Blizzard Boy ✓

Epilogue

"You're something between
a dream and a miracle."
-Elizabeth B. Browning

• • • • • • •

"Astrid, your hair!" My mother clicks her tongue distastefully, lifting a tangled lock. "What will the guests think?"

I roll my eyes. "My fiancé won't care, and I'm marrying him, not the guests."

She sighs heavily, drawing the attention of my father, who scrolls his phone nearby. "You've always been so stubborn."

Not that you know of, I feel like biting back, but I hold my tongue.

Inviting my mother and father to our wedding was a difficult decision. Their negligence after Quin's death remains stark in my mind. However, after that Christmas blizzard, my parents improved dramatically, suddenly finding interest in my life.

For a while, I was adamant on excluding them. As time passed, I realized that forgiveness is better than holding grudges. My mother is a great hairdresser, too, so that may have contributed to my choice.

"There." Sliding one last bobby pin through my curls, my mother steps away, eyes shining with tears.

"Don't cry," I laugh, but looking to the mirror, my throat closes as well. For once in my life, I am beautiful. My complexion is flawless and glowing, adorned with just enough makeup to emphasize my features.

"You look amazing," She sniffs. "He'll die when he sees you."

"Hopefully he won't."

The journey to the ceremony is long and painful. My mermaid dress hugs my curves tightly, and I grumble as I lift it up a flight of stairs, struggling to walk in high heels.

At last, we reach the church's double doors. My mother slips inside first, informing me to enter with the organ.

Weddings aren't important to me. The important part is the honeymoon, I think, cheeks tinging red. He wanted a traditional wedding, so we formulated a plan - he'd choose the wedding venue, I'd choose the vacation venue. This weekend, we leave for Italy.

A slow piano march emits from behind closed doors. With a final swallow, I push inside.

Our guests stand.

Nerves creep into my bones as their talking falls silent. Parents hush their children. I spot my maid of honor, little Anna, with her hair delicately braided and her grin revealing toothy gaps. She's eight years old now, but eyes aren't on her.

They're on me.

I'm getting married.

I spy my college friends in the crowd. They're mixed among extended family. Toward the front, beneath the marriage alter, is our best man, my fiancé's brother.

And then there's him.

Miles.

My breath nearly stops short. He wears a sharp suit and a red tie, which contrasts nicely against his white shirt. What strikes me hard, though, is his face. Silhouetted against the light, he looks as amazing as ever, and I can't help but smile, muscles relaxing, as I catch his gaze.

You're beautiful, he mouths.

You're handsome, I mouth in reply, making a small, distracted chuckle burst from his mouth.

A collective aww sounds from the audience. The red of my cheeks becomes even more prominent.

Somehow, my feet have managed to drift forward, properly halting before my fiancé. Fiancé? Not for much longer. In five minutes, he'll be my husband.

Our vows are said, simple and sweet, but I don't comprehend anything until the priest speaks again.

"You may kiss the bride."

Miles grins and leans toward me. Just as magically as the first time, I begin to levitate toward him. We kiss, and my toes curl in pure elation because suddenly, everything seems right in the world.

As our guests cheer, he whispers in my ear, "I love you."

"I love you, too," I say. Our lips crush together once more, and I am free.

fin

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