Dylan exited the car, then reached in to take my hand. Even though we were outside a municipal building downtown on a Friday afternoon, this moment was more romantic than the all the times we’d exited a fancy Mercedes and were headed into party filled with members of the royal family. This moment was better.

I smoothed my gown and gripped the lapels of my cropped tailored jacket, centering myself.

Daphne and I had had a blast trying on gowns. I considered everything from a traditional white gown to a little black dress, but this one had felt right. The perfect compromise. It was tea length in front and ankle length in the back. It was white, but covered in an array of spring flowers. It was structured taffeta and silk, tailored but whimsical and summery with its spaghetti straps and simple scooped neckline. I could have worn it to a ball, but with a jacket, I could wear it to a dinner.

I loved it. I felt beautiful. I felt bridal. I felt like me.

Dylan, wearing a slim new navy suit, tucked me into his side and gripped my waist, ushering me up the stone steps. Daphne, decked out in a slim red dress, walked beside us. We were doing this.

When we got inside, Dylan turned into his efficient businessman self, and within a moment had us headed into the clerk’s chambers. He introduced us all and laid our paperwork on the table, all while never letting go of my hand.

“Shall we begin?” the judge asked.

“Yes,” I said, before Dylan had a chance to answer. Then I leaned up and pressed my lips to his ear. “Let’s do this, knighty,” I whispered.

Dylan smiled and took my hands in his own.

When the judge got to the part with the rings, I looked over at Daphne, and she handed me the ring that I’d gotten polished earlier that day. Dylan’s eyes widened. I knew he didn’t expect me to have thought of this part.

“It belonged to my father’s father,” I whispered. “And now it’s yours.”

Dylan smiled and looked at me with narrowed eyes, as though he couldn’t believe I’d managed to surprise him. Then he removed something from his pocket. Before I could process what was happening, the thin diamond band I’d been wearing for months was slid onto my ring finger. Now it was my wedding band.

Dylan still hadn’t told me where we were going when we emerged from the restaurant and were walking towards the car. We’d had a quiet dinner at Gramercy Tavern and talked about every aspect of the ceremony, burning it into our memory, crafting the story of our day.

Wherever we were going now, he assured me that Daphne would meet us there, and he said that he “hoped” I’d be pleased. I’d told him I wanted to spend our wedding night in the apartment. Our life in London was our future, and of course I loved it—his luxurious house in Belgravia, Humboldt Park, the hideaway house he’d built in the country, the house on Ikaria in Greece where we’d vacationed the previous fall. Holy crap—four houses, and all of them state of the art and with nine-million-thread-count everything. But this night was the one night when I was really going to bring my side of the story to our marriage. In the absence of any real family to bring into the picture, I wanted all of the things that spoke for my past, even if they were the humble Park Slope apartment and a bodega breakfast in the morning. Dylan, to his credit, hadn’t even hesitated. And to my credit, I didn’t attempt to make us take the subway back to Brooklyn.

“So where are we going?” I asked as he pulled me onto his lap in the back of the black sedan.

He moved the hair off my shoulder, and used both hands to slip my navy-blue jacket off my shoulders. He laid a kiss on my exposed arm, and took my hand in his own. He reverently stared down at the rings and moved them between his fingers.

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of seeing these on you,” he said and kissed my hand. Then he looked down to his own ring. “And I love this. Thank you.”

I smiled for a moment. “I’m glad. But stop deflecting. Where are we going?”

“Baby, it will be so much better for you to just find out. Patience.”

I groaned and lay my head against his shoulder, letting go a sigh.

“I’ll take the Manhattan Bridge, sir, if that’s all right. Less construction,” the driver piped up from the front seat.

“Sounds fine.” Dylan’s voice was authoritative but softened by all the emotion of the evening.

“And might I add, congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” we said in unison, and I looked out the window as we crossed the bridge.

“I love this view,” I said. “Leaving Manhattan behind and seeing the Statue of Liberty in the distance always makes me feel like I’m going home.”

“You are.”

I nuzzled into him and watched the familiar streets pass us by until we pulled up in in front of one of the most familiar bars on one of the most familiar streets. I sat up straight and looked right into Dylan’s eyes, taking his face in my hands. “You didn’t.” I asked, already feeling the smile spread across my face.

I looked out the window at Great Lakes, my father’s favorite dive bar, the place I’d practically grown up. The home of the dart record I held. The home of my father’s best friends, and the one place where he still took refuge and managed to get to even in his last days. The lights were dim inside, as they always were, but there was something different about it. I looked at the door, and they’d strung twinkly lights around the entrance. Unless Jake and Rhodes had suddenly decided to get fancy, something was definitely up.

“What’s going on?” I asked, but the car door swung open, and Dylan stepped out, smiling and reaching his hand inside to help me. As soon as I stepped out, I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the entrance. “Oh my god. I can’t wait to show you this place!”

I was about to pull the door open when I saw a piece of white paper taped to the door with electrical tape—just Jake’s style. It read, in big block letters:

I started laughing and looked at Dylan. “And that is why my dad loved these guys. Loyal to an insane degree.” Dylan laughed and looked at me with so much love I thought I’d choke. He looked at me in a way that said that while he may have thought the sign was entertaining, it was the fact it meant something to me that he cared about. “Come on,” I said and practically dragged him through the doorway.

I was buoyant and giggling when I stepped through the door, but as soon as we were in the room, I felt a rush of emotion. My fingers threaded through Dylan’s, and I just stood still. Everyone was there. Jake, Rhodes, their wives. My dad’s other friends from the bar—a group of surly Brooklyn guys—artists, bar owners, musicians, cooks, and shop owners. Daphne and her parents, Charlie and Karen. All the people that had loved him, and me. It was almost as if my dad were there, and I felt a tear fall.

I also felt Dylan’s hard chest against my back, and his strong hands gripped my waist and pulled me close to him. He leaned over my shoulder and whispered into my ear, “Okay there, damsel?”

I nodded and leaned back into him. “Thank you,” I whispered back.

And then they were there.

Jake picked me up and twirled me around, giving me an insane bear hug and then depositing me on a twirling bar stool and giving it a spin. “Get this girl some of our finest bubbly!” he said, and a pint of beer quickly landed in front of me.

One by one the guys came up to me. Hugged me. Told me how much they missed my dad, how happy they were for me, how much they knew he’d want to have been there. And while they talked to me, they also took turns talking to Dylan. I knew they were all giving him the third degree. I saw arms crossed over chests, standoffs, and once-overs. But in each case, the conversations quickly settled into laughter, pats on the shoulder, and in the case of Rhodes, an actual hug. They were all doing what my dad couldn’t do—watching over me, giving their blessing, and letting Dylan know that each one of these men was my father.

At some point, Daphne pulled me aside. She was giggly and drunk and had been flirting with one of the other bartenders.

“Are you okay?” she asked with a look that somehow conveyed excitement for me as well as concern. She knew exactly the wave of mixed emotions running through me.

I nodded, and gave her a hug. “Was this your idea?”

“Nope. Well, I mean, Dylan ran it by me, asked me if I thought it would be what you’d want, but really he did the whole thing on his own. I thought about inviting the other girls, but I figured you guys might not be quite ready to enter into the gossip mill yet.”

“Thank you. I’m glad it’s just you and the guys. Thank you, Daph, for everything today. I didn’t need much to make today perfect, but I needed you.” I pulled her into another longer, firmer hug. “I miss you, ya know.”

“I know. I miss you too. Come back more, okay?”

“I’ll try.”

“So what’s the plan now that you guys are hitched? Do you have to go to like Duchess School or something?”

I laughed, so giddy from this night. “You’re so weird. No,” I started, and she shrugged her shoulders as though it weren’t a ridiculous possibility that Duchess School existed. “For now, nothing. I don’t know how long having a normal full-time job for a company will work—Dylan has to go to events all the time, and now that we’re married I’ll go with him.”

“Aww, poor Lydia, having to go to all the balls.” She mocked me lovingly, otherwise I would have smacked her.

“Very funny. But seriously, I can’t very well be coming to New York for a month at a time for Hannah if Dylan and I are taking care of Humboldt or attending events. So, I really don’t know. But you know, I think I want to work for myself. I’m not sure exactly what or how, but I think I could do what I’ve done for Fiona with her jewelry business and Hannah with her store for other designers.” I shrugged my shoulders, not ready to delve into my career options at my wedding reception, but also feeling oddly calm in that something like that, something independent, was where I was headed. “Dylan and I will figure it out.”

“Plus, you’re going to have like a dozen little aristocratic babies, right?”

“Daphne!” I shoved her in the shoulder with as much love as I could while it could still be considered a shove.

“What?! Aren’t you? Don’t you have to like line up the next duke or whatever?”

“I’m only twenty-five!”

“Tell me you’ve at least talked about it,” Daphne said, interrupting my train of thought. I was still silent. “Lydia!”

“Of course we’ve talked about it, but we’re not in any rush.” She was such a pill.

“What are you two up to?” Dylan’s hands landed on my hips, and his lips landed in my hair. “You look like mischief.”

“Who, me?” Daphne asked, playing the innocent.

Dylan lovingly glared at her. “All I know is that she was laughing, and now my darling wife looks far too serious.” He kissed me again, this time leaning around to the front to kiss me on the lips. There were hollers and whistles from the bar area. “Dance with me,” he instructed, and I turned around into his guiding arms.

I was pulled out to a small area where Dylan had pushed some tables aside. There was no real dance floor at Great Lakes. Ella Fitzgerald started to play from the jukebox, and Dylan pulled me close against him. We barely moved. Instead he swayed me in his arms.

“At the wedding, we’ll waltz. But that will be for everyone else. This is for us,” Dylan whispered into my hair and pulled my head beneath his chin.

“You don’t mind that our wedding night is being spent at a Brooklyn dive bar?” I asked him. It had nagged at me a little, just how different this was from anything in Dylan’s world.

“It’s perfect. I’ve had luxury and exclusivity all my life. Now I have you. And you have this. And it’s perfect.”

“But it’s so different from your world.”

“Our world. These are both our world now. One place.”

I nodded into his chest. Our world. It didn’t feel that way yet. Technically, I was now a duchess. And it still felt foreign, like not quite a part of who I was.

“These people love you,” Dylan said, gesturing to the bar around us. “And they loved your father. I think they consider you one of their own.”

“They do. I can’t believe you thought of it. Thank you. Thank you, Dylan, for everything.”

He stopped our dancing and moved his hands to frame my face. His eyes held mine for a moment before he started speaking. “No, baby. No ‘thanks.’ You’re a part of me. There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for you, and this? Bringing the people who love you together? It’s a given.”

I reached up—I didn’t need to go too far in the heels I was wearing—and pressed my lips to his. “I love you, Dylan William Lucas Hale, seventeenth Duke of Abingdon, architectural prodigy, and the hottest non-eligible non-bachelor in London.”

He laughed and pulled me against him, his hands moving to grip my waist firmly. “Cheeky thing, let’s—”

He was interrupted by the sound of silverware on glass. “Okay, good-for-nothings, scoundrels, and everyone else in here. And you two”—Jake pointed at us—“the lady and gentleman of the evening. Daphne’s a lady too, I suppose.”

“Hey!” Daphne shouted.

“Yeah, yeah, Miss D., fancy attorney.” He appeased her and we all laughed at their banter. Daphne was almost as much family here as I was. “Now shut your yappers. I need to say a few words. Because we know if Rick were here he’d say at least a few.” The crowd laughed, and Dylan held me just a little harder in his arms. “Your dad, Lydia, was also a gentleman. He was, without question, the smartest, kindest, classiest guy I knew. Lord knows what he was doing hanging around with the likes of us.” There was an “all right all right” from behind me, and a gentle laugh rippled through the crowd. “The first time he brought you in here, you were a tiny little thing. You couldn’t have been more than five. He perched you right here on this bar,” he said, knocking the mahogany ledge with his free hand, “and ordered you a Shirley Temple. And from that moment on you were family.”

Dylan wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me further into him. I smiled up at Jake, feeling safer and warmer and more whole than I’d felt possibly ever. “You know most of our stories, Lydia. You probably knew more than you should have at too young an age. But there are probably a few things you don’t know. When you started at NYU. Your first day. Your dad came here at noon and sat on that stool right there. He always felt sorry that you were stuck with him, but we all knew you two were the luckiest pair that ever walked this planet.” I nodded in agreement. “But he sat there and my god, until the day you graduated, I’d never seen a man prouder. And the day you did graduate? Well, you know. He was pretty sick by then. You were there giving your speech, and your dad was in the hospital. Me and Rhodes over there went to the hospital to sit with him. He had a transfusion that day.” I gasped slightly. The transfusions were always hard on him. He’d told me his doctor’s visit that day was routine but couldn’t be rescheduled because of the clinical trial rules. “He knew that if you knew, you’d skip your graduation without a second thought. But, and here’s what you may not know, your dad always knew what you were giving up for him, and it broke his heart every day. But he wasn’t worried. Just like the rest of us, he could see how special you were. You are. He had to accept early on he’d have to miss some of the big days, so he told us he tried to look at you like every day was graduation day. Like every day was your wedding day. He said that was the only way to get through. He didn’t avoid thinking about the things he’d miss. Instead, he said he thought of them every day. He imagined you finding a fella. He imagined you having kids and buying your first house. He said he imagined all of it. Every day. He said it made him feel like he wasn’t missing things. So, baby girl, he didn’t miss today. He saw it. Every day.”

I wiped a tear from my eye, and Dylan threaded his fingers through mine as our hands rested against my stomach. He kissed the top of my head, and I submitted to it. I submitted to it all. To all of the love in that room, to being taken care of, to missing my dad, to being part of something new. I smiled at Jake, trying to convey the tidal wave of gratitude rolling through me.

“The one thing I know he’d never have seen coming though, is that mister there.” He smiled and pointed at Dylan with his beer cup. “You’ve got yourself a class act there, Lydia. And if he has half a brain, which I’m pretty sure he does, he’ll treat you the way you deserve to be treated.” Everyone cheered, but Jake raised his glass again and shushed them. “And. And. He’ll bring you back here every now and again.”

“As if he could keep me away!” I shouted, another tear falling, and Dylan laughed with me and the rest of the room.

“That’s our girl!” Jake raised his cup into the air, and the whole room, many of whom were strangers, just the standard dive bar audience, followed suit. “To Lydia and Dylan! Definitely too good for this place but ours all the same! You’re family now, Dylan, so drink up!”

Someone shoved shots into our hands. Dylan looked at me with a huge smile on his face and barely containing a crazy mix of emotions—I saw laughter and reverence and love all over him. We slung back the burning liquid, and then he curled me into him.

“Time to go home, Duchess. Time to make you my wife.” He spoke only to me, and I could feel the heat spreading, beginning in my cheeks and reaching into the far corners of my body.