Chapter 14 - THE ALPINE WEDDINGThe snow fell in slow, feather-light flakes, coating the pine branches of the Colorado meadow in a thick layer of glittering white.
There was no glass chapel in Aspen. There were no cameras, no press corps, no corporate lawyers, and no bitter matriarchs hiding in the front row.
Instead, our wedding took place right in the clearing behind our ranch house, framed by the majestic, snow-capped peaks of the Rockies. A simple wooden arch draped in white ivy and pinecones stood against the backdrop of the winter forest.
Only twenty people were in attendance: our closest friends from Boulder, our local neighbors, and, of course, our two flower girls.
Betty and Mia walked down the aisle first, wearing matching ivory winter coats with faux-fur trim, tossing handfuls of white rose petals across the pristine snow. Instead of baskets, they carried small wooden boxes filled with tiny yellow baby shoes—cleaned, polished, and tied with a silver ribbon.
When they reached the front, they stood on either side of the altar, beaming with pride.
Then the heavy wooden doors of the ranch house opened.
I walked down the snowy pathway on my own terms. I wore a simple, elegant silk-and-lace gown with a warm cashmere shawl, my hair braided with sprigs of mountain juniper.
Daniel stood at the altar in a tailored dark navy suit, waiting for me. His eyes were shining, bright and uncovered by the grief and paranoia of our past. When our eyes met, his signature crooked smile broke across his face, revealing that familiar, beloved dimple.
He didn't wait for me to reach the end of the aisle. He stepped forward, meeting me halfway through the snow, ignoring the etiquette of the ceremony entirely.
"You look breathtaking," Daniel whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he took my hands. They were warm against the freezing air.
"You clean up alright for a billionaire tech nerd," I smiled back, my own voice trembling slightly.
The local justice of the peace cleared his throat gently, smiling. "Dearly beloved..."
We didn't need a long ceremony. We didn't need grand speeches. We spoke our vows under the falling snow, promising each other a lifetime of honesty, resilience, and quiet mornings in the mountains.
When Daniel slid the platinum ring onto my finger—the same ring he had carried in his pocket on the Colorado porch months ago—the entire valley seemed to hold its breath.
"You may kiss the bride," the officiant announced.
Daniel pulled me into his arms, his lips meeting mine in a deep, absolute promise of a future that nobody could ever steal from us again.
From the front row, Betty and Mia started cheering at the top of their lungs, clapping their mittens together so hard the sound echoed across the entire valley.
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"Yay! Mom and Dad got married twice!" Mia shouted.
The entire group laughed, the sound bubbling up into the crisp winter air like champagne.
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