier than I expected. I couldn’t believe how Mason pulled it off.

There were fairy lights, a live band playing "Shut Up and Dance," and a dance floor under the stars on a rooftop overlooking the city. The wedding cake was red velvet, with mini sliders and mozzarella sticks for appetizers. I felt like a princess in a rom-com.

His coworkers all came, calling me "big sis-in-law" with fake sweetness. When did marrying make me so old?

They teased me mercilessly, but I didn’t mind. It felt like family.

Worse for Mason, normally the boss, now everyone played all the pranks they’d never dared before.

He took it all in stride, but I saw the glint in his eye. Payback was coming.

He smiled and went along, but I knew they’d pay for it later.

He’d never let them forget it, but tonight, he let them have their fun.

At the wedding, I spotted a familiar face. After a second, I realized it was the rich girl who’d stolen my ex—my cousin, Emily.

She looked stunning, as always, but there was something softer in her eyes. I flashed back to the family drama: how she’d always been the golden girl, and how I’d lost my ex to her—until she lost him, too. Maybe we both needed to lose to find ourselves.

"Congrats, cousin!" She looked surprised, then gave me a sly smile. "So that’s how it is."

She hugged me, whispering, "You win."

So the rich-girl cousin had never lost in love, until her cousin asked if she wanted to try something new—seemed mild but turned out spicy.

She’d always been the golden girl, but now she looked almost wistful.

She agreed, not knowing he already had a girlfriend, and dumped her for the new girl.

I saw the regret in her eyes, but also relief. Maybe we both needed to lose to find ourselves.

She felt tricked, but he said, "If true love is gold, where do you start?"

He’d always been a smooth talker. I rolled my eyes, but I was over it.

Today, she finally got it—the mild flavor was her cousin.

She smiled, a little sad, but happy for me.

I got it too, shooting Mason a look. "Anything else you haven’t told me?"

I raised an eyebrow, daring him to confess.

He looked guilty. "Just that you found out your ex was married early on, otherwise with your brains..."

He trailed off, grinning. I punched his arm, laughing.

"What?"

He leaned in and whispered, "Even if you wet the bed in the future, I won’t mind." Then he kissed me.

His lips were soft, and I melted all over again.

"I love you." He let the words linger between us, sweet as honey, melting into my heart.

I felt the truth of it settle deep inside me. I finally let myself believe it.

So can I take it that his "not sure when it started" began with introducing a "new flavor" to his cousin?

I grinned, shaking my head. Life was never simple, but it was ours.

Give and take.

We’d both lost and won, together.

"Fine, I admit it." I whispered in his ear, copying him. "I wasn’t drunk that night. Because of you, I never let myself get truly drunk—afraid I’d spill my secret, so..."

I smiled, finally free. He kissed me again, and the world faded away.

So I remember the "dream" of falling for you.

And this time, I’m not afraid to wake up.