Nash
I’ve walked past St. Paul’s Chapel nearly every day of my life, but today wasn’t like any other day.
Today I was inside.
Waiting for my bride.
A low hum of anticipation thrummed inside my chest as the heavy doors at the back of the church opened. Three hundred people were packed into the elegant Georgian hall, and there was a collective gasp as Nixie came into view. My first glimpse of her sent a bolt of electricity shooting through the soles of my shoes and charging every cell in my body. Breathless, I could only stare as Paul escorted my bride down a white satin aisle strewn with red rose petals.
Tomorrow was Christmas, but my gift had already arrived.
Radiant prisms of light shot from Nixie’s glittering headpiece, streaking through the sanctuary and infusing the 250-year-old house of worship with a palpable energy. We were only a few blocks away from the alley where I first got a glimpse of her. A few blocks and a world away. She’d sparkled as much then as she did now.
Finally, Nixie and Paul stood before me. The buoyant notes of the choir reached a crescendo as I lifted the veil over Nixie’s head, revealing gleaming copper hair cascading down her bare shoulders.
A riot of emotions trekked across Nixie’s flawless face—love, passion, excitement—and in her eyes I saw everything I never knew I wanted but now couldn’t live without. My throat turned to dust as I realized how close I’d come to losing the best thing that had ever happened to me. Before Nixie, I’d never known what it was like to smile for no reason at all, just because . . . I was happy. Nixie made me believe I could conquer the universe with one hand, so long as I held onto her with my other.
It physically hurt to tear my gaze from my beautiful bride, but I did, shaking hands with Paul and mouthing a silent “thank you” for the precious gift he was entrusting to me.
I crooked an elbow and Nixie threaded her arm though mine. Together, we climbed the final steps to the altar.
The service itself was a blur of words until it was Nixie’s turn to speak her vows. A single tear trekked down her cheek as she promised to love, honor and cherish me. I lifted a hand to brush it away, resolving to spend the rest of my days fighting to be worthy of her.
Parker came forward, solemnly carrying a green velvet pillow, two rings held in place with red ribbon.
And now you may kiss your bride.
I pulled Nixie to me and claimed her lips as if they were mine, as if they had always been mine. Through a dense love-sick fog, I vaguely heard the reverend announce us as man and wife, Mr. And Mrs. Nash Knight. There was a rumble of applause and I pulled away, just slightly. “Well, Mrs. Knight, would you like to take a walk with me?”
“I’d love to, Mr. Knight.”
Together we turned to face our guests, and took our first steps down what would be a long path toward forever. I saw my parents in the front row, looking so happy. Behind them sat Reggie and Luca, their entire row filled with boys and girls from the Center. Across the aisle was Paul Attwood, who was smiling even as he wiped at his eyes.
There were people missing, too. My brother. Nixie’s parents. But here, in this church, I could feel their presence, their approval. Their love.
As Nixie’s maid of honor, Eva stood to the side, between Madison and Parker, our flower girl and ring bearer.
I wasn’t sure if Eva still believed our relationship was merely temporary, but it didn’t matter. Nixie and I were meant for each other, and Eva was sure to realize it soon enough. In the meantime, I would be what I had always been to Eva, a good friend.
Last night, in lieu of a bachelor party—the past ten years had been one long bachelor party as far as I was concerned—I’d asked for an intimate family dinner. Me and Nixie, my parents, Paul Attwood, and of course Eva and the twins. Rather than book a table at a formal restaurant, I called up a local Italian place well known for family style dining, and ordered heaping platters of food for delivery. Greta arranged everything in the dining room, and took the rest of the evening off. It was casual and festive, and my previously sterile bachelor pad was filled with delicious smells and happy laughter. And so much joy.
My parents and I sat down together and had a long-overdue talk. It turned out that I’d been so wrong, about so many things. The heartbreak I’d seen on their faces wasn’t only because they lost Wyatt, it was because they believed they had lost me, too.
I’d been living as if I had a finite amount of love in my heart, and doling it out like a miser. But if Scrooge could change his ways, so could I. Through her tears, my mother whispered, “Tomorrow I won’t just gain a daughter, I’m going to get my son back, too.”
I thought I was so strong, so invincible, because of my financial success and the time I spent training and fighting. I wasn’t.
Terrified of loss, I never risked more than money or a few bruises.
What I really needed to fight was my own fear. There were no guarantees in life, but I still needed to get in the ring. If anything ever happened to my bride, it would split me in two, but spending the rest of my life without her, that was no life at all.
One day, hopefully soon, Nixie and I would fill our home with children of our own. The twins would always be my family, and I trusted Eva enough to know that whomever she brought into our lives would be family too.
Family.
I’d finally realized how much those six little letters could mean. Everything.
Nixie
It was a strange thing to be standing up, to be walking, when the bones in my body had turned to mush. And yet somehow I managed to put one foot in front of the other, my quick steps keeping pace with Nash’s steady stride. Nash Knight, my husband.
I wasn’t sure if I was smiling or not, because my face was numb. Really, the only thing I felt was my heart. So full, it was a wonder it hadn’t burst.
We were in St. Paul’s Chapel—The Little Chapel That Stood. There was no place on earth I’d rather be.
It couldn’t be mere coincidence that Nash and I had both had the trajectory of our lives irrevocably altered by the same tragedy, and that we’d met on its anniversary. Too much of a coincidence to believe that my parents and Nash’s brother didn’t have a hand in our relationship from day one.
Thinking back, that day had been the one time I couldn’t bear to enter the doors of this church. Instead I’d found Nash Knight. My very own sanctuary.
I glanced around, absorbing every detail so I could relive these sacred moments again in the future. The gleaming panes of mullioned windows, cut-glass chandeliers suspended from the high, curved ceiling, the angelic voices of a choir that could have come from heaven itself. As a nod to the season, the handsome wooden pews had been festooned with evergreen garlands, each end sporting a small wreath decorated with sprigs of holly and a festive silver bow.
Each guest had been offered mugs of mulled wine as they came in from the cold, and the smell of cinnamon and cloves hung in the air inside the church. Outside, a dusting of snow covered the city, just enough to make the gritty urban jungle look like a scene from a Charles Dickens novel. My happily ever after ending was as perfect as a storybook—but the beauty of it was knowing that it just a beginning. The beginning of my life with Nash.
After we made it back down the aisle, Nash led me into a small room at the back of the church, so that we could have a few moments of privacy before heading to the reception.
He closed the door and for a moment I drank him in, every vibrant, volatile inch of the man I’d grown to love. My White Knight. My Prince Charming. My impossibly sexy, outrageously stubborn, undeniably indomitable Nash.
He could be all those things, and it didn’t mean that I would forever be his damsel in distress. Nash may have saved me from two street punks, but I’d rescued him from an empty life. Of course, I didn’t realize then that I was saving myself from the same fate, too.
Loving Nash, being loved by Nash, had birthed a light, airy bubble of joy inside my body. Somehow it had squeegeed its way through me, wiping away those tenacious feelings of being unwanted and unworthy, leaving behind a sense of wonder and confidence at the endless possibilities of our future together. I didn’t need a castle surrounded by a moat, or my own freedom tower to hide behind.
All I needed was Nash.
As if he could read my thoughts, Nash’s expression was reverent, his eyes piercing mine as I stood in the center of the room. A flush broke above the beaded bodice of my wedding dress, heating my cheeks. The air between us felt thin, and I took a quick breath as Nash leaned against the door, staring at me. Staring into me. Loving me.
“We did it,” he said simply, his expression a mix of pride and exultation that was an adult replica of Parker’s as he surveyed the elaborate sand city we built in Bermuda.
I glanced down at the thick band of diamonds encircling my left finger, the same color as the center stone that had been moved to my right. A surge of euphoria pulsed through my bloodstream. Now I couldn’t lift a hand without being reminded of Nash. “Looks that way.”
He crossed the room in two strides, his arms wrapping around my waist and holding me tight, twin flames of love and desire shining from eyes that had cleaved through my heart. I raised my hands, curving my palms against Nash’s chiseled jaw. “I can’t believe you’re my husband.”
“Believe it. Because you, Nixie Knight, are my whole world.”