It’s finally happening. After waiting all winter, my wedding day is finally here. As I walk towards the grand cathedral with my best men, I take a moment to calm myself before I must greet the crowds.

I suppose this is all just a formality. Ella and I live together as husband and wife and most of the world believes we’re already married.  But making our fake marriage into a real one today has my stomach in delightful knots.

I’ve never felt so excited and optimistic about life. Sure, my life was already pretty great before, compared to many, but it was also empty. Drifting from girl to girl, club to club, party to party, that was all I knew, but deep down I also knew it wasn’t enough.

Fake friends, false affections. Did anyone ever really care about me until fate brought Ella looking for a restroom and running in my direction?  The great thing is it doesn’t matter. Being with Ella makes my whole life worthwhile and no longer empty but full, overflowing.

Among other things, she’s taken me with her on her volunteering ventures. Ambrosia has no homeless, we’re not barbarians, but we have those in need like anywhere and helping them—really helping with my hands, not just writing a check—has become my greatest joy. Okay, second greatest. Helping those in need has helped me really connect to more of my subjects, to see them face to face. It’s one of the many ways Ella is already influencing me to be a better prince, and one day king.

Today, many of those we helped are lined up outside of the cathedral gates, waiting to cheer for us. I shake a few hands on my way in. One precious little girl offers me a flower.

“For your princess,” she whispers.

I smile at her, gently taking the flower and then squeezing her little hands.

“For our princess!” I correct her, because Ella is the princess of all of Ambrosia and all my subjects love her. They can see her kind heart, just like I can.

I shake a few more hands before one of my best men ushers me into the gates and towards the cathedral itself. I follow his lead, smoothing my official uniform and straightening my military hat. I confidently stroll into the cathedral and its already full.

Looking out over the crowd of world leaders, international celebrities, family and friends, I’m honored and touched, but I can’t wait to take my bride and get the fuck out of here.

Suddenly the crowds outside go nuts and I know Ella’s car has arrived. She’s already had a long drive down the Royal Road, where many of our subjects have lined up to try to catch a glimpse of her in her wedding dress. At this moment I feel that they are lucky, I can’t wait to see my gorgeous bride in all her glory.

At long last the orchestra strikes up the wedding march and my bride emerges from the nave of the cathedral, holding my father’s arm. Ella has no surviving male relatives and so my father, who adores her, offered to give her away and she readily agreed.

Dad appears much improved over the last few months. He looks positively spry right now, smiling, waving, bursting with pride.

I didn’t really see the need for a bachelor party, since my last best man betrayed me and I’ve been to thousands of parties all over the world and I’ll probably go to thousands more only this time with Ella by my side. 

So, on my last night as a free man I really just wanted to spend some quality time with my dad.

We sat together downstairs in the kitchen; he drank ginger ale while I made myself whiskey sours. We just laughed and talked for hours. He told me some stories I never heard about his own search for a bride and I told him some about mine. We both agreed that life is meaningless without love.

It was truly one of the best nights of my life, the nights that didn’t include Ella, that is. Every day and night is better since she walked into my life.

And now she’s walking down the aisle toward me, radiant in a shimmering dress fit for a princess. My princess.

Her dress is a sparkling white ball gown with a cathedral length train.  Its satin covered with handmade lace and delicate beading. Lace sleeves cover her arms down to the wrist, but the tops of her shoulders are bare. Her equally long veil is edged in delicate lace as well. She is modest and sexy all at the same time. 

My father presents Ella to me and I take her hand. Hand in hand we walk toward the altar and hand in hand we stand before the priest. She and I are presented each with rings. We let the other’s hands go long enough to place a ring on the finger of the other then entwine our hands again.

The priest takes an exquisitely embroidered sash and wraps it around our clasped hands. This sash is over three hundred years old and around our hands it symbolizes that we are eternally bound together.

Funny, that used to sound like a prison sentence to me, ‘eternally bound,’ something to be avoided. After meeting Ella, it’s now something I’m running whole-hearted toward.

Before I know it, we are facing each other, and I am looking into her blue eyes. They are all I see; Ella is all I see.  I’m utterly transfixed by her beautiful face. Until I notice that face staring at me rather expectantly. I was completely lost in her eyes.

I take a chance and say, “I do.”

It must have been the right choice because the priest says what I’ve been waiting to hear for hours, “You may now kiss the bride!”

I do that too. And the church erupts with applause.

We turn to the cheering crowd, giving our best royal hand waves.

We bow to my father and mother and then to Ella’s Aunt Ashley and her friends Nikki and Sharon, who are adorably bawling their eyes out. Thanks to information I got from those two I have one last surprise for my perfect fit princess.

I raise my open hand, and, on my command, sparkly little hearts fall by the thousands from the ceiling. And something else.

“Oh Gregory,” Ella says, “It’s just like…how did you…?”

She turns to her besties who give her the thumbs up. 

“It’s hearts,” she whispers in wonder. “But what’s this?”

She opens her hand, letting the confetti fill her palm with hearts and…

“Pumpkins?”

Her eyes swell with tears born of great loss and great joy.

“Gregory…” she manages to say before throwing her arms around me and burying her face in my coat.

Mission accomplished, as they say in the States.

Keeping one arm around my princess and waving thanks to our well-wishers with the other, I begin escorting my bride back down the aisle toward our waiting carriage. Halfway there, Princess Ella’s perfect, smiling, tear streaked face emerges from my coat, and she waves ecstatically to the crowd.

My natural born princess pauses at the great doors of the church, turning one last time to wave to the adoring throng, working the crowd as if she’s been a princess her whole life. She turns towards the crowds outside and the people cheer. Ella smiles, her cheeks coloring slightly. I know she still thinks its all a little much and I love how humble she is.

I take her hand again and lead her to the open horse-drawn carriage. Monty opens the carriage door and I help her climb the steps. Her aunt helps with the long train of the dress. Once Ella is seated and her dress is arranged, I join her in the carriage. She quickly grabs my hand. I squeeze hers and bring it up to my lips, kissing it delicately. The crowd sees my gesture and goes wild.