Chapter 14: The Wedding
2497words
I stood at the bedroom window, watching the final preparations below. In my first life, my wedding to Tom had been a lavish affair at his family's country club—two hundred guests, most of them his business associates, a designer dress featured in a bridal magazine, and a reception that felt more like a networking event than a celebration of love.
This wedding—my second first wedding—would be entirely different. No elaborate spectacle, no strategic guest list, just a gathering of people who truly mattered to us, witnessing a union based on mutual respect and shared passion rather than convenient compatibility.
"You look lost in thought," came my grandmother's voice from behind me. "Second thoughts?"
I turned to find Eleanor Bennett watching me with knowing eyes, elegant at seventy-six in a dove-gray dress that complemented her silver hair. She had arrived from London three days earlier, her presence at the estate creating a strange full-circle moment—the Bennett woman who had once fled this world returning to witness her granddaughter embrace it.
"Not second thoughts," I assured her with a smile. "Just... appreciation for how differently things can unfold when we make different choices."
My grandmother nodded, understanding the layers in my statement that others could not. Since my visit to London, where she had confirmed the locket's power, we had developed a deeper connection—two women who shared the extraordinary experience of a second chance at life.
"The locket has served you well," she said, moving to stand beside me at the window. Her gaze fell on Alexandre, who was directing the placement of additional chairs with characteristic precision. "He is nothing like his grandfather."
"No," I agreed. "Alexandre values artistic integrity above all else. He would never ask me to compromise my vision."
"I see that." My grandmother's expression softened. "You've chosen wisely this time."
The phrase—echoing the mysterious note I'd found in my sketchbook when I first returned to this timeline—made me wonder again about the locket's true nature. Was it merely a vessel for some ancient magic, or something more sentient, more purposeful in its gifts?
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. Marie entered, already dressed for the ceremony in a flowing blue gown that complemented her dark curls.
"The hair stylist is ready for you," she announced, then paused, taking in the scene—grandmother and granddaughter framed in the window light. "You two could be the same person at different ages. It's remarkable."
The observation, innocent but uncannily accurate, made my grandmother and me exchange a quick glance. If Marie only knew how much experience we truly shared across our seemingly different ages.
"I'll leave you to prepare," my grandmother said, squeezing my hand. As she passed Marie, she added, "Take care of her. Brides need steady friends on their wedding day."
Once we were alone, Marie helped me into the simple silk dress I'd chosen—ivory rather than white, with clean lines and minimal embellishment. No princess fantasy, no statement train, just elegant simplicity that felt true to who I had become.
"I can't believe this day is finally here," Marie said as she fastened the delicate buttons down my back. "Though I knew from the moment you started working with Alexandre that something extraordinary was happening between you."
"Did you?" I asked, amused by her romantic revisionism.
"Well, not immediately," she admitted with a laugh. "First I thought he was just an arrogant publisher making impossible demands. But then you changed so dramatically—almost overnight—becoming this fearless, determined artist. And the way he looked at you..." She shook her head. "It was obvious you were transforming each other."
Her casual reference to my "overnight" change—the moment when my thirty-five-year-old consciousness had returned to my twenty-year-old body—made me wonder how many others had noticed the sudden shift in my personality, my artistic approach, my entire way of moving through the world.
"He helped me find my true voice," I said, offering a version of the truth Marie could understand.
"And you helped him find his way back to art," she countered, adjusting the fall of my dress. "You two make each other better. That's rare."
The hair stylist arrived, creating a simple updo adorned with small white flowers from the garden. As she worked, I fingered the locket that still rested against my skin—the talisman that had made this second chance possible.
"You're wearing that today?" Marie asked, noticing the gesture. "Not diamonds or pearls?"
"This means more to me than any other jewelry could," I explained. "It's been in my family for generations. A reminder of the importance of choosing wisely."
When the stylist finished, Marie stepped back to assess the complete effect. "You look..." she searched for the right word, "...authentic. Completely yourself. Not playing at being a bride, just Lily—but Lily on her wedding day."
Her observation touched me deeply. In my first wedding, I had indeed been playing a role—the perfect bride for Tom's perfect life narrative. Today, I was simply myself, marrying a man who valued that authentic self above all else.
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The garden ceremony unfolded with natural grace—no elaborate procession, no "giving away" of the bride, just Alexandre and me meeting beneath the rose-covered arch where Marcel, who had known Alexandre since childhood, conducted the simple civil ceremony.
Alexandre's eyes widened appreciatively as I approached, his expression a mixture of love and wonder that made my heart race. He looked devastatingly handsome in a tailored gray suit, more relaxed than his usual formal attire but still elegant.
"You are breathtaking," he murmured as I reached him.
"So are you," I replied softly.
The ceremony itself was brief but meaningful—vows we had written ourselves, promises of partnership rather than possession, of mutual support for each other's creative journeys. When Alexandre slipped the wedding band onto my finger—a simple gold band that complemented his grandmother's lapis lazuli engagement ring—the locket warmed against my skin, as if approving this final commitment to my new path.
Afterward, tables were arranged on the lawn for an intimate luncheon. White roses and wildflowers centered each table, their natural beauty requiring no elaborate enhancement. Champagne flowed freely as guests mingled in the spring sunshine, the atmosphere one of genuine celebration rather than social obligation.
During the meal, Marie rose for a toast, champagne glass in hand. "I've known Lily since we were roommates at art school," she began, "but the Lily who stands before you today emerged quite suddenly about three years ago." She smiled at me affectionately. "I remember the exact moment—she had just returned from her first real meeting with Alexandre. She came home, locked herself in her room, and drew through the night like a woman possessed."
Murmurs of amusement rippled through the guests.
"The next morning," Marie continued, "she was different. More certain, more determined, as if she'd glimpsed something the rest of us couldn't see." She raised her glass toward us. "Whatever vision you had that night, Lily, it led you here—to creating extraordinary art, to finding a partner who celebrates your talent rather than constraining it, to becoming fully yourself."
"To Lily and Alexandre," the guests echoed, raising their glasses.
As the toasts continued, I caught my grandmother watching me with knowing eyes, her hand unconsciously touching her throat where the locket had once rested against her own skin. She gave me a small nod—acknowledgment of our shared secret, appreciation for how I'd used my second chance.
Later, as musicians played softly and guests danced on the lawn, Alexandre drew me away from the celebration, leading me toward a path I hadn't explored during previous visits to the estate.
"Where are we going?" I asked, curious about his mysterious smile.
"To your wedding gift," he replied, his hand warm around mine. "Something I've been preparing for months."
The path wound through a grove of ancient trees before opening onto a clearing where a small stone building stood—a cottage I hadn't noticed before, its windows gleaming in the afternoon light, climbing roses framing its doorway.
"What is this?" I asked as Alexandre led me toward it.
"See for yourself," he said, producing an old iron key and unlocking the door.
Inside, I gasped in wonder. The cottage had been transformed into the most perfect artist's studio I could imagine—soaring ceilings with skylights flooding the space with natural light, walls lined with empty canvases and fresh supplies, a large worktable positioned to catch the northern light, comfortable seating for contemplation, even a small kitchenette and bathroom so I could work uninterrupted for hours.
"Alexandre," I breathed, turning in a slow circle to take it all in. "This is incredible."
"It was the original gardener's cottage," he explained, watching my reaction with evident pleasure. "Unused for decades. I wanted you to have a space that's entirely yours—separate from the main house, from the publishing business, from anything that might constrain your creative freedom."
The thoughtfulness of the gift moved me deeply. In my first life, Tom had given me a "studio" in our Connecticut home—a converted sunroom that was pretty but impractical, designed more for show than actual artistic work, positioned where guests could admire the charming sight of me painting decorative canvases.
This studio was entirely different—a serious workspace created by someone who understood what artists truly need, who valued my work not as decoration but as essential expression.
"There's more," Alexandre said, leading me to a door at the back of the studio. It opened onto a matching workspace—similar in size and light quality, but arranged differently, with an easel positioned before the window and shelves holding painting supplies.
"Your studio," I realized, turning to him in surprise.
He nodded, a hint of vulnerability in his expression. "I thought... perhaps we could work near each other but not on top of each other. Separate spaces joined by a connecting door that can be open or closed as needed."
The symbolism was perfect—individual creative spaces with the possibility of connection, independence with the option of togetherness. It embodied exactly the kind of partnership we had built—one that honored our separate identities while celebrating what we created together.
"It's perfect," I said, emotion making my voice catch. "The most thoughtful gift I've ever received."
Alexandre's expression softened with relief and pleasure. "I wanted to give you something that would support your work, not just our life together. Something that acknowledged the artist as essential to who you are."
I moved into his arms, overwhelmed by the contrast between this moment and my memories of another life, another marriage where my artistic identity had been gradually diminished rather than deliberately nurtured.
"I have something for you too," I said when we finally parted. I reached into the small pocket hidden in the folds of my dress and withdrew a key of my own—smaller, newer, but no less significant. "It's not as dramatic as this amazing studio, but..."
Alexandre accepted the key with curious eyes.
"It opens a storage unit in Paris," I explained. "Where I've been collecting art supplies for you over the past year. Canvases, paints, brushes—everything you'd need to fully reclaim your artistic practice. Whenever you're ready."
His expression transformed with surprise and deep emotion. "You've been planning this all along?"
"Since the day you showed me your unfinished painting," I confirmed. "I believe in your artistic voice, Alexandre. Not just as something from your past, but as an essential part of who you are now and who you'll become."
He drew me close again, his kiss conveying everything words couldn't express—gratitude, love, the profound recognition of being truly seen and valued.
When we returned to the wedding celebration, the afternoon light had softened toward evening, casting a golden glow over the garden and the gathered guests. My grandmother approached, champagne in hand, her expression warm as she took in our evident happiness.
"Congratulations, both of you," she said, kissing our cheeks in turn. "You've created something rare—a partnership of equals, a marriage of true minds."
"Thank you for coming," Alexandre said with genuine warmth. "It means a great deal to have you here, given the... complicated history between our families."
My grandmother's expression turned reflective. "History shapes us but need not define us. You are not your grandfather, Alexandre, just as Lily is not me. You've written a new chapter for the Bennetts and the Durands."
As she spoke, her gaze dropped to the locket visible at my neckline, its gold catching the evening light. "That pendant has witnessed much over the generations," she added softly. "I'm pleased to see it resting now against such happiness."
The locket warmed gently against my skin—not the urgent heat of warning or the pulsing glow of significant choices, but a steady, comforting presence that had become as natural as my own heartbeat. I touched it reflexively, a gesture of gratitude for its impossible gift.
"It guided me to where I needed to be," I said simply.
My grandmother nodded, understanding the layers in my statement that Alexandre could not. "That's its purpose, after all. To help us find our way back to our truest path."
As the evening progressed and lanterns were lit throughout the garden, Alexandre and I shared our first dance as married partners. No elaborate choreography, no performance for admiring guests, just the two of us moving together beneath the stars, connected by something deeper than convention or convenience.
"Happy?" Alexandre murmured against my hair as we swayed to the music.
"Beyond words," I replied truthfully.
And I was. Standing in the circle of his arms, surrounded by people who valued us for who we truly were rather than what we represented, I felt a contentment so profound it brought tears to my eyes. This was the life I was meant to live—creating without fear, loving without compromise, becoming fully myself.
The locket pulsed once more against my skin, its warmth spreading through my chest like liquid courage. Whatever challenges lay ahead—and I had no illusions that either artistic or romantic paths were ever entirely smooth—we would face them together, two creative souls who had found in each other not completion but amplification of their truest selves.
As we danced beneath the stars, I silently thanked the locket for its impossible gift—not just a second chance at life, but the wisdom to recognize and choose my authentic path. A path that had led me here, to this moment of perfect clarity and purpose, to this man who saw and celebrated my truest self, to this life built on creative passion rather than comfortable compromise.
To this wedding day that marked not a surrender of identity but its fullest expression.
