Chapter 7 - The Real VowsSix months after the fateful night at the Plaza, the headlines in the New York Times society section didn't talk about corporate takeovers, socialite scandals, or high-society drama.
They talked about a wedding.
It wasn't held in a sprawling cathedral with five hundred snobbish elites and paparazzi helicopters circling overhead. Instead, it took place in a sun-drenched, private courtyard in upstate New York, surrounded by rolling green hills, blooming wildflowers, and thirty of our closest friends and family members.
Standing in the front row, wiping away unabashed tears of joy with a lace handkerchief, was Matteo’s grandmother—the woman whose spilled pottery had inadvertently changed the trajectory of both our lives.
I stood at the altar in a gown of classic, timeless ivory lace—not a thrift-store bargain, nor a six-figure status symbol, but something I had chosen because it felt entirely, perfectly like me.
Matteo stood across from me, wearing a classic dark suit, his dark hazel eyes shining with an emotion so raw and unfiltered it took my breath away.
When the officiant asked for our vows, Matteo didn't read from a card. He looked straight into my eyes, his hands warm and steady as they held mine.
“I loved you when you were wearing a simple black dress and dodging snobs at the Plaza,” Matteo said, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet courtyard. “I loved you when you took over my boardroom with a stack of spreadsheets and a terrifying amount of competence. And I will love you for every single day that follows, through every battle we fight and every victory we share.”
Tears pricked my eyes, but I smiled, my voice steady and clear as I looked up at the man who had turned my entire world upside down and built a kingdom around us.
“And I loved you the moment I realized you were stupid enough to wage a corporate war just because someone insulted my outfit,” I replied, drawing a wave of fond laughter from the gathered guests. “I take you, Matteo. All of you. Forever.”
The ring slipped onto my finger with effortless perfection.
And when Matteo pulled me into his arms, kissing me in front of the sunlit hills with the entire world fading into the background, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:
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I didn't need a fairy tale. I had something much better.
I had our story.
