𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 | ✓

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩 𝟒𝟕

For the second time, I find myself waiting for my wife at the end of the aisle. I would do this over and over again — I would pledge my eternal love to Vivienne, vowing to marry her each day until my last breath escapes my lips, without growing tired of it.

But despite this being my second time, I still feel the same as I did the first. Except this time it's different, this time I know what I'm doing, I know what love is, what home is. This time it's right.

I can hear Finn snickering beside me, undoubtedly sending immature signals to Wren on the other side, but I don't pay much attention to him as the doors suddenly open, revealing Vivienne, who looks more gorgeous than ever — if that's even possible.

Everything is the way it's supposed to be, exactly how we wanted it, how Vivienne wanted it. A few months ago, she had gone on for hours, talking about her dream home and wedding to detail, — A summer wedding, an old, historic white chapel, full of people that actually mean something, — who want the best for us. —

— In which I was determined to fulfil, anything Vivienne wants, Vivienne gets.

Which had eliminated a lot of people, including our parents. We hadn't even told them about the second engagement, let alone the pregnancy.

So that left the majority of the people in the room either close friends, distant family, colleagues or other tolerable people, all watching as she glided down the aisle, her white lace, expensive wedding dress flowing behind her, the only woman in the room.

Her sparkling eyes remain solely on me as she travels closer, a big, warm smile spread across her face. Whenever Vivienne smiles, everything is uncontrollable, as if I'm hypnotised, as if I'd abide by anything she says. — I would anyways.

A grin spreads across my face at the sight of her, and I'm sure the dimple she loves so much is on display. She's the only person who manages to get that to happen.

In the blink of an eye, there she is, standing before me. She timidly gazes up at me, her eyes hidden beneath fluttering lashes and I suddenly need to fight the urge to pull her in a kiss her too soon, though I should be allowed to, she's my wife after all.

With a gentle grace, Wren delicately plucks the bouquet of flowers from Vivienne's trembling hands before I replace them with my own, intertwining our fingers together in attempt to calm her nerves.

Our eyes flick in between each others, eyes roaming over our faces, tracing the outline of our features, prominently our lips — a grin playing on her plump, kissable ones as she beams up at me.

The officiant's voice droned on, filling the air with words that seemed to float past us, unnoticed. Our attention was not on the ceremony unfolding before us, but rather on each other. Our eyes locked, as if engaged in a silent conversation, as if we're sending telepathic messages.